Author’s Note:

  This episode is published here up to the 75% mark.

  The remaining chapters—including the climax and aftermath—are available in the complete episode on Amazon.

  https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0GKQLW699

  Thank you for reading and supporting the series.

  ###

  John stared through the viewport at the looming spherical shape of the Hemingway, the new flagship of his command. It didn’t feel real. Only days ago, he stood broken and bloodied before the Galactic Council inside his Griffin Wing, reciting the Arbiter’s Creed with raw conviction while President Bridges and Ambassador Vel’Sem watched in grim approval. The title weighed heavier than the booming applause. He was officially an Arbiter. The words were still etched in his head like the lines of an unforgettable script. New York was destroyed. He buried Emily. He buried his past. He stepped forward into something new and terrifying. He stared at the sleek round hull and imagined the galaxy beyond. Although his responsibilities were quite large, he felt small and he couldn’t shake it.

  The ship’s polished titanium-carbon plates reflected the sterile lights of Abbeylara’s orbital docks as teams of engineers and dockworkers scrambled like ants across its surface. John pressed his gloved hand against the metal. “From crawling around in the rubble of New York to this,” he murmured under his breath. “Be careful what you wish for, Drayton.” The ghost of Emily’s voice drifted somewhere along the edges of his memory. John clenched his jaw and forced himself upright. There was no turning back now. The performance must go on.

  John walked the outer hull of the Hemingway with a swagger he didn’t bother to hide. The Hemingway hovered in a Dependency hangar on Abbeylara while munitions and rations were loaded. Around the equator of the ship, twelve sleek spherical Canon Logique plasma turrets slid along the horizontal rail as engineers ran diagnostics tests. He grinned. A ship like that wasn’t just a vessel; it was a statement. This was the big time, he told himself. But as he traced his glove across the alloy surface, a prickle of unease curled inside his stomach. A tiny voice needled him. You don’t belong here. Not really.

  Inside, the sensation grew. The corridors were too quiet and too perfect. Inside, the ship featured brass-rimmed floor plates and soft golden light. He felt the faint pulse of the engineering core deck deep beneath his feet—it all felt designed for people who spoke in tactical diagrams and fleet protocols, not for a human pilot used to the joystick grips and afterburner growls of Earth vessels.

  As he stepped into the command operations center, the shifting lattices of simulated threat grids flickered coldly on projection monitors. John shoved his hands in his pockets, aware of how little he understood the cascading tactical overlays and AI combat models. The diplomatic operations room, the advanced training simulator, even the serene controls of the primary command deck all buzzed with quiet judgement. You don’t know this ship. But you have to rely on them. The thought stung. He never liked needing anyone, and now he relied on an entire crew.

  Exiting the ship, he circled the hangar and took it all in. The soft docking alarm broke his spiraling concentration as shuttles settled into the tactical launch bay and offloaded his crew members who loaded luggage onto the Hemingway. John stopped at the edge of the cavernous hangar, arms folded tight across his chest as silhouettes spilled across the deck. He exhaled slowly. His pulse ticked faster. Sasha’s voice ghosted through his comms. “Let’s give them a show,” he muttered. But deep down, he knew the real performance would be convincing them—and himself—that he belonged in the captain’s chair.

  The senior officers filed into formation in front of John under the cold glare of overhead lighting along with every member of his crew of hundreds. John stood at the base of the wide platform, back straight, hands clasped behind him in the exact posture he’d seen the other Dependency commanders use. Fake it till you make it, he thought bitterly. Commander Rhea Morgan’s silver-streaked glare swept over him first, unreadable and sharp as polished steel. Chief Engineer Cole Havers lingered behind her, grease-streaked and unimpressed. Ambassador Samantha Crowe offered the smallest nod, the diplomatic equivalent of “Let’s see what you can do next.” John projected his best movie-star smile and spoke with a warmth and polish he didn’t actually feel, obstructed by his own nerves. “Welcome aboard the Hemingway. You were all hand picked because you’re the best in the galaxy. Our mission is simple: hunt and destroy Thariel. God willing, we’ll end this war early so we can all go back home safely. Now, shine your boots, straighten your shoulders, and walk with confidence knowing you are the pride of the galaxy. I’m just an Arbiter, but you are the sword and shield of our operations. I look forward to working alongside each and every one of you. Dismissed.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Even as the words left his mouth, he caught sideways glances and subtle signals between veteran officers who’d seen real combat leaders. They were judging him. And they should.

  As the bulk of the crew members and officers dispersed back into the Hemingway, reporting to their assigned stations to perform their duties, John remained rooted in place. He felt small against the vast humming bulk of his ship.

  John was the last to board.

  His palms itched with nervous sweat as he made his way down the rounding corridor toward the command center. A realization sat like a cold weight on his chest. He would have to rely on the experience of others more than his own. His swagger suddenly slipped for a moment. He forced a deep breath. John straightened. You’re not just an actor, not just a soldier, you’re the captain now, Drayton. You’re an Arbiter. Start acting like it. He prayed the others wouldn’t expose just how lost he really was.

  The primary command deck felt like standing inside the hollow core of a star. Above, a dome of reflective glass displayed a star map, a brilliant vast tapestry of solar systems. As he stood behind the command chair, he examined the command team responsible for everything from navigation to offensive protocols.

  He first noticed the ship’s pilot, a dusky-toned Varnassi woman with quicksilver eyes named Selathe Min. Beside her was a small and lean reptilian Markrathi woman named Shiraxt Ka responsible for acquisitions orders, everything from lab kits to Astralis-9 combat armor. The Medical Officer, a Liorathi named Orin-Va, looked mostly human except for the translucent skin on his forearms which pulsed blue as he immersed himself in the medical profiles of every crew member. The Master Armorer was a Ytheron named Thesari Qel whose thought sack glowed inside his elongated cranium as he accepted weapons orders for their twenty-something marines and fifty-something security personnel. Most of the marines were in the barracks, but some lingered. Half of them were human while the other half were Cortari Shardhosts who wore battle-scarred frames of once-living human marines from Earth. Samantha Crowe, whom he designed his XO, stood at his left shoulder, arms crossed, brow raised in quiet analysis.

  John let his voice carry. “A human Arbiter from Earth and a multi-species crew? They’ll be talking about this day for years. They might even sing songs.”

  Everyone responded with silence. The crew just stared ahead, concentrating on their command stations. Then, John heard them whisper.

  John caught only fragments.

  “...his mission in New York…reckless…lucky to be alive…”

  His face flashed red. Although some of them were clearly insulting them, all John’s mind scrambled the messages and all he heard were compliments. “Glad to see my legend precedes me.”

  Samantha’s glare could have melted him.

  The Varnassi pilot Selathe Min looked back at John uncomfortably, then returned to running diagnostics on her terminal.

  The next humiliation came from a holographic playback on the central monitor. It displayed John inside his busted up Griffin Wing during the Hyperion attack in New York City. The image froze on John’s face, mid-shout, face twisted and hair disheveled. Something gross leaked from his nose and his ears were bent from flapping wildly from the wind. He looked like a cartoon version of himself.

  He heard a stifled snicker.

  John’s voice came razor-thin. “Delete. That. Now.”

  A Cortari crew member tapped the control panel in front of him. The image dissolved. John became motionless. His shoulders tightened. He breathed in and out.

  At the polished navigation console, John tugged sharply at his collar. He met his own eyes in the reflection of the console.

  Selathe Min interrupted. “Arbiter Drayton. Incoming encrypted transmission from Admiral Valentine.”

  John hesitated. He fixed his hair one final time.

  Samantha said nothing, only watched.

  John stabbed the console with his finger. “On screen.”

  Admiral Valentine’s grizzled face appeared. “John. It’s good to make contact. Prepare to receive Dependency protocols. Stand by.”

  John lowered his voice. “All stations: standby.”

  Then, he heard another voice.

  “...he’s playing a movie star while we do all the real work.”

  The words punctured him like a jab to the chin.

  His jaw clenched and his expression flattened. His confidence drained away. His hand slowly curled into a fist at his side. “Excuse me, crew. As you were.” John pivoted, exited the command center, and took the corridor which circled the ship. He tried to avoid the clusters of crew members who were still moving luggage into their quarters. He lowered his head just slightly, a barely perceptible act of silent retreat. The golden lights of the Hemingway flickered faintly above as if the ship even weighed his doubts.

  But then, a crew member saluted him. So did another. He straightened his posture and squared his shoulders, saluting everyone in return. Then, he spotted smiles and gleaming eyes filled with pride.

  John’s eyes hardened.

  That’s when he remembered when he flew his first missions back on Earth. He held the same cocky attitude and lingering doubt toward his superiors. He believed he was the best. It took time for the trust to settle in, and the same was true now.

  Feeling better about the situation, he returned to his quarters to review the dossier on Thariel. Soon, they would begin their hunt.