The Broken Peace
First Officer Peterson

The Pilgrim's Path emerged from the last FTL jump before reaching Meteora. Over the previous days, the captured crew and the Anatolians acclimated to one another well after the initial shock wore off. Peterson's promise of a substantial payment for the vessel's commandeering helped persuade the Pilgrim's Path crew to cooperate, and since then, relations improved. 

"EXO, I hate to say it, but we're slightly off course," said Helmsman Truman.

"Explain," responded Peterson.

"When we first jumped, I had to adjust the coordinates as best I could, and with the risk of insulting our hosts, the navigation systems are not up to our standards."

"So you're saying we're nowhere near Meteora?"

"Not exactly. If we were an Anatolian ship, we'd be in easy jump range of the planet, but-"

"What you're telling me, Truman, is that you missed the mark?" Peterson said with a smirk.

"Sorry, sir."

"I'm sure you did your best. How far are we from the planet?"

"At current speed, we'll be there in four days."

"Well, not too bad then. How long until FTL recharge?"

"Full charge in two hours, sir."

"Alright, sit tight, everyone. We'll make another jump in a couple of hours. Comms, message the Consulate on Meteora, and let them know we are arriving in a commandeered vessel."

Captain Green approached Peterson. "Our arrangement?"

"In good faith, Captain Green. As you know, Meteora is in a crisis, but once we arrive at a more stable planet, we'll arrange your payment, as promised."

"Yes, but I am more interested in the cargo's fate."

"The Rabilix? Unfortunately, it will be confiscated upon arrival. I'll kick in a little extra payment for your trouble.

"The cargo is worth far more than a little extra."

"True, but sometimes it's best to cut your loss and take what you can get."

Green turned away without further protest. The thought of losing such a valuable cargo caused him great displeasure, which Green told Peterson numerous times since they departed. It made no difference to Peterson and would make no difference to Anatolian officials when they arrived at their destination.

Peterson hoped to make a short stop on Meteora to resupply and contact officials at Starbase Thespidon. From there, the higher-ups could decide on where they wanted him to offload his cargo and file his report. Peterson wondered how he could explain his situation and account for the actions of his crew. When the command heard his report, he debated whether they would pin a medal on him or put him before a court-martial.

It was nearing the end of the midwatch before Peterson made it to his improvised quarters. Fatigue began to set in from the long journey, and he hoped he could get some restful sleep when they arrived on Meteora. He checked the clock to discover that over six hours passed since the last FTL jump.

Using the wall-mounted intercom, Peterson messaged the comm station. "Comms, have we received a reply from the Meteoran Consulate yet?"

"Nothing yet, sir."

"Have they had sufficient time to respond?"

"They should have received our transmission at least two hours ago, sir."

"Strange. Send another message and leave a note for the third watch to update me when they get a response."

"Yes, sir."

Peterson laid on his rack to try and get some rest while he waited. He awoke from his sleep to the sound of an incoming message. Still drowsy, Peterson answered. "Sir, we have a contact."

"A message from the Consulate?"

"No, sir, a ship. They are still too far out to tell who they are, but initial readings say she's a large vessel."

"I'm on my way."

Peterson dressed himself and proceeded to the bridge. He noticed a tension in the air as the mysterious contact loomed ahead. "On screen," Peterson ordered. The image on the screen betrayed little about the unknown vessel ahead. Peterson felt an unease course through him as he examined the image. "Extreme magnification, please."

The magnification was little help. He could make out the basic shape of the ship, but that was all. There was something familiar about the vessel, but they were still too far out to confirm if he was right. "Can you give me a closer look?"

"This is as good as it gets, sir."

"Are we in hailing range?"

"Not yet, sir. The comms are-"

"I know, not up to Anatolian standards. How long?"

"About an hour and a half at current speed."

Peterson tried the best he could to busy himself as time passed. Something kept bothering him about the situation. Surely, the ship ahead knew about the Pilgrim's Path by now. Maybe they were being monitored by whoever it was out there. As the time neared, that ill feeling became much more pronounced. "Helm, start up the FTL drive."

"What course, sir?"

"I don't care. Whatever the closest planet is."

"Sir, Meteora is-"

"Not Meteora. The next closest."

"Sir, the next closest planet is in Spartiartes territory."

"I don't care, just do it. Now."

"Sir, the next magnification is ready."

A large ship with a sharp bow and extensions to either side that resembled wings appeared on the screen. Tucked underneath her were several more ships, each bristling with weapons.

"Helm, get us out of here."

"Sir, it looks like our fleet."

"Now, helm. Get us out of here now."

"What's going on?" Gillis asked. "Those are our ships; shouldn't we hail them?"

"Those are military vessels. They saw us the moment we jumped into the system. They could have responded anytime but wanted to draw us in."

"Why? It doesn't make any sense."

"It does if you are not supposed to be here. Whoever commands those ships didn't want to tip us off too soon."

"For what reason?"

"Sir, three new contacts launched from the ship. Small single pilot craft on an intercept course."

"Helm, how long until we jump?"

"Five minutes, sir."

"They'll be on top of us in two," Gillis said.

"Sir, their weapons are hot."

"Prepare to release the cargo pods," Peterson said.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Their first target will be the engines, leaving us dead in space. The next attack finishes us off. But, if we eject the cargo pods it may confuse their guidance systems."

"The pods are full of Rabilix."

"Right. The fighters won't expect the explosion, and it should blind their sensors long enough for us to jump."

"But won't we be taken out in the explosion?"

"Not if we time it right. If you've got a better solution, I'm all ears."

"Sir, enemy ships have missile locks. Incoming ordinance, estimated forty-five seconds until impact."

"Stand by to release cargo pods. Steady." The missiles bore down upon the Pilgrim's Path. "Steady," Peterson said again.

"Ten seconds to impact."

"Release cargo pods."

The pods floated away as the hull of the Pilgrim's Path dropped following the release. Seconds later, the missiles found their targets. The explosions lit up the darkness of space around them as the brilliant fireball roared into existence. The fighters veered away, surprised by the volatile explosion before them.

Looking back, the lead pilot could only see twisted wreckage from the unknown vessel. His scanner showed no signs of life or indication that the target had survived. Satisfied, he ordered his flight to return to base.

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