Free A Faded Star by Michael Freeport Page A

the
secondary bridge. The main bridge was still out of commission and would not
return anytime soon even with the full facilities of the space dock. The damage
from the alien saboteur had been extreme. Salvaged components from the crab
ship that had not been completely destroyed revealed little thus far. Kri and
Simmons were working just about around the clock, attempting to decipher their
data storage model.
     During the return trip, Thun had been terse. He had
transferred four survivors, rescued from the mid ships weapon bay, and had
agreed to accompany the two warships back to space dock for repairs. Little
else had been said despite several attempts by both Commodore Stokes and
Admiral Vesper, who had arrived with the Bastion, to engage him in
conversation. Thun had simply said he would only speak with a civilian official
who could speak for the entire Lashmere people, and that was the only
authorization he had received from his government on the matter.
     A delegation of diplomats and politicians was waiting
to meet Thun at the space dock as soon as all three ships were secure. Boarding
tubes and moorings moved across the space between the Rampart and the space
dock. The ever present hum of a ship operating under its own power softened to
an almost inaudible buzz.
     Hanlon looked up from her status display and said,
“Done with engines, Commodore.”
     Stokes allowed himself a slight smile. “Well done,
people. I know the last few days have been rough. Secure all engines, Exec.”
     “Secure all engines, aye, sir.”
     Stokes nodded. “All department heads report your
repair schedules to the yard captain by oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. For the
moment, I expect minimum watch section and shore leave for all hands. Before we
can release all hands, we have to meet with the delegation waiting for us.
Bridge officers with me.”
     As the bridge crew headed towards the boarding tube,
Thun's ship maneuvered into the small boat dock at the same berth as Rampart.
Rampart's bridge crew met the delegation waiting on the concourse. Most
prominent among them was Lashmere's vice president, Richard Owens. The two
groups moved together to where the boarding tube from Thun's ship connected to
the concourse. Thun walked down the tube and gave all of them their first
really good look at him.
     Thun was short, not more than one and a half meters,
bipedal with short legs and arms that reached nearly to the floor and covered
with short, coarse hair that was cream and tan in color. His wide, roughly
triangular face had a pair of tiny black eyes that never seemed to rest on
anything and were much too far apart, a flat nose thrust hairlessly out of the
center of the face and showed that Thun had a pale gray skin under all the fur.
His mouth was a tall, triangular affair that tended to open and shut rapidly as
he engaged in vocalizations. He wore a gray one-piece uniform that was covered
in adornments and markings.
     Stokes nodded to Thun. “Good morning. I hope you are
ready to meet with our political and diplomatic leaders.”
     Thun wobbled his head side to side in what Stokes
presumed was meant as an affirmative. “I am. My communications with my
government have given me several directives and granted me some latitude in
diplomatic matters. Until a formal delegation arrives from the alliance
government.”
     Vice President Owens spoke. “Good morning, Mister
Thun. My name is Richard Owens. I am the vice president of the people of
Lashmere.” Thun waggled his head side to side in acknowledgment of the
statement. Owens continued, “Would you be so kind as to explain your rank, role,
and then tell us a bit about the planetary alliance you represent?”
     Thun's English was perfect with no detectable accent.
“I could never be considered a representative of my people. I am simply a scout
ship pilot. Although my government has given me the authority to negotiate with
you, it is merely a preliminary stage until a formal delegation