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Morokov slid his hand across the poorly lit table in search of his coffee. The bridge was dark, the faint starlight of the night sky barely reaching through the windows, the rest of the room bathed in persistent red night lighting.

Morokov recalled the first nights: listlessly sitting in his chair at the center of the room, the windows outstretched around him, the stars twinkling all around. The majesty of it had been unlike anything Morokov could have dreamed of. A city boy through and through, he had grown up where the stars were only flecks against the beams and billboards of Feixing. His grip on his thermos tightened as he thought of home.

In truth, he had never been out so far. Even the shores of Basil were all but a distant memory from when he had been ferried to the fleet. He could feel that longing eating away at his heart, but appearances had to be kept up.

He took his first sip, closing his eyes for a moment in search of respite from the red of the bridge. The helmsman spoke up first.

“Beautiful night we’ve been having, sir.”

Morokov chuckled, loosening the thermos from his lips as he did.

“I would have to agree, Andrei. I only wish it would last us a little longer. Hard to take it all in within only six months.”

Both men laughed softly. Morokov lifted out of his seat with a soft smile. The helmsman sat in front of him, his chair swiveled away and reclined from his station. With the ice broken, Morokov glided across the room toward the windows, holding onto a railing as he pivoted his head, taking in the blurred contours of the silent fleet around him, hardly visible against the pitch-black sky.

“What do you think of the journey so far, Starshina Baranov?”

Morokov continued, the lighthearted commander adding onto his question before the Starshina could respond. While he spoke, his eyes slid from hull to hull in the formation.

“Excited to send some mail back home? And to check your voicemail?”

“I’d imagine more would have crawled out of their bunks for the occasion. I hope it won’t just be us with things to send back, Andrei. I know this communications blackout has been hell for everyone. Though at least we still get the mail from back home.”

The helmsman nodded quickly, turning back toward his station. With a few buttons, the bridge lights grew into a bright, pale blue. The exterior lights of the rest of the ships flickered on, illuminating the tendrils of docking arms and scaffolding holding an orbit of frigates around his ship. Morokov turned his gaze back to Andrei.

Andrei spoke up as the RCS thrusters began firing across the formation, each ship engaging in a hard flip retrograde, the flow of fuel a soft rumble beneath their feet.

“If you don’t mind me saying, I just don’t get all the cloak and dagger, sir. Why the blackout?”

The ship’s RCS fired again, arresting its flip. Weightlessness momentarily returned to the two men, and Morokov used the opportunity to turn himself around, away from the fleet, now lit in the distant glow of Kerbol.

“I think Admiralty’s concern has been justified by the recent news. Security Services have long warned us of Solarian attempts out here to occupy Pistis. Step into our enemy’s shoes, Andrei. What would you do if you knew this was your last chance to take our colony without all this support?”

Andrei looked back down, his eyes still dancing across his console as the last corrections were made, the soft beating of the main engines starting up and keeping the silence between the two at bay.

“Sir, with all due respect, wouldn’t this be the exact thing that might spring the Solarians to action? They’ve got no idea what flag we fly.”

It was now Morokov’s turn to return the silence. He turned around in the zero gravity, staring back over the fleet, watching the quick flashes of light as the formation of ships contorted for their final deceleration.

“Give them plausible deniability, anything they want. Admiralty back home is only interested in assuring the safety of the colony.”

Morokov chuckled.

"But, to think we're Aontans. I'm sure we're in for an eventful deceleration."
Morokov began to feel his weight return.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
-- Meanwhile, upon a cool manila folder arriving to a bedside... ---

TOP SECRET, FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

Mister Senator, time is short and I'll be brief. Word will spread soon Warren, best beat the morning news to the punch.

[...]

Your Faithful Servant, Symon Pavlenko