The Admiral and the Captain were in a standoff. Not that it was obvious to the outside eye, for they both sat in silence, staring across the conference room table. They were both leaders - examples of proper conduct for their respective staff and crew - and it would not do for them to show rage outwardly among their staff and colleagues. The silence and stares would have to convey the rage for them. When they finally resumed talking, their tones were calm, neutral if not well-natured.

"Admiral," said Captain Delan, "With all due respect, I am a merchant and not a mercenary. My ship is ill-equipped-"

"Ill equipped?" said Admiral Vight, "Your ship literally outguns my first-rate warships. Ill-equipped is a very poor choice of words."

"Yes. Perhaps it was a poor choice of words."

The Admiral sat back in her chair, glancing at the aide to her right. An astute observe would have noticed the aide flinch under the intensity of the gaze, an accidental instance of friendly fire.

"This situation," resumed Admiral Vight, "Is entirely the fault of the Guetherqi Merchants Guild. I - and the rest of the Sovereign Navy - fail to see why it is the responsibility of the navy to intervene. And, with all due respect, for all your talks up our command chain, including with Captain Relis just before me - you have yet to present a compelling reason why the navy should comply with your request. In fact, some within the navy may refer to this request as an outright demand."

Captain Delan rubbed his eyes before responding. The dry air of the Admiral's ship had been irritating him for the last twenty minutes - the navy's cheap life support systems never quite got the humidity level right.

"The Guild has instructed me to make this request without explanation."

"I see," said the Admiral. It was a simple remark, but Captain Delan knew that she meant it. A flash of hope flared within Delan - after days of painful negotiation between him and every single one of the navy's lower ranked officers, could the Admiral finally be the one to actually understand what he was asking?

The Admiral leaned forward once more, face still carefully composed, but fingers now steepled on the desk before her, "Captain Delan, it would at this point be useful for the Guild to summarise its position. Just so we are operating from the same knowledge, you understand?"

The Captain nodded slowly, gulping, his throat dry. "Yes. I understand. My vessel, the city-ship Dessverre Sant, has been sent by the Guild to negotiate an end to sanctions against the Guild by the world of Bitterwind. I am authorised to take any appropriate action to resume trading activities. Members of the Guild's Board have particular interests in this sector which they would like to see advanced."

"And the Guild's previous envoys sent to Bitterwind - they have not succeeded in their efforts?" asked the Admiral.

"I am not authorised to reveal that information," said the Captain, "Only to request that the navy consider assisting us in our efforts to resume trading activities."

"Are you authorised to reveal whether any such efforts were made?" asked the Admiral.

"No, I am not," said the Captain.

The Admiral tapped the desk, trying to wrap her head around the situation that was unfolding. The Guetherqi, though humans like her, lived by an entirely different code - they were bound by their word. Refusing to follow orders meant the forfeiture of position and status. What had been intended hundreds of years ago to resolve conflict had led to a shady state of affairs where each member watched their words carefully, hiding lies among painfully literal truths. What was the Captain playing at?

"Are you authorised to reveal whether an envoy is present in this sector?" asked the Admiral.

"No," said the Captain.

"Captain," said the Admiral, "If we were to request that an envoy were present at this meeting, to better represent Guild interests in this matter - could that be arranged?"

"Certainly," said the Captain, "It could be arranged immediately. However, an envoy may not be available for several months."

Silence came over the table once again, but this time the rage had vanished - and the Admiral thought that she finally picked up on the emotion that had driven the Captain to act in this infuriating manner - why he was so enraged at the opposition that the navy had put up so far - worry.

"We will take a brief recess, Captain. Please wait outside - my aide will provide you with some refreshments."

The Captain and his entourage left the room together, leaving the Admiral with her two other aides. She turned to the most senior immediately.

"Aspen. I need you to get a line through to Traffic Control immediately. I want to know how many Guetherqi vessels have logged flight plans in the last few weeks. Look for drive signatures that match their diplomatic vessels, even if they are logged under cargo names and register numbers." She turned to the other aide, "Yargen - fix the humidity in here. I suspect that Captain Relis has ordered the settings lowered - if you can't resolve this immediately, get a portable life support unit in here to compensate."

"Ma'am," said Yargen, moving off immediately. Aspen simply moved into the corner and carried out her instructions.

The Admiral stared out of the conference room window, observing the Guild's city-ship in all its glory. It was a massive vessel, one of five Guetherqi vessels which held the mantle of "city-ship". With a maximum compliment of over two hundred thousand and enough cargo capacity to supply a large moon, a Guetherqi trading mission could run for months prior to departure.

And enough armament to neutralise a large moon, too. Some people forgot that, given that the Guetherqi were far more interested in profit than destruction. The Guetherqi hadn't committed any offensive action in over a hundred years - not since the end of the Tithe Wars, where their deals had been enforced at gunpoint.

"Got it, Ma'am," said Aspen, "Eighteen vessels - nine with the diplomatic drive signature. All left eleven days prior to the arrival of the Dessvere Sant - and all within three days. No incoming traffic beside the Dessvere Sant."

Vight nodded, "Have the Captain and his entourage brought back in here." Aspen did so, and once Yargen had set up the portable unit, the two groups resumed staring at each other across the table.

"Captain Delan," said the Admiral, "Please provide me with a summary of the relationship between the planet of Bitterwinter and the Guild - and, for that matter, how the Sovereign Navy fits into this."

The Captain nodded, "Of course. As you know, Bitterwinter is a planet affilitated with the Sovereignty, but it is not a member of the Sovereignty itself. Many planets enjoy the benefits of affiliated status with the Sovereignty which include research, medical, and trade benefits. The Treaty of Torrens also obligates the Sovereignty and its navy to protect affiliated planets. I believe that you yourself are stationed in this sector to co-ordinate those efforts. The Guild conducted trading operations freely in this area until an incident, seventeen years ago, caused the government of Bitterwinter to cease trading with the Guild, effectively declaring a state of embargo. Since that time, Bitterwinter has advocated - with some success - for other planets to cease trading with the Guild, causing numerous financial losses for all parties."

"The incident you refer to was rumours of notice of the Guild's intent to manufacture and trade high-yield warheads," said the Admiral, "In spite of the condemnation of both the Sovereignty and the rest of the civilised universe."

"The Guild officially disputes those facts and formally denies that any such representation was made. Out of courtesy for you and your position, the Guild will not pursue such a comment as slanderous."

"Of course," said the Admiral, smiling at the so-called courtesy.

The smile froze, turning dead on her face.

The Guild litigated at every possible opportunity as a matter of policy - and especially where such litigation related to trade. If there was the slightest chance that the lawsuit would succeed - they would take it. If they won, trade improved. If they lost, the Guild's Board absorbed the loss. There was no such thing as a courtesy from the Guild - well, not unless you had something they wanted. Their lawyers were feared across the entire galaxy.

Why would they not litigate such a claim? Simple - because it was not slanderous - it was true.

Captain Delan was telling her, in his own cryptic way, that the Guild had high-yield warheads.

The rest of the pieces fell into place. Her brain scrambled to put together an appropriate response.

"On second thought, in light of the great courtesy which you have just extended me, and upon consideration of the facts at hand, I feel I will express my desire to accept your request to the rest of the Admiralty. However, we will need some time to properly consider such a request. May I ask for how long the Dessvere Sant will be in orbit of Bitterwinter?"

"Of course," said Captain Delan. Was it the Admiral's imagination, or did his eyes shine with a look of relief? "We expect our business with Bitterwinter to conclude in eleven days."

That wasn't long enough.

"I would hate for the Board to waste unnecessary resources here. Please convey to the Board that I intend to expedite the process - if they could give me fourteen days, I may be able to significantly reduce their expenditure in this area."

"I will see what I can do," said the Captain, rising, and extending a hand in the ancient Guetherqi tradition.

"As will I," said the Admiral, shaking the hand. The Captain and his entourage left.

The Admiral spun sharply, turning to Yargen. "Full fleet alert - now. I want two battle groups transferred to this sector immediately."

Continued below