Art by Rain Elegy
Previously, a Summary …..Our Story So Far: https://onthebeachatnightalone.com/2025/12/02/fiction-the-girassian-debacle-our-story-so-far/
Through the bridge clear-view panel, the Gateway appeared a bejeweled ring glinting against the Red Planet’s dull rust color. The Portal protruded from the center of the metal and glass framework; a nacreous drop-shaped pearl suspended in the ring. Its gentle iridescence belied the fact it was a cauldron of roiling energy.
Commander Gray had dismissed Yoshi to return to Chief Freihoff in Engineering. Inexplicably, the BDP left the bridge hanging its head.
Four Emissary fighters joined the London once she approached within fifty kilometers of the Gateway. They guided her through a tangle of ships, some moving towards or away from the Portal while others headed into or out of the Gateway’s docks. Lieutenant Ahktar-Gatewood navigated manually through the parting cloud of ships as they yielded right of way to the escort.
The course headed surprisingly near to the Portal’s surface. Throwing his shoulders back, the challenge for precise flying seemingly energized him. He responded by bringing the London perilously close to the unopened face of the Portal, sure to gain the attention of Emissary Portal Command.
Just after they cleared the face of the Portal, he received an order to turn over control of the London to two space tugs. “Lieutenant,” Commander Gray said, “you look disappointed Portal Command just ordered you to hand the London over.”
“Yes, I am, Commander. After the special treatment by our escort, I had hoped to bring the ship in myself. But it looks like we’re being brought close to the Citadel. I presume security prohibits military ships stay under their own power this close to their headquarters.”
“You can take it easy now. You have time to sit back and appreciate the spectacle of Portal City.”
The Gateway encircled the Portal. A superstructure thirty kilometers in diameter, it rotated with an angular velocity that along with embedded particles of dark matter produced a gravitational force equal to Earth’s. Its inner surface sprouted Portal City which extended over the ring’s entire internal face. Gray, like everyone else on the bridge, stared transfixed, the city shining like a field of glinting jewels in the Portal’s light.
She turned towards Maureau. “It was good coming down from Condition Two, wasn’t it? We pushed the crew hard.”
Maureau stayed intent on the projection of the London’s course towards port. “They have done well,” he said without looking away from the display.
“Lieutenant, isn’t the city amazingly beautiful?” Gray said, addressing no one in particular. “The Portal and City are humbling.”
Akhtar-Gatewood looked at her in surprise. “Yes, Commander, it is.”
Beneath Gray’s awe lay a sadness in her voice. It caught Maureau by surprise and he glanced over at her, several times, trying to avoid being obvious. He realized he had failed being discreet when she looked back with a questioning look, forcing him to nod to her. Her features lacked her usual, tense edge. Ever since the debrief for the ghost ship encounter, she has been very subdued. And unusually attentive to the crew.
The space tugs pushed the London away from the Portal and around the Gateway’s edge. The beauty of Portal City’s brilliant cityscape disappeared to reveal a colorful sea of circular canopies extending like umbrellas from spires rising half a kilometer high. They bore the national colors and corporate logos of the ships docked beneath them. Gantries surrounding the spires formed a honeycombed lattice with docked ships filling the cells.
Around them, space tugs moved dozens of vessels along the canopy surface. They stopped above large gaps created when canopies retracted against their spires, allowing the tugs to safely guide ships through lanes into slips. In other places, canopies rose back away from their spires, slowly extending behind ascending ships exiting the port. The canopies’ movement made the port’s surface look like it was breathing.
Maureau saw turrets swivel atop the spires, their laser cannons targeting the London. He suppressed his sense of paranoia, realizing the Emissaries were bringing the London into port very close to the Citadel, directly beneath them on the interior of the Gateway. He should expect such precaution. The Emissaries sure do not hide their security measures.
The space tugs guided the London into its slip amidst an intricate swirl of machinery and people. Pinnaces carrying cargo darted between docked ships. Transports moving VIP’s, with more status than those relying on the public subway formed traffic lanes aft the docked ships. Hundreds of spacers, their rocket packs pulsing like the flicker of fireflies, performed ship maintenance alongside robotic cargo movers.
“Commander, we need to schedule time for a briefing, before we leave the Portal,” Maureau said. “I owe you a formal onboarding, my thoughts on command and expectations of the XO.”
“Of course, Sir,” Gray said. “That would be very helpful.”
With the gravity of deceleration diminishing to be barely felt, the crew reached for hand holds. The ship came to a stop and locked into their slip. Once attached to the Gateway, the grip of its centrifugal momentum flipped the gravitational force in the London, requiring the crew to swing towards the deck over their heads. This maneuver brought out a cheer from the crew. Maureau knew every one of them looked forward to leave in the city.
Maureau studied the dock and framework of the city through the clear-view panel. Turning to Gray he said, “Commander, proceed with check-in and set-up leave. ” He paused and thought for a moment. “How many times have you come into Portal City?”
“Only once, Sir. It was wondrous .”
“Four times for me,” Maureau said. “I had the same feeling you had. Each time in, I appreciated the city more.”
He looked over at Lieutenant Wu. “I have a change of orders. Lieutenant, Wu. you can oversee the London’s check-in. And manage the leave schedule. Oh, and make sure the Senator has what he needs to leave for his embassy. I am sure he is anxious to get off the London.”
Lieutenant Wu drew herself up, standing taller and looking pleased. “Yes, Sir. I will make sure the Senator gets all the assistance possible and go with him to the Embassy.”
“AIC. Maureau. Notify Lieutenant Song to ready a security team for Gray and myself. We are going to reconnoiter the dock and nearby city. At the airlock airlock bay in twenty minutes.”
Maureau said to Gray. “Let’s step out and get a feel for the city. For half an hour or so, get a look at the Embassy district. We are right below it. We will stay close to London, in case the Emissaries call for me. But I hope they give us time to get settled in.”
He thought he saw the first smile by Gray with him since she became First Officer.
#
Lieutenant Song awaited Maureau and Gray at the airlock bay. Two marines accompanied her. “Captain,” Song said. “Commander,” she added with a nod to Gray, who acknowledged her with a nod back. Song maintained a rigid formality just short of saluting.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” Maureau said. “Commander, maybe we should bring back the salute onboard the London.”
Gray considered. “It might be a good idea, sir. There are people who might consider our lack of deference to your rank as poor discipline.”
“Wonder who those people might be? I was just thinking out loud, Commander. This corvette is too small for that, as far as I am concerned. We’re on top of one another, constantly interacting. I do not want the crew coming to attention every time I move through their deck. We will keep things as they are.”
Through the airlock’s viewing port, bright lights revealed a potpourri of space vessels suspended from the Gateway. Most of the ships were government sloops, but some private and company yachts were interspersed. The London stood out as the only military ship, large and gaunt in comparison to others. All the ships, except for her, were small enough to require only one tower to secure them. The London required three, albeit all of them a small fraction the size of the massive gantries securing the freighters and cruisers on the opposite side of the Gateway.
They moved through the airlock. No bridgeway extended before Maureau’s team. Instead, they moved onto an open, grated ramp leading fifteen meters to the docking bay’s gantry. Below their feet they could see the canopies spread out surrounded by blackness and stars. A stumble over the walkway’s low railing would result in a drift away from the Gateway towards the open space. But the rotational gravitational force, slightly less than earth’s, was strong enough to allow one to plant one’s feet securely on the grating.
Maintenance personnel hovered near the London inspecting the ship. Like flickering fireflies, their backpacks pulsed blue flame as they maneuvered. Nearly across the ramp, Maureau stopped and bent over to grab the railing, keeping his gaze above him towards the port spacers over his head. Not realizing there still lingered a residual effect of the concussive blast, a wave of vertigo surprised him. He dare not look over the rail away into space. A rumbling from the City jangled his nerves.
Three spacers gathered around the London’s number one port wing. Having apparently found something unusual, one excitedly called for others to come over look at the rocket nozzle.
“Given our prolonged acceleration, there might be unusual rocket nozzle wear,” Gray said. “I wonder how they will report it out.”
“Let’s go talk with them,” Maureau said. “See what they found.” He turned from the railing and, with legs apart, continued walking across the ramp like someone unsteady on a swaying ship. A central stairwell ran through the gantry. When he reached the end of the ramp, wanting to shake his vertigo, he decided to climb the stairs inside the gantry instead of using the lift.
Song stepped next to him as he made his way up the stairs, nodded to him, and then jogged ahead. One of the guards also stepped past Maureau. “Sir, I should join Lieutenant Song.” Winded, he waved her forward. Gray stayed just behind him.
“This atmosphere takes some getting used to,” Gray said. “It has lower oxygen pressure than our ship’s.”
“You are being kind, Commander,” Maureau said, pulling on the hand rail.
Song and the marine awaited them six levels above the connecting ramp, opposite the examined rocket nozzle. One of the gathered dock team propelled away from the London towards Song.
The spacer’s rapid glide required a hard brake to prevent crashing into them. Unfortunately, he missed his mark and collided with Song and the security officer who wrapped her arms around him. Song reflexively reached for her weapon.
“Oh, oh!” the worker exclaimed. “No! No! So sorry, so sorry! The atmosphere seems thinner today. We’re not navigating as well as usual.”
Song appraised him quickly finding him to be no threat. Song’s officer pushed him off the landing and he had to pulse his rockets again to avoid floating back to the London.“ He drifted up to them, slower this time, and was able to grab the tower frame before barreling into Song, though the security officer readied to tackle him again.
“This is Captain Maureau of the ULE London,” Song said.
“Honor to meet you. Sir. I’m excited to speak with a Star Force captain. Your ship is special to be docked here. I’ve never seen a military ship this close to the Citadel”
“And you are?” Gray said, stepping next to Maureau.
“Oh. Jack Hilberry, chief of the dock team.” He wiped his hand on his suit and reached out. Maureau gave a slight bow and Hilberry sheepishly withdrew his attempted handshake, wiping against his worksuit a second time.
“We just inspected your rocket nozzles. The rocket blast melted the edges in a way I’ve never seen before. The ring of the outlet is annealed to the carbide alloy. The wear appears even, not the irregular pattern seen after many voyages.”
“Do you have concerns?” Gray said.
Hilberry responded immediately. “Uneven wear starts to destabilize the nozzle and threatens disintegration. We see wear like this after many voyages. Then the exhausts need overhaul. But your new nozzles have excessive wear. I don’t know. The balanced, concentric pattern of wear might actually make the outlet stronger. Then, again, maybe not.”
Maureau, Gray, and Song shared a discerning look. If the nozzles needed replacement, there was no way they would be able to replace them in time for departure of the Task Force through the Portal. They would have to trust Yoshi on the safety of the rocket system.
Gray spoke rapidly. “Chief, our engineers will be out shortly. You don’t have to continue. We’ll invite one of your team to our assessment.”
“Ma’am, we need to complete our inspection. It’s our responsibility to the Port Authority. We’ll keep out of the way of your engineers.”
“You made a nice pickup,” Maureau piped in. “I ask you to not report the rim finding until our team has a chance to go over the London. Let us see if they find the wear. Have you found anything else we will need to know about?”
“No, Sir. So far, your ship looks to be in good shape. Do you want to see the wear on the rims?”
“We’ll inspect the nozzles later, Chief. Good work.” Turning to his team, Maureau said, “Let’s go see the city. ”
#
They slowly clambered “up” the gantry stairwell to the dock level, the Gateway’s outermost infrastructure layer. As they neared the dock, a faint hum grew louder. Stepping out of the stairway, the Gateway’s curved fifty meters above their heads. The dock sloped upwards keeping parallel to the Gateway’s framework. Some ships extended beyond the deck approaching the infrastructure.
“Commander Gray,” a winded Maureau said, “you invited Chief Hilberry to be part of our analysis of nozzle-wear. That is good. We always need to treat port spacers respectfully and acknowledge their work. They will see that kind of damage in the future.”
Light from the Portal seeped through openings in the infrastructure. In the thin air, the demarcation of light and shadow was severe, giving the light the appearance of spotlights.
A stairway wound up the side of a shaft to the internal surface of the Gateway. As they walked towards the shaft, the low hum transmuted into a rumble punctuated with shouts. “Sounds like a large crowd above us,” Gray said.
“And something smells good.” Maureau stepped into the light and looked up. ”A festival? Let’s…”
They all flinched as an Emissary appeared out of the shadows near the stairwell. Maureau wondered how he had missed the Emissary standing so close to the exit of the gantry. He turned and approached the Emissary. “Are you here to escort Captain Maureau to the Citadel?” he said.
The Emissary turned slightly, Maureau’s reflection moving into the middle of their mirrored helmet shield. “No, Captain Maureau. I am here for the security of the London. Your escort will arrive later.”
“Your posting here is good,” Maureau said, bowing slightly. “Will the Emissaries be providing a security detail the entire time we are here?”
The Emissary remained still. Maureau wondered if they had heard his question. After an uncomfortable silence, they said, “We will.”
Maureau had many questions to ask the Emissaries, but one did not talk to a sentry on duty unless they initiated the conversation. This armored sentry had nothing to say.
“Let your command know we appreciate the security,” Maureau again said, again bowing.
“Let’s take the lift to the inner surface,” Maureau said. “There is one near that shaft’s stairway.”
“I agree,” Gray said, smiling at one Song and letting Maureau lead the way to the lift door.
Maureau noticed. “Yes, Commander. I do not need any more of a workout.”
When the lift door opened, the rumble coming from the Plaza unraveled into a cacophony of voices. But, they stepped into a calming, dawn-like light, in great contrast to the dock level’s spotlight glare they had just left. Looking up, the Portal transfixed them, its surface alive with waves emitting a cool light at which they were able to gaze. It pulsed over the city like an egg-shaped sun, the spherical end above them with the tapered end pushing beyond the city into the blackness of space. The deep shadows cast behind buildings enhanced the calm ambiance. In the gloom between structures, it was said, the Emissaries might be found, patrolling the city in stealth.
Above the crowd avenues radiated from the Plaza and, gently curved upward. The buildings lining them appeared tilted towards one another. It all became a jumble above one’s head with buildings standing on their sides, all pointing inward to the center of the encircling Gateway. There was no horizon, only the Gateway continuing to rise upwards to encircle them.
It felt like a festival with the majority of people dressed in the worksuits of dockworkers. Many people queued for food and drink at stalls outside of the consulates. The lines moved fast. Apparently, the beverage was free.
Along the Plaza’s periphery banners announced the sponsorship of the event by the National Progressive Party. “What is the occasion?” Gray said to a portly man carrying three cups of beer. His flushed face shone with sweat, and he spilled beer trying to weave between people.
“It’s Longshore Workers’ Day,” he shouted above the crowd noise.“Don’t care about any speeches. But free beer is damn nice!”
Trying to push further into the crowd, he got pushed back. Beer sloshed over his hands. “Come on! I got friends in there!” This launched a vigorous, expletive laden conversation between the man and two other attendees.
“Let’s steer around this mess,” Song said.
I wonder how long they’ve been celebrating. This crowd does not seem ready to listen to a speech.
A stage had been set on the far side of the Plaza, the Citadel providing a backdrop. A woman on stage flanked by National Progressive Party banners had begun to speak. Initially, the din of the surrounding conversations overwhelmed her speech. “I want to hear what this is about,” Maureau said. He stepped ahead of the team and at first had no difficulty moving through the crowd that parted in deference to the authority of the Star Force. Some suspicious gazes surprised Maureau.
“Woah, we got some navy people here,”someone called out.
“What are they doing here? This is our celebration,” another said.
As they moved forward closer to the stage, fewer people conversed and Maureau could hear fragments of her speech.
“… little opportunity to advance, to make a life better for yourself and your children…”
The team reached a point where intent listeners ignored them, forming a wall that blocked further advance. Some hostile and resentful looks were thrown their way.
“…while the elite travel in their yachts and look down from these glass spires…”
The well-lit stage stood out in the dawn-like light. Spilt beer made the Plaza’s stone surface slick. People in front implored revelers in back to keep quiet. The sound system pounded the speaker’s staccato delivery which grew in volume.
“How many of you, how many brothers and sisters, were lost to space? You do dangerous work. Very dangerous!” The crowd quieted. The speaker paused and let her words take hold. “And you are not compensated. Families do not get compensated when one is lost.” People in front shouted agreement.
“You have supported the Portal for more than a hundred years. Years of being crushed by ships. Blown into space when systems fail. Taking care of ships from Earth, like Star Force ships coming in to collaborate with the oppressors.” She pointed towards the away team. They suddenly found themselves the focus of attention, their blue uniforms making them conspicuous among the orange jumpsuits of the dockworkers.
Loud outbursts began around them. They were “Elites”…“Out of touch”… “Traitors”…
Maureau looked around in disbelief. This is dumbfounding! Where does this discontent come from?
“Captain,” Gray said, “this is turning ugly. She’s whipping up anger.”
“We need to leave,” Song added. “The NPP opposes the Emissaries, and hates anyone related to them.”
“What reward do you get? Supporting interstellar trade between the Solar system and Girassian system, but you receive nothing! The Emissaries give you no future. You have no more opportunity than you had one hundred years ago. Mankind is restricted to the Solar System.”
A murmur rose at the periphery of the Plaza, amidst a swirl of people.
“Why are you here?” a massive man asked blocking the way of Song.
“We are your star force,” she said rocking up on her toes to get face to face. “We keep peace for you.”
“You should not be working with the aliens. They are overlords! You’re a traitor.”
A shower of beer fell on her.
“So much for just stepping out to stretch,” Maureau said. “We have just been identified as collaborators with an enemy of the people.”
On the Beach At Night Alone 