Subcommander Polk never drank coffee. For one, it tasted like distilled bitterness and smelled like dirt, not an endearing combination to him. For another, twitchiness was the last thing anyone needed from a helmsman. That all sounded well and good, but while everyone else seemed awake and alert at the bridge Polk was struggling to keep his eyes open.

To be fair, he told himself, it wasn’t like his skill would be needed today. It was just a standard patrol, which meant a lot of autopilot and very little actual flying. He wasn’t even sure where they were right now, not that it mattered. A quick glance at the navigator’s console answered his question; they were near Gamma Eridanis, a system with no life and no interesting features. There wasn’t even any Hegemony activity in the sector. Fun times.

“Captain on the bridge!” one of the bridge officers called. Everyone turned around and stood at attention, only to be dismissed back to stations by the captain as he waved them off.

“At ease,” Captain Leonard Casillo said. The captain seemed out of breath; while he tried to keep in shape like the rest of the crew, it was a losing battle. Starships weren’t great places for exercise, and the Galaxie was no exception. Besides that, the captain’s mediterranean complexion had paled considerably, with a moused-up wad of jet black hair on top of his head. His bearing, however, projected easy confidence.

“What have we got this morning?” he asked.

“More of the same, sir,” Polk replied, glancing over his helm controls to make sure of it. “Some stray comets, a nebula ten parsecs away, and of course Gamma Eridanis.”

“Fascinating,” Casillo said, clearly trying, and failing, to put enthusiasm into the statement. Polk gave a noncommittal grunt in response, flicking the helm controls so they wouldn’t pass too close to the comet. Once satisfied that they weren’t going to hit anything for the next thousand light-years, he pulled up a picture of the Galaxie as he always did. He wasn’t sure whether other crewmembers did this, but he loved looking at the ship in profile. Its teardrop-shaped black hull reminded him of old Earth submarines, with a sleekness that made the ship beautiful as it zipped through space.

“Captain,” the communications officer said. “Incoming transmission. It’s a priority-one sir,” he added, his eyes widening. “Directly from High Command.”

“Put it through,” Casillo said, straightening his uniform and sitting up in his seat. Polk couldn’t help but smirk as the entire bridge crew echoed their captain, hiding coffee cups and sitting at attention. Priority-one transmissions usually meant admirals, and a chance to impress the top brass was too good to pass up. A good first impression could open doors.

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The main viewscreen, which had been showing the myriad of stars around them until now, snapped to a picture of none other than Admiral Nistor himself. He looked older than in the history books, Polk noticed, with hair so thin it was almost translucent and a jagged cliff of a face. However, Polk could still spot the telltale glint in his eye, like he and his audience were sharing an inside joke.

“Admiral Nistor,” Casillo said, swallowing and throwing on a nervous smile. “This is an… unexpected pleasure.”

“Indeed captain,” Nistor replied, giving a small smile. “I’m contacting you because one of our listening posts received an SOS signal, and we want your ship to investigate.”

“From the other side of the DMZ?” Casillo asked, raising his eyebrows. Before the bridge crew had time to worry about crossing into Hegemony territory, Nistor shook his head and held out his hand in a calming gesture.

“No,” he answered. “It came from a small planet from an unexplored section of space, named Iapetus Three by the last survey into the region.”

“And when was that, admiral?” Casillo asked, leaning forward. The admiral had him interested, Polk realized with a smirk. The prospect of anything other than a random, mundane patrol would do that.

“One hundred and fifteen years ago, believe it or not,” Nistor replied. “Some telescopic surveys and one-man cryoship was sent into the area, which they lost contact with almost immediately. Didn’t contain any strategic planets or major resources according to the surveys, so it wasn’t considered a priority for exploration. The interesting thing is,” he added. “It lies along a subspace comm route.”

“Think someone’s tapping our communications?” Casillo asked, his eyebrows creasing in concern. Nistor nodded agreement, not looking any happier about the prospect than the captain was. Polk wasn’t happy either; he didn’t like the idea of someone listening in on supposedly secure conversations.

“It would explain why the transmission was in Terran,” the admiral said. “Either way, I want you to check it out, see if there’s a first contact to be made or not. You know the protocol; I’ve sent you the coordinates. Good luck, Galaxie.”

“Thank you admiral,” Casillo said. “We’ll keep you updated. Galaxie out. Mr. Polk,” the captain continued, turning to him. “Plot a course for Iapetus three, best possible speed.”

“Yessir,” Polk replied, plugging the coordinates into the navigation computer. They normally had an officer serve as navigator, but it wasn’t a tough course to plot, without any major nebulae or black holes to work around. Polk interpreted “best possible speed” to mean as fast as he could go without having to divert extra power to the engines. The planet would be there whether they made it in six hours or forty minutes. No reason to tax the ship unnecessarily.

“Course plotted, captain,” Polk called. Casillo nodded acknowledgement, then gestured for him to start with a wave of his hand.

“Let’s fly,” the captain said, giving a small smile.