One of the worst things about being in charge, reflected Cam, was the lack of anybody to hit with a quality excuse. Could be an absolute humdinger, a work-of-art, the greatest alibi in the history of dodging-stuff-you-don't-wanna-do-dom and it wouldn't matter one bit. It would just go to waste. That was the problem with making excuses to yourself. You saw them coming. You had the inside scoop, so to speak.

That didn't stop him trying, of course. Take today. There were a hundred good reasons not to keep his meeting with the Chief Executive of the Galactic Conglomerate. In fact, there were so many good reasons he wouldn't even need to include stuff like how intimidating she was or how much she didn't like him.

The principal reason, though, and the one he thought might actually have a chance of working on himself if he wasn't such a stubborn bastard, was what a complete waste of time it would be. He would provide his advice, she would—with clipped, diplomatic precision—tell him where he could shove his advice and he'd go home with his tail between his legs.

Given he was already at home with his tail between his legs, any reasonable employer would surely see the evident good sense of simply staying there in the first place and saving everyone the trouble. And perhaps (if they were a really, really reasonable employer) of retiring to the rec club for a few drinks instead.

But, no. As a human, an Earthling in a galaxy that still—even decades after Earth's tempestuous induction into GalCon—viewed his kind as primitives (quaint and plucky primitives with great taste in music, but primitives nonetheless) he'd spent a lifetime proving himself. It was a tough habit to break.

Even if he was now the chief Sentinel. Especially now he was now the chief Sentinel. Hell, that had just made it worse.

Still, although his conscience wouldn't abide giving the whole sorry exercise a miss, it wasn't averse to spreading the misery around a little. Glancing across the launch bay at at the sleek, gleaming interceptor parked beside his own, he smiled at the expression on his wingman's face.

"Cheer up, Kaz. It could be worse."

Rigellians weren't much for smiling, but the younger man managed a sour grin as he replied via his headset radio. "Yeah, I could be on another date with Lolo. Or even worse, in charge of this little expedition."

"Touché, my friend, touché."

"Huh?"

"Just an Earth expression, Kaz. Something my grandfather used to say. It's French, I think."

"Your grandfather? You mean—?"

"No, no that one. The other one. The normal one."

"Right. Shame. I was almost interested there for a second. Anyway, what's a French? Actually, never mind. If it's to do with Earth, I don't want to know."

"You know, some things about Earth are interesting."

"Pfft. Oh, please. Who did they ever conquer?"

"Well, nobody, I guess. But I seem to recall we did give you guys a run for your money back when you tried to conquer us."

"Yeah, that's not really how Rigel remembers it. It was only a technicality that saved your butts. Well, that and the baristas, I guess. You know, your non-normal grandfather and his buddies." 

As ever, Cam was both gratified and annoyed at this mention of his famous forebear. Gratified because he was fond—and proud— of the old bugger. Annoyed because that same old bugger cast an awfully big shadow. "Maybe, Kaz. I'm not sure it was quite that simple. Anyway, as hard as it may be for a Rigellian to believe, there's more to history than war and conquest—you know, things like literature and art and music and culture and—"

"Yeah yeah, AKA the boring stuff. Pass." 

"You're a philistine. You know that, don't you?"

"What's a philistine?"

"Forget it. Let's get out of here and get this over with."

"Aye aye, cap. After you."

With a gratifying shove back into his seat and the familiar thrill that never got old, he soared up out of the bay, executing a couple of barrel rolls along the way, just for the hell of it. He didn't get behind the joystick as much as he'd like to these days. With a conscious effort he switched back into sensible commanding-officer-mode and settled into a steady climb, with Kaz taking position off his right wing as the sky steadily darkened and the curved surface of Theves fell away below.

The usual endless cyclones raged their way around the equatorial belt, while over the frozen wastelands of the north a colossal aurora undulated in cold, silent majesty. The narrow green band of the planet's habitable northern temperate zone—from which they'd just launched—nestled in precarious harmony between the two harsh, inhospitable extremes.

"Another wild and crazy day in paradise," commented Kaz, gesturing at the aurora. "Looks like the guys in astro were right about the increase in stellar flares."

"Guy," replied Cam.

"Huh?"

"Guy, singular. Well, girl. Rokki and Zerf got poached by the research department in some Bellatrixian university. Same place that invented the scrunch-drive, apparently. Very prestigious. And well paid. We just didn't have the funds to hang on to 'em. So, when it comes to astronomy and science at Sentinel HQ, Aquaia is now it. And of course she's right. When have you even known her to be wrong?"

Cam gazed at Prima, the star that lay at the centre of the system, its blazing blue-white disc only rendered safe to look at by whatever shieldy filtering stuff the windscreen of his craft contained (when it came to science, he wasn't much of a one for details—he was more a big-picture kind of guy). "If there was any doubt about what's in store for us, do you think I'd be wasting my time, and just maybe my career, on this fool's errand?"

"You mean when you have so many other things you could be wasting your time on?"

"Watch it, shorty. A little respect for your commanding officer, please." Cam waggled his wings. "You might think you're some kind of hotshot, but I'm pretty sure I could still take you out."

"In your dreams, Earthman. Whoops, sorry." Kaz gave him an elaborate salute. "In your dreams, sir."

"I dunno." Cam shook his head. "No respect."

"Yeah," agreed Kaz. "Race you to Galactic Central?"

"You're on. Eat my ions, munchkin."

"What's a munch—? Hey, wait—I wasn't ready!"

####

Being placed in a holding pattern prior to docking came as a surprise, but not a big one. Just one more little indignity in the growing list to which Sentinels were exposed these days. Time was they'd be given top priority and ushered straight in, no questions asked, but these days it seemed space-freighters and minor diplomats came higher up the pecking order.

Still, reflected Cam, as they took their place in the queue waiting to enter the gaping maw of the docking bay, it wasn't like he was in a hurry to get to his meeting. Or even to go inside the vast monstrosity that was Galactic Central. His visits to the place had not always been happy ones.

Constructed in orbit around Prima Prime, the unimaginatively monikered first planet in the system, the colossal artificial satellite was home to the very top level of GalCon's bureaucracy, the select few tasked with keeping the sprawling, unwieldy galaxy-wide organisation that was the Galactic Conglomerate running in something approximating an orderly fashion.

Renovated, extended and added-to over the centuries of its existence, the logic-defying topography and eye-watering complexity of the structure seemed to Cam the perfect representation of the equally labyrinthine goings-on conducted within its hallowed and highly legislated halls. Just looking at the place was enough to give him a headache.

He took note of its multitude of AI-controlled gun turrets and orbiting drones with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. The former because at least somebody was taking the security of the place seriously. The latter because it was clear that same somebody didn't consider the Sentinels an important part of that equation. Or, for that matter, any part at all.

Still, he consoled himself, as long as the bad guys went bang and the bureaucrats got to keep on bureaucratting, in the end it didn't really matter who—or what—pulled the trigger.

"GalCen Control to Sentinel One and Sentinel Two, you are cleared to dock. Please make your way to landing pads 179 and 180."

"Copy, Control." Cam pondered. He'd been to Galactic Central plenty of times but couldn't recall ever having being allocated those pads before. "Hey, Control? Can I ask you something?"

"Make it fast, Sentinel One. We don't have all day."

"Tell me, how many landing pads do you guys have?"

There was a brief pause, which Cam charitably decided to attribute to embarrassment. "One hundred and eighty. Please make your way to the allocated landing pad without further delay. We need the approaches clear for important traffic."

"More important than a couple of Sentinels, you mean?"

"Proceed to your landing pad, Sentinel One."

"Roger, Control. You have a nice day now. Hey, Kaz?"

"What's up, boss?"

"Hope you packed some comfy shoes. We're in for a bit of a trek."

####

"Make this quick, Estrela." The Chief Executive of GalCon did not get up to greet Cam. In fact, she didn't even look up, instead keeping her attention firmly fixed on her desk's data screen. "And I don't want to hear a single word about your funding."

"Or lack thereof?"

That at least got a glance. "Don't try me, captain. The Pan-Galactic Council is almost upon us and on the very long list of things for which I do not have time, you are somewhere near the top. You're only here because that wretched clause in the Grand Charter requires me not just to fund your existence but also to at least pretend to listen to your advice. Say what you have to say and then get out."

"Of course, ma'am." Cam forced his tone to remain even. While very few things pushed his buttons, the CE unfortunately happened to be one of those things. His task was going to be difficult enough without losing his temper.

"The Council is why I'm here. It needs to be postponed."

She looked up sharply. He now had her undivided attention. "I'm in no mood for jokes, Estrela. Even if they were funny."

"I'm deadly serious, ma'am. Our science department has advised Prima is entering a period of unprecedented activity, with massive stellar flares imminent. There are already significant fluctuations in the stellar wind."

"Your science department?" The CE leant back in her plush chair and gave him a withering look. "Oh, please. A handful of no-hoper eggheads with warrior pretensions squirrelled away in a  dingy backwoods lab? You call that a science department?"

"No, ma'am. It's just the one no-hoper egghead with warrior pretensions. And it's actually quite a nice backwoods lab. But she's a very smart egghead. And I've learned from long hard experience to listen to what she says."

"Captain, do you seriously think this egghead of yours is better informed than the legions of astrophysicists and space-meteorologists GalCon has working around the clock in our state-of-the-art, no-expense-spared research facilities? Of course we know all about Prima's little hissy-fit."

"I'm relieved to hear it, ma'am. Then you'll also know that for the few days of maximum stellar activity hypersat communication will be down and scrunching in or out of the system will be impossible. For those few days Galactic Central will effectively be cut off from the rest of the galaxy. At the exact time it's hosting a gathering of the leaders of every major civilisation in the conglomerate."

"Yes, captain. We are quite aware of those issues."

Cam blinked. "But...but...then you must see why you have to postpone the meeting."

"I don't see any such thing."

"But, ma'am,"—Cam couldn't quite comprehend how this woman he knew to be highly intelligent could fail to grasp the implications of the situation—"it's a security nightmare. If something goes wrong then nobody can get in or out for those few days." He gave her an imploring look. "Ceilia, think about it—we'll be all on our own."

"I'll thank you to refer to me as Chief-Executive or ma'am, captain. And precisely what is it you expect to go wrong?"

"Precisely? Precisely?" To hell with staying calm. "Listen, ma'am. I don't expect anything precisely. I expect everything generally. That's why I'm a bloody Sentinel. That's what we're for!"

Unmoved by his outburst, the CE raised a sculpted eyebrow. "Thank you for the reminder, captain. These days it's all too easy to forget what the Sentinels are for. But you needn't fret about the implications of Prima's troublesome behaviour. Our best analysts assure me we have sufficient shielding to withstand any flares that come our way, and as for potential security issues, the AI assets located in-system are more than adequate."

"But—"

"Enough, Estrela. Tell me, do you have any inkling as to the logistical challenges involved in staging an event such as the Pan-Galactic Council? Of screening and shuffling and co-ordinating the jam-packed schedules of hundreds of world-leaders so as to find the tiniest sliver of time in which they might all meet? You cannot begin to grasp the difficulty. This council has been years in the planning. Years. Postponement is out of the question."

"Cancel it, then." Given this meeting was proceeding with pretty much the exact degree of success he'd anticipated, Cam knew he should stop digging, but he'd never really been one to let futility stand in his way. Which probably explained a few things. "Call the whole shebang off."

To his surprise this brought a smile. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He frowned at her, at a loss. "Ma'am?"

"Oh, come on, Captain Estrela. You expect me to believe you haven't given any thought to the Pan-Galactic Council's powers? To its wide-reaching and vast legislative capabilities? In particular, its unique and seldom used ability to alter the Grand Charter? That hallowed document which sets out the regulations by which the Galactic Conglomerate is governed?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, ma'am," he replied stiffly, although with a horrible sinking sensation he realised he did.

At the look of discomfiture on his face, the CE's smile broadened to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth. "Oh, I think you do, captain. I think you know very well the Council could—if it so chose, of course—remove the clause that outlines the purpose and indeed ensures the very existence of the Sentinels. Surely that sobering fact has crossed your mind?"

It hadn't, but saying so would make Cam appear either stupid or a liar and neither held much appeal. He was just trying to do his job. "My only concern is the safety of the Council members."

"Is that so? Fortunately for them, their safety is not your concern. However much you might wish it otherwise, the glory days of the Sentinels have passed, captain." She regarded him for a moment longer before returning to her data screen. "Ah, here's something more within the purview of your lot. It seems there are grumbles from the mining guild about pirate activity out in the asteroid belt. Kindly run along and see to that, would you? And captain?"

"Ma'am?"

"Don't hurry back."