By Other Means by Evan Currie

curious.
    “Two more full cycles.”
    “Very well,” Parath said, “log the details and inform the Ambassador.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    Parath settled in, figuring it would be a quiet cycle or two. Once the Terrans were on station, well, then he could expect that to change. There were too many forces converging on his station for him to expect much peace once the Terrans provided a catalyst to the mix.  He was aware of the official players, the Ambassador and his team, various security forces, and representatives for the affiliated species.
    That meant that the Ross, the Parithalian, and the Lucians had representatives involved. Technically the Kirlan as well, but they always cast their vote with the Ross so he didn’t count them.
    Those were the known players, but Parath wasn’t blind enough to think that was a total list.
    There are too many new faces renting high level decks of this station, parking in expensive stationary orbits, or just plain thinking that they can hide from a trained Parithalian Master of Ships by pretending to be ‘simple traders’. As if I can’t recognize military pilots, no matter what sort of scow they’re in control of.
    The gathering of forces meant plans. Someone was making them, someone was executing them, and that meant someone had a use for the Terrans. That was something that worried him.
    Certain members of the Alliance once had a use for the Ross, too, as he recalled.
    Those plans ended with eighteen annihilated worlds, another thirty or more burned to the bedrock. Making plans about a technically advanced species without involving them was a sure way to bring about retaliation.
    “Tell Asir I want to speak with station security before the Terran’s arrive.” He said finally.
    “Yes Master, may I say about what?”
    “I need them to start hunting spies.”
    *****
    Kriss didn’t like his current job one bit, would have turned it down most times, but frankly he had a bit of a bone to pick with whoever set this whole situation in motion and this was the only way he knew to be entered into the game.
    A sentinel’s job was the fight, not snoop.
    Sometimes, however, one had to do things they didn’t particularly like in order to be permitted to continue doing what it was they wanted.
    “Sentinal Kriss.”
    He looked up, relieved for anything that distracted him from filling out reports on actions he didn’t actually give a damn about. Reports were bad enough when they were about combat, but why in the singular abyss would anyone want a report filled out about how much
nothing
he’d accomplished all day?
    “What is it?”
    “The Terran ship has crossed the frontier sentries, it will arrive shortly.”
    Kriss smiled slowly,
Finally. I may detest my assignment, but at least we’re about to see some movement on it.
    He wondered, really, if the Terran Sentinels got these sorts of assignments?
    *****
    Sorilla checked her uniform carefully with a dour eye, scouring herself in the mirror as she looked for the slightest imperfection. After several long moments she finally gave a short, sharp nod to her own reflection and snap unfurled her beret. The inspection ritual continued with that piece of cloth that had already seen five worlds, combat across most of them, and the interior of an alien ship that would likely remain classified long past her lifespan.
    Somehow it was still serviceable, she honestly wasn’t sure how, but she’d take it.
    Sorilla set the beret on her head, adjusting the rake just so, then gave herself a final narrow eyed glare in the mirror before mentally pronouncing herself fit for inspection.
    The Mexico had entered the alien system a short while earlier, making its approach to the primary world at a sedate ten gravities acceleration at the request of the locals. It meant the trip downwell had taken a lot of extra time, but being privy to the reasoning they gave, Sorilla neither faulted no begrudged them the request.
    She’d never realized how much the