“Captain, a ship is approaching,” said Reyes. “Its transponder signals ‘Heavy frigate, USNE 1984.’”

“All personnel to base.” Ishikawa expected a Synod ship; he knew a large one was in orbit. The USNE hated the Synod. So the approaching ship might not be hostile—yet. On the other hand, it could be Synod, flying false colors.

He studied the spaceport monitor. The hopeless freighter had been propped up with bricks and garnished with quaker guns. Steam from a hidden hose curled up from its engines, luridly floodlit. The earthworks around the port bristled with exotic weapons, each moving or making radio noise or doing whatever it did, and all aimed at the port.

He checked his selfie to make sure their only flag was in view, and opened a channel. “This is Republic of Threeworld Space Command. You’re trespassing in our territory. Land in Bay 3 immediately and prepare for inspection.”

Another voice cut in. “It’s a trick! All their guns are fake!”

Poker-faced, he pretended that hadn’t happened. Damn FOGgers!