Innes in Command
Copyright© 2026 by Lumpy
Chapter 6
“Listen up,” Wexler said as they arrived in the rear compartment. “We’re guests on this station, which means you will conduct yourselves accordingly. No unauthorized wandering and no fraternization with the local population. You have your duty assignments, and you will stick to them. Chief Pierce, sort the detachment and have them ready to move.”
“Aye, sir,” Pierce said.
Innes passed the chief, who, it turns out, happened to be the chief who’d walked in on him talking to Marchand on his second day on the ship, and followed Wexler out of the rear hatch, stepping onto the deck of Shiro Station for the first time. It was strange to see it so empty; he had imagined it was usually brimming with people moving in every direction.
A man in a formal suit was waiting for them near the berth, flanked by two station security officers in dark uniforms. He was in his forties, Innes guessed, with the orbital pallor that came from spending your life under artificial light.
“Lieutenant Wexler,” the man said, offering his hand. “Station Commander Jun Hua. Welcome to Shiro Station.”
“Commander,” Wexler said, shaking his hand. “Thank you for accommodating us.”
“Of course.”
Jun turned to Innes, who nodded slightly and said, “Ensign Kingsford.”
“As in Duke Kingsford?” he asked.
“Yes. He’s my father, though I’m just here to do my job.”
“Still, fascinating to find someone like you out here. Well, I guess we all have jobs to do. I’ve prepared a brief tour to orient you to our facilities. Lieutenant, if you’d like to get your men settled first...”
“Chief Pierce can handle that,” Wexler said. “I’d prefer to see the station’s layout immediately.”
Pierce moved up beside them. “Sir, if you have a moment...”
“Get everyone sorted, Chief,” Wexler said without looking at him. “Equipment inventory, berthing assignments, the usual. I want a full report in two hours.”
“Aye, sir,” Pierce said, making the smallest of faces before turning and heading back toward the shuttle.
“This way, then,” Jun said, gesturing toward a hatchway. “I’ll show you the essentials.”
They followed him into the station proper. The corridors were wide, easily five meters across with three-meter ceilings, designed to handle heavy traffic. The bulkheads were lined with conduits and access panels, but someone had taken care with the aesthetics. Lighting strips provided even illumination without harsh shadows, and at regular intervals, displays showed station information, news feeds, and what looked like community announcements in both English and Dongbei.
People moved past them with purpose, dock workers in coveralls mixing with what looked like administrative staff in business attire and off-duty crew in casual clothes. Most were Dongbei, their features showing the ethnic synthesis that had occurred over the seventeen centuries of the exodus and settlement, though Innes spotted others as well, Concordian merchants and crew from visiting ships creating a diverse flow of humanity.
“Shiro operates with a permanent crew of just under three hundred thousand men and women,” Jun said as they walked. “That includes everyone from dock workers and cargo handlers to maintenance engineers, administrative staff, customs officers, traffic controllers, and security personnel. Everything that would be needed to maintain a reasonably sized city, plus everything needed to keep a ship in deep space running. We coordinate everything that keeps a city of almost seven million functioning, from life support and power distribution to waste management and food production. Added to that are the tens of thousands of visitors to the station every day, from ship’s crew to those just wanting to experience what Shiro Station has to offer. It’s a complex situation to say the least.”
Innes had read the numbers in the report, but seeing everything up close put them into a new light.
“That is impressive,” Wexler said, and for once he sounded genuinely impressed rather than skeptical.
“We have been managing large-scale orbital habitats since the exodus. Unlike some of the destination systems, Kumo did not have a planet with Earth-like qualities, which meant we spent a large number of the early years after landing just finding ways to survive. The early settlements on Hokkaido and Miyako were either simple domes or underground, which didn’t give us a lot of room to grow, so Shiro was pressed into service. Originally, it orbited Hokkaido, but once the population on the planet started to grow, it was moved out to Kaiju’s orbit to take advantage of the resources we could get from it and have better access to the belt.”
“The station can move?” Innes asked, getting a look from Wexler, probably for speaking out of turn.
“To some degree. If I remember my history right, it took almost twenty years to get it out here from Hokkaido. We have maneuvering jets here for orbital correction if needed, although to use them to cross the system was sheer madness.”
They reached a transit platform, one of several that connected the corridor docking facilities to the inhabited rings. A small transit car that looked like it could hold ten or fifteen people with bench seating along the sides and handholds for standing passengers waited for them. Jun gestured them inside, the doors sealing behind them.
The car began moving smoothly along the corridor’s length, carrying them toward one of the rings. Through the windows, Innes could see the structure of the central corridor passing by, the gaps between rings where docking bays opened to space.
As they approached, the rotation became apparent, the ring spinning around the stationary corridor like some enormous wheel. The car synchronized with the rotation and moved into the ring proper; the shift from microgravity to spin gravity smooth but noticeable.
“We’ll start with the promenade,” Jun said. “It’s the commercial and social heart of Ring D, but it’ll give you a sense of how the station functions.”
The car arrived at the Ring D transit station. The station platform was busy, people moving in all directions, some boarding cars heading back to the corridor or to other rings, others changing to the transit car that went around the ring. A pair of children ran past, chased by an exasperated adult calling after them in Dongbei.
They exited the transit car, and Innes stopped involuntarily when he saw the promenade.
The space was vast, a multi-level open atrium that stretched as far as the eye could see, until it curved out of sight and looked to stretch up five decks. The architecture blended utilitarian function with deliberate aesthetic choices, clean lines and efficient use of space softened by greenery, water features, and carefully designed lighting that mimicked natural daylight. Banners hung from the upper levels, some displaying Dongbei calligraphy, others showing the seal of the Concordian Republic, still others advertising businesses or upcoming events.
But what struck Innes most was the energy. Thousands of people filled the promenade, moving between storefronts and restaurants that lined the multiple levels. Kiosks positioned at intervals sold specialty foods and luxury goods, and here and there were carefully maintained plants and small trees providing visual relief from the architecture. Display screens showed news feeds and advertisements in a mix of languages. It felt vibrant, alive, like walking into the commercial heart of any major city except they were in orbit around a gas giant.
“The central promenade,” Jun said, watching their reactions with what might have been satisfaction. “It’s the commercial heart of the station. Most of the permanent resident population lives in one of the other rings, with this one dedicated to government offices, two more large areas like this, entertainment centers, as well as areas for off-system representatives and some of our more active community members. The other rings are mostly residential with some mixed shopping, but nothing to this scale.”
When Jun said ‘active community members,’ Innes’s political ear heard wealthy.
It made sense. All this was a large city, after all. There were bound to be those who made fortunes in shipping, manufacturing, or commerce.
He was certain what wasn’t on the tour was the other end of that spectrum. Everywhere there was a section for the ultra-wealthy, there was always an area for the destitute not that far away, although always out of sight.
People like that needed attendants, shopkeepers, and servants, after all, and those people had to live somewhere.
Just not somewhere where people needed to see them.
They walked through the promenade, and Innes noticed that while a few people glanced at their uniforms with casual curiosity, most simply went about their business. From the brief, he knew CDF personnel would be a common sight.
“You seem to be doing well,” Innes said.
“We are,” Jun said simply. “It is always a struggle, of course, keeping this many people alive and well this far from everything else, but our people are survivors. For most, their families have been out here for generations.”
There was something in how he said it, not defensive exactly, but aware. He was satisfied with what he had here, no doubt, although Innes knew there might be more to it.
The Dongbei he had met before had been similar, in many ways. They were an intensely proud people with a very specific sense of self.
Which made sense, given their history.
The Dongbei were Concordian citizens, but they maintained their own identity, their own culture, within that larger framework. He knew that was true from how his father had spoken of them. The Dongbei vote as a bloc on most issues, especially in the House of Commons, a unified community within the Republic.
“How do you handle security with this many people?” Wexler asked, his tactical mind clearly engaged.
“Carefully. We have a security force of about two thousand, handling everything from petty crime to emergency response on the station. Most issues are minor: disputes between merchants, drunk crew from visiting ships, the occasional theft. Serious incidents are rare but not unheard of. We’ve been stretched thin since the detachment was pulled, I will admit. It has always been a contentious relationship, but suddenly having to fill the hole they left behind, which is mostly customs work, has been difficult. The timing was also unfortunate as there has been an uptick in pirate activity for the past six months, and my security force is not geared to provide protection outside of the station.”
They left the promenade, Jun leading them back toward the transit station. “I’d like to show you one of our observation stations,” he said. “There are two positioned at the ends of the central corridor. One is set up mostly for scientific observation and research, and the other is mostly there for the view. There are mixed opinions on them. Some of our visitors find that much open space disconcerting, while others think it feels more open and less confining than the rest of the station.”
They took the transit car, which was incredibly fast, Innes realized, now that he wasn’t openly gawking at the view outside, and transferred to another one once they reached the corridor that took them to one end of the station on the corridor’s massive twenty-kilometer length.
The layout of the transit system was actually very easy to grasp, even though each car had a display showing all of the lines and which one you were on. At one intersection where the car paused briefly, Innes watched as a cargo container passed through on an automated track parallel to theirs, guided by the same magnetic systems toward its destination.
The car slowed as they approached the end of the corridor, and Jun keyed open the hatch and led them to a large area with an impressive open viewport that looked out across Kaiju’s upper atmosphere and the rocky ring system that stretched beyond.
The view was stunning, but Innes found his attention drawn to the defensive rail gun emplacements mounted nearby, just visible through the upper edge of the viewport. He could see at least three from this position, and the briefing materials had mentioned dozens distributed along the station’s length.
Sadly, they could not linger, although Innes knew he would be back during his off hours. He was definitely counted among those who liked to look out at the stars.
It felt open and endless with possibilities.
Hopeful, even.
They moved on, Jun taking them deeper into the station’s core. Similar to how capital ships were constructed, the command center was located in the heart of the station, protected by multiple bulkheads and positioned where it would be most difficult to damage, even if the station came under attack.
The compartment was larger than Innes had expected, almost twice the size of the bridge on the Illustrious, with workstations arranged in concentric semicircles facing a central holographic display. Twenty or thirty people worked at the stations, monitoring everything from life support systems to traffic control to power distribution. Additional displays showed sensor feeds, communications channels, and a wealth of other information.
“This is where we coordinate station operations. Traffic control manages all incoming and outgoing vessels, ensuring safe approach vectors and preventing collisions. While we do monitor them here, things like engineering, life support, and power generation are all handled in the engineering section.”
Wexler surveyed the command center with professional interest, taking in the scope of the operation.
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