: “ Involuntary Recall ”

Absinthe Starbase; Residential Section, 2E Green, Apartment #0009
The Junction System, Humboldt Quadrant, Gemini Sector
FEB 23 2681/2681.054; 1015 Hours (CST)

The ringing first came out of the darkness, and then into his conscious. The man first ignored it, and then noticed it. And then he tried to ignore it. But the ringing still kept coming; each ringing seemed like a jackhammer hammering away on his head. Maybe it was, because the man had a very bad hangover; but alas, the ringing still came. The man tossed and turned on his bed, putting his pillow on his head as if it was a cushion that would block the ringing but the ringing still came. His skull-cracking hangover was being worsened by this very loud and annoying ringing.

The ringing was from the base communications system, the system that enabled conversations between people within the base. The man vaguely realized that and grunted as he lied down on his bed, the ringing still as loud and annoying as before. He certainly wasn’t feeling any good at all to go up and answer it, and so he lied still hoping that the ringing would go away, that the person who was calling would just give up and go away. It didn’t, the ringing still kept on going, a loud annoying monotonous jackhammer. The man tried going to sleep amidst the ringing, but he couldn’t. Now he was feeling really really grouchy this morning. The ringing just kept on going.

So amidst the ringing, the man groaned and bitched as he eased out of bed with his head throbbing with each heartbeat. He moved ever so slowly, his hands groping for the control of the communications hub lying on his table, which was right next to his bed. His hands groped and shivered in the presence of the cold air of the room, and kept on going until a finger found the “open communications” button. The man then pressed the button and once the link was established, he used all of his remaining energy to shout a demand. “Who the fuck is this!?”

The answer was not long in coming.

“This is fucking Brigadier General Chesty McCormick, Confed Space Force! Is that you, Huynh?” a froggish-like growl shouted back.

For all of his adult years, he had tried so much and so hard to find the perfect remedy for a very painful hangover. He had asked around looking for the perfect hangover cure, one that could instantaneously stop the pain. He had tried many suggestions people told him, such as an ice-cold shower, coffee, boiled coca-cola, clam-juice, and all of that; but they just didn’t work. And now for Lieutenant Colonel Nick "Psychopath" Huynh, Terran Confederation Space Force (ret.), nothing had worked so effectively to instantly nullify a hangover then a very pissed off brigadier general on the line. And especially if he happened to be a very old war buddy and one of the very few top-brass flag officers that you respected.

Nick groaned one more time in extreme pain as he sat up on his bed, staring in the holo-vid image that was staring back at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect anyone with stars to come a-calling this far into the frontier just to have a nice little chat with little old me. Sir.” He pronounced sir as "cur," General McCormick was certainly not amused, especially when one of his hard-charging senior pilots felt like fucking around.

“I’m not here just to have a friendly chat with you, I’m here because something important has happened, and I really need to talk to you about it,” Chesty McCormick said as he looked at the holo-screen back at Nick, remembering that the man he was talking to was the same man, who over twelve years ago, had flew alongside him and had saved his life in more then one occasion. “Nick, I came here to talk to you and I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

“Hmm... General, you mean that you are right on this base as of right now? And what’s funny, you are wearing civilian attire,” the groggy voice responded back.

“Yeah, pretty much. I don’t want to attract much attention here. And by the way, it’s good to know that once again, we are getting along in a first-name basis.” For the first time in quite a while, a slight smile came on Nick’s face; for he and General McCormick had gotten along on a first name basis. McCormick called him Nick and Nick called McCormick by his first name: General. “Anyway, care to have some brunch with me? I heard that Absinthe Starbase has one of the best dining in the quadrant.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Good, I’ll be waiting down at Bevo’s Country Grill. I’ll pick up the tab. Meet me in the front of the eatery in twenty minutes. Out.”

The transmission ceased and as it did, Nick could feel the hangover coming back, rushing over him like a gigantic tidal wave. “Oh fuccck...” Nick groaned as he felt the wave of pain come back. He lied down on his bed for a few moments and contemplated this intense pain that greeted him this unlovely morning. After lying down for a few, Nick slowly eased out of bed and stood on the floor. He then slowly (and not so steadily) inched towards the bathroom.

The night before, Nick was at one of the bars when he heard someone boast how he could out drink anyone in the base. Of course being of the competitive type, Nick had challenged the man to a drinking fest. They consumed virtually everything offered on the menu: beer, whiskey, tequila, wine, vodka, champagne, scotch, and others. It got to the point in which Nick couldn’t remember who won the drinking contest, much less what happened for the rest of the night. He must have walked his way back into his own room, he didn’t find himself sleeping on his own vomit.

Nick finally got his way into the bathroom and looked at the mirror. He knew that he looked like shit, with a need to shave, and a need to shower up. He looked at himself in the mirror, “Nick Huynh, Lieutenant Colonel. Terran Confederation Space Force Retired. Callsign Psychopath. Why the hell did you ended up in this sorry situation?” Without another thought, Nick stepped into the shower. He winced at the cold water as he seeped into his hungover body.

After the Treaty of McAuliffe and his consequent honorable discharge from the Space Force, Nick wondered around looking for something to do. All of his squadron mates had gone home to their families and to their homes, but Nick didn’t have a home to go to. The Fleet was his life, and killing was his job. He kicked around the galaxy for a while, until coming to Absinthe Starbase. There he basically got a personal apartment and sat around for a while, handling various odd jobs around the base. Civilian life actually became bearable, and now they have come back.

Absinthe Starbase; Quadrant Z, Deck A
Outside Bevo’s Country Grill
25 minutes later

“You are late, Nick. You also look like shit,” Brigadier General Chesty McCormick observed when Nick arrived. “Oh yeah, nice attire by the way.” McCormick looked at Nick and his clothes. Nick was wearing a hastily thrown together attire of khaki shorts and a T-shirt that said “Kill them Kats!” which had a rather hilarious cartoon of a couple Excalibur fighters strafing Kilrathi Imperial Marines on the ground with their tachyon cannons. On his feet was a pair of flip-flop sandals. His hair was still wet from the shower and it was tousled and unruly, and at least he could have shaved for a bit before coming down here to talk to McCormick about why he came up here in the first place. But he didn’t.

“I get along, General,” Nick replied without emotion, still trying to get over the hammering that was going on in his skull. McCormick reached over with his left hand and pinched Nick’s bicep and then retracted it back. He then gave a slight little tap on Nick’s stomach, nodding as his fist touched hard muscle, not flab. Nick flinched as he did it; he always felt uncomfortable when other men touched him like that.

“See that you still stay in top shape, Lieutenant Colonel. That’s always good,” McCormick remarked as he patted his own generous stomach. “Me, I wished I exercised more now that I’m already past fifty, now I’m just going fat. It’s horrible.” He then casually gestured towards the door of the eatery. “Anyway, maybe we should get in shall we?” he asked, then started to walk into the door. Nick nodded and followed McCormick into the eatery. The two opened the door and walked in.

Nick knew the restaurant by reputation, and of the fact that he had eaten there occasionally. Bevo’s Country Grill was fashioned and advertised in the same way that it was: as a old-fashioned good old country grill that specialized in good Southern country cooking. The moment the two entered the eatery, they could already smell the luscious food being cooked and served to hordes of hungry customers. 20th style country music blared out of hidden speakers on the wall. Nick was always annoyed by country music, in his opinion it sucks ass, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. When the two men got in, an attractive waitress came up. Nick noticed that McCormick gave a little wolf’s whistle as she walked up.

“Hello again, Mr. Huynh. Nice to see you again - would you want a table for you and your friend here?” the waitress asked with a nice and sincere smile. It was obvious that the people who worked at the restaurant knew Nick pretty well.

“Yes I would,” Nick said. “And can you make it a remote table, away from the rest of the crowd? Me and my friend here has so much stuff to catch up on.” The waitress said “sure!” and then gestured the way and the two men followed her into the back of the room, far away from the rest of the crowd. There she motioned them into one of the plaid-covered tables. The waitress, her name was Sarah by the way, stood as she pulled out a little datapad for ordering.

“Would you two men like today’s special? Today’s special is a 12-ounze chicken fried steak and fresh mashed potatoes with cream gravy. Only 8 credits.” Nick looked at the waitress and nodded his consent, “Sure, I’ll take it. What about you?” Nick gestured to McCormick, who sat across him on the table.

“I’ll take it, too. With extra gravy, please,” McCormick said, and then the waitress asked the two for a drink. Nick decided on beer, a Bud Light. McCormick ordered a scotch on the rocks. The waitress smiled as she took the men’s orders and then said, “I’ll get your drinks right up, Mr. Huynh.” McCormick turned around to look at her shapely behind as she walked away. Nick didn’t say or do anything.

“So now they call you Mister, not Lieutenant Colonel Huynh, eh?” McCormick said as soon as the waitress moved out of ear-shot.

Nick said, “Yeah, pretty much. Civvie life is really different from the Fleet. It’s hard to get used to but it’ll just come to ya in a matter of time.” He then moved his head closer to McCormick’s head and then whispered in a no-nonsense snarl, “Okay, General. Let’s get to the fucking point. What the fuck? Why did you come here just to talk to me?”

General McCormick shook his head at the sudden outburst, “That’s always you, Nick, always want to get straight to the point, eh, you ol’ sod?”

“It saves time,” Nick said with no emotion at all. Brigadier General Chesty McCormick save a sly smile as he reached into his jacket and came with an envelope, which he then handed over to Nick. “Here you go, Nick, maybe you’ll get your answer here.” Nick looked at the envelope, and then he reached over and got it with his hand. He then looked at McCormick as he opened the letter up. In it was a single letter, which he took out and unfolded. Placing the envelope on the table, he picked up and read the letter. Which went like this:

FROM : General of the TCSF

TO : Lieutenant Colonel Nicholas T. Huynh, TCSF (ret.) 436-26-1635

SUBJ : Involuntary recall of retired officers to active duty

REF :

(a) 10 TCC 688
(b) 13 TCC 952
(c) SECSFINST 3632

1. Delivered by hand.

2. In accordance with Ref (a) you are hereby recalled to active duty. You are ordered to report directly to COL Harry F. Morse, III, no later than 1000 Hours on March 18. The period of your active duty is at the discretion of this office.

3. Failure to respond immediately will force this office to implement other means available.

4. (Signed) :

Thomas Watkins
General of the Terran Confederation Space Force

“You tellin' me that during the short Alien conflict with the Midway I been hearing on the freaking holovids, you didn’t bother to call me up and give me the opportunity to do what I do best: killing the enemies of the Confederation,” Nick remarked. “And now, just after we cleared the sector of these bugs, and after the TCS Midway is going back to Sol for a big celebration, and after everything’s over you expect me to come over and wear on the uniform again? Only to do what, fly patrol fighters and scratch my ass? Fuck you, General.”

By that time, the waitress came back with their drinks, setting a tall ice-cold bottle of beer on Nick’s side and then on McCormick’s side. She then remarked, “Your steaks will be along in just a few minutes.” Once she left, McCormick then replied back.

“Well, Nick, you are wrong. Everything is not over, in fact... it just begun.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, General. Let me get this straight. You guys RIF’ed me and the rest of my squadron from active service after Cynium and then you just forget to recall us when we heard of that alien invasion. Now you recall me back when this is over?” Why don’t you tell me now what the hell is going on?” Nick retorted back. McCormick shook his head.

“You know as well as I do, Nick, I can’t give top secret information in this type of environment, and god knows who might be sticking around eavesdropping in this conversation now,” McCormick said in a low tone, “But anyway, it doesn’t matter if you like it or not. You are going back. I’m Tom Watkins’s legal adviser and the order is legitimately binding. So, Nick Huynh, you now have an active commission in the Terran Confederation Space Force as a Lieutenant Colonel.”

Nick didn’t stop talking, “So, General, what if I don’t feel like going back? Just like right now. I don’t feel like going anywhere.”

McCormick responded, “If you see from that letter, it says the office will force other means available.” He stopped and held up his palm, “Okay, Nick. Let’s say you don’t wanna go quietly. And right now you don’t. Nick, take a look at the table two rows down.”

Nick looked two rows down. He could make out a table with two big burly sons-of-bitches just sitting. He caught the eye of one of them. “That’s great, General. Nice bodyguards. I bet they are polite, too. And spend their off-hours reading fairy tales and drinking hot cocoa.”

“They are Marine corporals and if you didn’t go quietly along, then I had orders for them to just drag you out of here.” Nick thought about that for a while. “So, Nick, I do suggest that you please do come along. It ain’t the Fleet that you were used to but you’ll get used to it.”

Right then the waitress came by, holding two oversized plates of cooked food, just hot off the grill. The waitress put the plates on the table, to the view of the hungry men. She smiled, then said, “Enjoy your food, sirs,” and then walked out. Nick looked down on his plate where a huge chicken-fried steak laid just begging to be eaten. A side of mashed potatoes rested right next to the battered delicacy, the entire thing covered with a generous amount of cream gravy. He already looked over at General McCormick, who started to dig in and was attacking his meal with great gusto.

“This food is great! Reminds me of all the stuff I had back home. This place sure knows how to make a good home-cooked meal. Hundred-times much better then the stuff the Fleet has in its galleys,” McCormick said through a mouthful of chicken-fried steak. Nick nodded as he started on his own food and took a bite. Damn, it was a good steak, much better than the frozen crap the Fleet serves. The batter was crisp, the meat inside was tender, and the gravy made it all taste really great. But still, Nick thought, too many of these and your gut would be hanging off a few inches off your belt.

“Yeah, it’s a good steak. That’s what they say about Absinthe. One of the best cooking in the quadrant.” Nick said after a chug of beer to wash it down, and then continued, “Okay, so I take it that something’s come up, and that you really want me back in. But I got just one question, just a simple yes or no will do. Will I be back in the action? Be honest, General.” McCormick took a quick look at him, and then nodded. “So you mean it’s that important?” Chesty McCormick, mouth full of food, nodded again, and then swallowed.

“I’ll fill you in on everything that needs to be known about your service when we are going back there,” McCormick replied.

“What do you mean, back there?” Nick wanted to know where the hell he was going.

“Vega Sector HQ. Home of Seventh Fleet. McAuliffe System. You do know where it is. But that’s all I’m going to say about your orders. I’ll tell you the rest when we are on the way there.” McCormick cut another chunk of steak and took a bite, leaving Nick to think about it. McAuliffe, that was where the Treaty of McAuliffe was signed, ending the Kilrathi War and bringing the Terran Confederation and the Union of Border Worlds into good terms once again.

“Seventh Fleet, that’s Confed’s biggest battle fleet. Has to be because of the strategic importance of Vega Sector,” Nick remarked. Chesty nodded. “Okay, General, if you can’t tell me what is going on, is there some other stuff about the Fleet you can? Hell, how is the Fleet like now?” Nick inquired. Chesty McCormick swallowed a spoonful of mashed potatoes, took a drink of his scotch, and then replied back.

“The Fleet got more modernized. Duke Leonard started massive shipbuilding construction, as a way to keep the economy boosting. Biggest naval expansion I have ever seen since the hottest days of the war. That man is quite a guy; some of the liberal pantywaist press were bitching about the funds going into the military rather then humanitarian purposes. Especially that dumbass Senator Diego.” Nick rolled his eyes; those people are one of the reasons why Confed got into the Kilrathi Wars in the first place. He recalled way back to the beginning of the Kilrathi War, where a certain jackass Senator More had tried to give his own “let’s fuck the military” plans.

McCormick then gave a sly smile, “Heh. Nick, this time it didn’t go that way. Duke told them to go to hell, and still got what he wanted. Senator Taggart had the same beliefs that Duke did, so the Fleet got a bigger budget to build more ships. Construction has been going great for the past year or so. We have been churning out brand new Plunkett cruisers and Murphy destroyers like there was no tomorrow to fill in the gaps of our war-torn fleet. You didn’t know it then but by the end of the First Kilrathi War, our entire fleet was down to 30% of its original size.”

Nick gave a whistle. He knew that Fleet losses were heavy during the war, but not that heavy. McCormick continued, “Yeah, the regular skirmishes with the Kilrathi kicked our asses, that’s when our forces were put under the butcher’s bill. Then there was the Cynium race. That was just the finishing touch. To be honest, if the Kilrathi didn’t sue for peace in the weeks afterwards, then we would have been in a world of shit, because we were pretty much outnumbered in anything.”

“So you built more ships. Bigger military expansion.”

“Yeah. We did. Now the Fleet is new and modernized. We have new Plunkett cruisers and Murphy destroyers in the front lines, ready to go. One of the things the designers did was to make them so they were easy and quick to build, not to mention pretty damn cheap. And also, there are also the fighter squadrons. Right now, all the proposed Piranha, Tigershark, Panther, Wasp, and Shrike squadrons are on-line and in service. We are just bringing up the space superiority Devastator and Vampire squadrons into commission.” McCormick noticed the glint on Nick’s eye when he heard the word "Vampire."

After a few minutes of eating, drinking, and talking on old times, McCormick finished the last of his steak and then gave a burp. “Damn, that was very good. Remind me to visit Absinthe more often.” He then took a look at Nick’s own plate, it was about half-way finished. “You aren’t hungry, are you, Nick?”

“Not hungry for now. I got better things to do, like getting back into the uniform.” Nick turned around. “So when do we leave?”

“Well, Nick, when do you want to leave?” McCormick inquired, “Let me guess. As soon as possible?”

Nick nodded. “Yep, as soon as possible.” Nick then turned around and called for the check. The waitress appeared almost instantaneously, and Nick gave his half-eaten plate to her, “Can I get this to go, ma’am?”

The waitress responded with a polite, “Certainly, Mr. Huynh,” as she took it up and went to get the check.

“Why don’t you just eat it now?" McCormick asked out of curiosity.

“Simple, for two reasons. One, I’m pretty full right now and I’ll finish it later,” Nick said and then his face broke into a slight smile, “Second, you said that the Fleet food still sucks. I might as well bring something to have a good dinner before I start moving onto the crap they serve.”

Absinthe Starbase; Management office
1307 Hours (CST)

“There you go, Mr. Huynh, all the rest of your rent is paid and all the necessary changes have been made into the computer. Your apartment is now vacant. It was really nice having you around, you were one of my best customers. Never caused trouble and any of that,” the development manager said as he shook Nick’s hand. Nick had visited the development manager and had turned in his key to his suite, as well as paying the rest of his rent for this month. Now the only thing left is to get his bags and meet Chesty McCormick on one of the loading docks.

“Thanks, sir,” Nick said, not in the mood to say anything roguish to the manager, the "land-lord" whom he had to pay rent every month for the past eight months that he was here. Surprisingly, Nick had gotten along with some of the people in Absinthe. At least they were smart enough to leave him alone at times; this manager was one of them. He then turned around and left the room, taking the elevator back to his apartment to get his belongings, which he had already packed up after the dinner with Chesty McCormick. Who would ever thought the old sod would visit him to pluck him back to service?

Nick thought about all the old times he had with Chesty when he was just a newly-minted Second Lieutenant; Chesty was a Major then in his squadron and both were under the command of the notorious Philip "Cannonball" Cannon, a great charismatic and wartime leader. Hell, that was a long time ago, Nick thought as he finally reached into his stateroom and opened it up. After the brunch, he had gone back to his apartment and had packed all of his stuff in. There wasn’t much to be brought, so at least it was convenient there. He had two full bags of personal belongings, the usual clothes and hygiene accessories, as well as a bunch of old war souvenirs. Just the usual stuff

Nick looked around the room, he was gonna miss Absinthe Starbase. The room was really nice; it didn’t cost much but it was like a hotel suite. It was really comforting and such. In only the eight months that he has been here, he really liked this place a lot. Maybe when I really sit down and retire then, Nick thought, yeah, like that will fucking happen. Can’t retire when there’s a bunch of bugs prowling and growling out there. He looked at the room he had managed to have kept relatively nice and tidy. A good thing, too, because he didn’t have to spend like hours and hours cleaning everything up.

He took one more look around the room, then turned around and walked out, letting the door lock itself shut.

Shuttle Renown Alpha
1329 Hours (CST)

It took a while for Nick to walk his way to the loading dock, where McCormick told him to show up. Nick stopped in the front of one of them and looked. Yep, this is the one, he thought. Loading dock 57. Nick walked up to the loading dock and pressed the intercom button on the door, just to let the people inside know that he was here. The door slid open immediately, and Nick, with his bags, walked into the loading dock.

Chesty McCormick greeted him as Nick walked up, “Okay, Nick. We’re ready to go. This is all your stuff, eh...?” he said motioning to Nick’s bundle of personal possessions. Nick nodded, “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”

“Yeah you are... you and that attire of yours. You took the time to turn in your housing account and pack your bags but still didn’t have time to get out of that ridiculous outfit of yours, huh?” Chesty growled. Nick still wore his T-shirt and his shorts and this time Nick looked down on himself and shrugged. McCormick shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter, we’ll get you a new issue of uniform when we get on the ship. And a haircut not to mention” McCormick then gestured towards the shuttle that was resting on the loading bay. “Well, we should get on shall we?” Nick nodded his agreement and the two walked up to the shuttle.

It was one of the new Condor-class utility shuttles, a unique design that can be configured to do any logistics role: from refueling, to search and rescue, to transporting goods to just plain old personnel transport. The current one was configured for personnel transport, Nick saw as he stepped up the makeshift ladder into the shuttle. It was by no means one of the VIP luxury jump-capable shuttles that were used to ferry admirals around, but it was nice. At least the seats are comfortable, Nick thought, as he put his gear down and sat on one of the seats.

There was a shuttle pilot crew in the front, and they were revving up the engines on the shuttle. Nick felt the vibrations of the shuttle’s engines as he put on his safety belt. The Condor rumbled as its engines started to power up. It was a while since Nick had been into the cockpit of a fighter. Naturally, he would just love to go up to the cockpit and take the controls and fly out of it himself, but this wasn’t his craft.

No, just sit back and enjoy the ride. The nice smooth...

The deep rumbling of the Condor’s engines shook Nick’s nice thoughts up. He thought to himself, Yeah, Confed’s newest shuttle and it’s as comfortable as sleeping next to a roaring lion, as he felt the severe vibrations of the engines. BuShips might have made the Condor to transport, but obviously didn’t give a flying fuck about comfort.

Soon the Condor picked up enough power to start lifting off the ground, and then its maneuvering thrusters kicked in, pivoting the shuttle to the opening of the docking bay. Then with a sudden burst of acceleration, the shuttle punched out of the bay, picking up speed as it left the artificial gravity of the base. It’s phase shielding glimmered as it passed through the force-field curtain that separated the artificial atmosphere from the void. Nick felt that weird sensation as the shuttle went from artificial g’s to zero-g. It was an overwhelming experience.

The shuttle then did a hard bank to starboard but after a few seconds, it soon slid into a nice smooth cruising path. “Estimated time to destination will be in ten minutes, have fun,” the pilot up front said over the intercom system as the shuttle banked into its present course. Nick looked out of the shuttle and saw a pair of Tigershark fighters sliding into formation. They looked sleek and sharp, obviously fresh from the factory. They seem to just appeared out of nowhere, but quickly they slid into close escort with the shuttle.

“So, General, where’s our destination?” Nick asked McCormick who was sitting in another seat across from him. “You must have been pretty damn protective if you have to send fighter escort to cover my ass back into active service.”

General McCormick ignored Nick’s remark as he answered the first question. “We’re landing on the TCS Renown - it’s a Confed destroyer that we launched the shuttle and these Tigersharks from. Once we’re aboard we’re going to do a high-speed run to McAuliffe. It’s going to take us a few days to get there. ”

“I thought destroyers don’t carry fighters,” Nick remarked.

“Yeah, but the new Murphy-class does and they can carry them internally in a little hangar. The Renown has a half squadron of Tigersharks and this shuttle,” McCormick replied back. Nick was kinda skeptical; normally fleet destroyers weren’t supposed to carry fighters. There were fleet carriers that carried the air support they needed. The later model destroyers had fighters attached externally but it was a bitch to maintain them. “Let’s just say that the shipbuilders had good reason to design ships to carry them.”

Nick nodded and then sat back down on his makeshift couch. Amidst the engine rumbling he closed his eyes. He was tired as hell, and finally this hangover was starting to dissipate. But not by much. He just closed his eyes and had a little rest and thoughts...

The sudden deceleration in speed brought Nick out of his senses as his suddenly got out of unconsciousness. He looked around. Several minutes have elapsed and now from what he saw outside the portal was a large ship. It had to be one of the new model destroyers that were in Confed service these days. From how the shuttle was angling and dropping his speed, Nick could tell as that the shuttle was attempting a landing.

As the shuttle was vectoring in, Nick thought about his future. Whatever it was, he thought, something must have happened for Confed to pull him back into service again. That much was a given.

“Please buckle in your seat belts, gentlemen,” the pilot said from up front. “We’re starting landing approach.”

FINIS