: “ Indoctrination ”

Vicinity of ConFleet Vega Sector HQ. . .

Shuttle Renown Alpha
The McAuliffe System, Vega Sector
February 26, 2681; 1537 Hours (CST)

A “whoosh!” overtook the shuttle as it was catapulted off the launch tube of the destroyer, clearing into zero-G in no less then two seconds flat. Everyone on board the shuttle gripped tightly as they felt the sensation from going from artificial G to zero G and then everything was doing ok.

It had been six hours since the TCS Renown, a Murphy-class destroyer, had jumped into the McAuliffe System. The Renown had done a fast three-day run from Junction System, full flanking speed all the way. In just those three days, they have jumped six systems and went from Gemini, to Sol, and then Vega Sector. An older model destroyer would have taken at last four days, but the newer model Murphy-class was built with speed in mind. And that enabled it to move faster among the stars.

After jumping into McAuliffe, a light corvette on picket duty greeted them and had already sent word to Sector HQ that they were coming. It then took the destroyer another four hours to move at top speed to Confed Sector HQ. Right now Confed was in a wartime footing; initiated by the Alien invasion it has taken time for almost the entire Fleet to mobilize. The Midway might have destroyed the wormhole in Kilrah but it wasn’t over. There were still rogue aliens that had squeezed through around. And now almost every available ship was being deployed out to Kilrathi space, to hunt down and destroy any rogue alien forces still around.

“Oh my god,” Nick Huynh said as he looked through the viewports of the Condor shuttle. He was staring at the destination in front of him. In just three days, he had done the transition once again: from civilian to military officer. He got his hair trimmed to regulation standards, he shaved his once scruffy face, and he traded his ridiculous civvie clothes for a blue Confed Space Force uniform. Rank insignia, aviation wings, and all.

So this was how the Fleet is now, he thought as he marveled at the vast number of ships massing around the system. He remembered the super base, which was Vega Sector HQ and the home to Confed’s Seventh Fleet. The base was still as huge as he remembered it, it was where the Treaty of McAuliffe was signed. It was huge because it had to be. It was, after all, home of the Confederate Seventh Battle Fleet.

The Confederate Seventh Battle Fleet. Out of the six plus fleets in the ConFleet Armada, this was one of the biggest. It had to be because of the strategic position of Vega Sector. The Seventh Fleet composed of a number of carriers and a large number of other warships. Nick remembered that during the hottest days of the War, there were as many as six carriers stationed at Seventh Fleet. Now because of horrible condition of fleet carriers in Confed and of the recent losses, there were only a couple of precious fleet carriers left in Seventh Fleet.

All around the base’s vicinity were numerous warships either taking in goods or patrolling for the enemy. Scattered all around were Pelican-class fleet transports, their holds stowed down with precious war materials, such as food, fuel, weapons, and other necessities. Plunkett cruisers and Murphy destroyers were scattered all around the outskirts of the base, and fighter patrols whizzed by on routine yet vigilant patrol sweeps. In the distance, Nick counted an a heavy cruiser and three destroyers on patrol. And these were just the garrison forces.

Docked on one part of the base were a pair of Pelileu-class troopships, a massive Marine LC transport that could carry an excess of fifteen-hundred assault Marines each. Nick also counted a pair of Plunkett cruisers and six Murphy destroyers docked at the base as well taking in supplies. There was a whole bunch of ships, and Nick whistled in admiration. Seventh Fleet had a reputation of being Confed’s main battle fleet because of the strategic importance in occupying Vega Sector and protecting it from the Kilrathi. During the War, Vega Sector was surrounded on three sides by Kilrathi space, and it was necessary to keep a big staying power to render the sector safe.

Nick looked out into the distance and saw a small task group already underway, accelerating away from the base towards the nearest jump point. Nick counted a corvette, two new destroyers, a light cruiser, and an escort carrier. The escort carrier was one of the newer type of escort carrier; unlike previous escort carriers made from converted transports, these were built from the keel up. But they were still as aged as the outdated Concordia-class fleet carriers, and these were still being pressed on the front lines. Nick sighed as he thought of that; if Confed had to take older escort carriers and put them in the front line then that must really say something about its current carrier force.

More fighters flashed by the Renown, and Nick recognized them as Tigershark and Panther fighters, deadly new Confederation fighters already in mass production. The new Confed was different from what he remembered it, when the Excalibur used to be the premier Fleet fighter. Now they were outdated fighters given to militia unit. There were also shuttles flying everywhere, transporting goods here and there. It was a huge logistical effort. The size of the logistics forces impressed Nick, but what really caught his eye was the subject of the logistics efforts herself.

He took a really hard look on it, “No, it can’t be...” He looked at the object as he saw the shuttles and transports work on her just as a hive of worker drone bees serve their own hive queen. This was the same effect, in some similarity. Nick had seen holovids of this ship but never got a chance to see one up close and personal. It was everything that they advertised about it, and Nick now agrees with them after he viewed the reports with some skepticism. “Damn, that’s fucking huge... ” And now for the first time in his life, Lieutenant Colonel Nick Huynh got to see a Midway-class megacarrier with his own eyes. And it was right here, in McAuliffe.

“Ain’t she a beauty, Colonel?” one of the enlisted spacemen remarked as he saw Nick’s jaw drop at the sight of the megacarrier. Nick was paying so much attention to the force surrounding McAuliffe station that he never heard him walk up. “That is Confed’s newest fleet carrier, sir, the TCS Mistral Sea. She’s taking in supplies, fighters, and crew for her first deployment.” He didn’t hear a response from Nick, maybe that was because Nick was admiring the view of the ship.

After Nick took a long view at the ship, he turned towards the young man, not even twenty and asked, “What you know about her?”

The spaceman continued on, “She was nearing completion when the aliens attacked into known space, as a result construction was increased virtually ten-fold. She was still finishing up construction as she was being deployed over to Vega. And now she’s ready, taking on fighters, weapons, supplies, and crew. Guess that you and me are one of the new crew, sir.” The young man chuckled a bit. Nick gave a thin smile and then looked out the viewport again.

Mistral Sea looked about two and a half times the length of Nick’s old carrier, the Concordia-class TCS Invincible. She looked about the size of three carriers the size of Invincible crammed together, Nick estimated, she was that huge. Mistral Sea looked much more advanced, sophisticated, and high-tech then the old Invincible or any of her sister ships. Her new paint job shined like a new-born star, a fierce complement of laser turrets and missile launchers dotted her sleek size. An image of the Fleet was painted upon the bridge of the massive carrier.

Nick noticed the six launch tubes that were in Mistral Sea’s bows, they looked like a new type of fighter launching design. Her internal structure must be made for such a system like that; an integrated system involving the storage of her three fighter wings, and "branches" for launching multiple fighters. From what Nick had seen, it was far more advanced then the old Invincible, whose single launch bay/hangar proved convenient for launches but was drastically vulnerable to any focused fighter attacks on that area. A lone Dralthi pilot with dreams of glory could KO Invincible’s entire fighter launching capability with a single suicidal attack on the landing bay. It looks like Mistral Sea and the other Midways were built with that problem in mind.

“Where are we going to land?”

“I think we’re gonna land on the Mistral Sea first.” As he said that the shuttle banked towards the huge megacarrier.

“Incoming Condor-class shuttle, this is the TCS Mistral Sea. Please give authentication codes,” a feminine voice said over the speaker; somehow Nick recognized the voice. It sounded so familiar. It was the voice of a woman who could launch a thousand fighters and welcome each one home sweetly. It took a moment before Nick recognized who it was; it was a memoir from over a year ago.

“It’s Lieutenant Hatcher from Invincible,” Nick muttered to himself as he now recounted who it was. Dana Hatcher was the original communication’s officer from the now-retired TCS Invincible. She had that nice smile that made everyone feel so welcome when they came back to land. Now she was on again for another tour on the Mistral Sea. As the shuttle came in for a landing, Nick wondered how many other people from Invincible was back too. Nick put on his seatbelt to get ready for landing.

Landing Bay Alpha, TCS Mistral Sea
1550 Hours (CST)

“All hands, secure from recovery operations. Flight deck pressure positive, artificial gravity positive. Landing bay secure for routine operations,” the PA said over the speaker of Landing Bay Alpha as Nick unfastened his seat after the Condor landed on the Mistral Sea’s deck with a little faint thump. He quickly took the technical manual of the F-109A Vampire fighter he had been reading and shoved it into his flight bag and then stood up and gathered the rest of his belongings.

During the three day run, the manual was given to him and Nick was reading it for quite a while. From what he seemed the Vampire fighter flight controls were similar to the old Excalibur he flew, but he quickly put that out of his mind as he walked towards the door. The door of the Condor opened up automatically as it revealed itself to the rest of the Mistral Sea’s atmosphere. Without any thought, Nick quickly walked towards the door, out the door, down the ladder, and then on the deck.

Nick could sense that this ship was new. It had that scent of freshly painted durasteel that wrinkled his nose. He looked around and saw that everything looked brand new. He looked all around and saw some fighters resting down, technicians working on them. He noticed some as Panther fighters and Devastator bombers. He looked further down the hangar deck, and saw that the hangar connected with the main storage area, where most of the fighters are stored. He could see closeable blast doors ready to shut and seal the main fighter storage area from the rest of the flight
deck should fires break out.

Yep, this ship was spanking new, and Mistral Sea would count on pilots like him to get the job done. Nick looked around and saw a single man standing near the shuttle. Nick took a moment to look at him. The man was six feet tall, and his brown hair was neatly combed and he had a shaved and groomed handsome face. He was in his early forties and he was decked out in a regulation Confed Navy uniform, on his sleeve were four gold stripes of a Navy Captain (O-6). If there was a holovid about a war, then the man would be the perfect model of a dashing Fleet Captain. He looked familiar to Nick and he was still trying to remember who the hell he was. And then Nick remembered who he was.

The man was Captain Russ Greenberg, Terran Confederation Navy. But more importantly he was the former skipper of the TCS Invincible, Nick’s old carrier. To be honest, Nick never meant to shoot the shit or chew the fat with the CO, brown nosing is not part of his hobbies; and he never really got to know Captain Greenberg that much either personally. In Nick’s opinion, he wasn’t aggressive enough and he could use more initiative. In addition, Captain Greenberg was way too quiet, he was not Hard-core as Nick was. Sometimes Nick thought he was too soft.

But Captain Greenberg never tried to screw with him. He never tried to screw with the Space Force. He had never tried to stop Nick was doing, nor questioned him in what he did, or try to ream him a new asshole. Captain Greenberg knew when to leave Nick alone and did, because he knew that Nick would get the job done, no matter what happened to him. That made Captain Greenberg a solid and good CO, which gave him a nice big red check as far as Nick was concerned.

Nick snapped off a salute and a pretty ragged one at that too; he wasn’t really in the mood for spit and polish, “Permission to come aboard, sir.”

Captain Greenberg saluted back and said with a warm smile, “Permission granted, Lieutenant Colonel.” He then stepped forward and held out his hand. Nick was wondering, “what the hell is he doing?” until he realized that he was offering a handshake. Nick mentally sighed and shook it, “Thank you, Captain.”

“With pleasure, Lieutenant Colonel. It’s not everyday that I get a squadron commander that I have worked with before,” Captain Greenberg said, “We’re getting a lot of squadrons on board lately, and I am for one is pretty damn glad that you are on board again.”

“Oh really?” Nick inquired. He hoped he said it sarcastic enough.

“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel. BuPers gave me the choice to pick people I wanted for this tour of duty. I selected your name but found out that you had retired. So I talked up the chain of command and got you reinstated. I personally requested to have you and your squadron transferred on board. You did quite a good job in Cynium, too.” Nick thought about what Captain Greenberg had said. Cynium. Too many friends lost in that damn fight with the Kilrathi, and it all was a race for nothing. Confed had thrown away human lives to get some energy crystals and in the end no one of any faction had gotten the crystals.

“If you say so, sir,” Nick said in a tone displaying no-emotion.

Captain Greenberg mentally sighed to himself. Nick Huynh was a different breed of fighter pilot. He was not boastful nor wild like most fighter jocks are; he was strong-willed and determined. When he put his mind on something he would get it, no matter whom he’ll have to trample on to get his way. Greenberg knew better not to make Nick angry. A person who did usually ended up beaten up on the floor bleeding in many places. Yes, Russ thought, Lieutenant Colonel Huynh has an ill temper and is a bit too aggressive. But if he is on the right side, there is damned well no other man I want out there in the cockpit of a fighter.

“Anyway, Lieutenant Colonel, I would advise you to see the Commander Air Group, Commander Butler, as soon as possible. And do look around the ship, there are quite a few people you have worked with before,” Captain Greenberg said as he looked at Nick for a while, “I have to do some rounds, so maybe I will see you later.” Greenberg gave a small smile and then turned around, walking to inspect the ship on his own.

Commander Air Group (CAG)’s office
1637 Hours (CST)

The Mistral Sea’s Commander Air Group (CAG), Commander Jack Butler, had graduated from Space Force Officer Candidate School in 2665 after he had spent eight years as an enlisted technician in the Force. After receiving his Second Lieutenant "butter bars" he had completed Flight School training and went right into heavy fighters, where he had fought the First and Second Kilrathi War from the cockpit of an old HF-66 Thunderbolt. Racking up a large number of kills, "Blackbeard" Butler had received numerous commendations and was quickly on the high track to seniority. More important, he had the charisma that marked him as a leader, a man in which people can follow him to hell and back.

As a Major and the acting commander of a Thunderbolt squadron during the hottest fighting of the Second War, he and his wingman were ambushed by a flight of Vaktoth. With his wingman heavily damaged, Butler had covered him and took down the four Vaktoth one by one, and as he finished off the last one his Thunderbolt cooked off with him in it. The next thing he knew, he was in the sickbay of a medical transport, waking up after three weeks in a coma. He spent eight months in the hospital, bitching and complaining to himself after he realized that he suffered some injuries that would render him ineligible to return back to the cockpit.

After Butler recovered and was reinstated into active service (without his left eye), he had lobbied so much for a command billet. In his mind, it would be damned if he would be retired, or even worse, stuck behind a desk. And after stepping on some toes, High Command decided to give Lieutenant Colonel Butler an opportunity to switch branches to the Naval Service and be the CAG of the next Mistral Sea’s air group. So as a result, Butler switched branches and after some paperwork, he became the CAG of the Mistral Sea. Aside from the nearly as rare Vesuvius class of supercarriers/dreadnoughts, the Midway-class of megacarriers were the only Confed capships in service to warrant the presence of a CAG, as any other smaller capship could hold but one flight wing - as such, any other small capship had no air group.

Even though he couldn’t fly for medical reasons, Butler wanted to be the best CAG as he can. He had known Commander Patricia Drake, his counterpart on the TCS Midway, and had despised her leadership skills as a CAG. Butler swore to himself never to be the type of "lead behind the desk" leader that she was.

Everyone called him "Blackbeard" behind his back, not because it was his callsign, but rather because of the eye patch he wore over his dysfunctional left eye, which made him look like a pirate. His physique was intimidating, he was tough as hell and he could have ate nails. And now his one eye was looking at Nick as he saluted.

Technically, even though Nick and Butler had the same paygrade (O-5), Butler was over him by the chain of command and he held the billet of Commander Air Group. It didn’t matter if it was a full Colonel serving under him, he would still have to salute Butler. It didn’t matter, because the fact was simple: Butler was the Commander Air Group, and thus all three of the Wing Commanders aboard and their squadron commanders had to answer to him. No excuses.

Blackbeard Butler said his greetings first. “I take it you are one of my squadron commanders,” he growled.

Nick had always acted on instinct, and now his instinct was telling him that he was going to get along just fine. “Yes I am, sir.”

Butler held out a folder in front of him, “Do you know what this is?” Nick didn’t know. “This is your personnel record I have of you. This is everything that relates to everything you have done from the day of your commission. You have quite a interesting record.” Butler emphasized on the word ‘interesting’, pronouncing it as if it was a profanity or something.

“If you say so, sir,” Nick had said that line many times to superior officers. And unlike the others, Commander Butler could sense the sarcasm and disrespect in Nick’s tone.

“No, really, Lieutenant Colonel, I’m serious. You have definitely been there done that.” Then Butler read from his personnel file, “Graduated Space Force Academy Class of 2668, ranked number three in your class on Hilthros. Double major in mechanical engineering and military science. First tour of duty assigned to the 34th Falcons on the TCS Hermes during the Kilrathi War. You were an Arrow driver and you helped the Confed Fleet pull that diversionary effort in the end of the War...” Nick remembered that, too, when he was just a young minted lieutenant greenhorn and didn’t know what to offer other then to become cannon fodder.

During the last month of the Kilrathi War, ConFleet had assembled a last ditch task force centered around the carriers TCS Hermes and Invincible (not the Invincible Nick served on) to jump into Kilrathi space and engage the nearest Kat carrier force. In spite of the fact that the former Invincible was destroyed and Hermes was shot up so bad that she was broken for scrap after the war, the Kilrathi were distracted so that the TCS Victory was able to close in and launch the fighters that destroyed Kilrah.

“After that tour you were recommended for Excalibur transition training, due to your combat record. After completion of the training you where promoted to Captain and then was transferred into the 46th Death Angels. You were assigned to the TCS Leyte Gulf. You saw action during the Confed effort to hunt down and destroy all traces of the Black Lance.”

That again, was true. Nick’s squadron had been the tip of Confed’s spear to destroy all traces of the Black Lance. Right now, he can still remember the frustration of fighting Dragons, and fighting pilots who were genetically engineered to defeat you in battle. The Confed effort didn’t get all the Black Lance; but the rest fled away and was never seen again.

Butler then read off the personnel file. “It was after that when you had a little behavior incident with a senior officer, a Navy Lieutenant Commander. You were still a Captain. Seems that you and him had a little argument and then you just punched him out. The poor officer had to be hospitalized for a few months. You broke his jaw in two places.”

“Too bad.”

“That his jaw was broken?’

“No, because it was broken in only two places.” Butler ignored that comment as he read on.

“Looks like it was after that, you were going to get court-martialed for that little incident. Your CO then, in an effort to put you somewhere where the system would forget about you, volunteered you for the Marines as a Space Force Ground Controller officer. You were still a captain, I assume.”

That was true; to make sure that the system forgot all about Nick, the CO of his squadron volunteered Nick to the Marine Corps service (Nick certainly didn’t volunteer by himself), who were looking for a few Space Force pilots to act as liaisons to coordinate the air support.. Nick was attached to a rifle company on one of the hottest fighting of the Second War. His official job was to call in Space Force Hellcat ground support fighters and tell them where to lay down their ordinance. But that was only one of his jobs.

Nick nodded yes and Butler continued, “You then spent a year with the Marines on the ground, calling in air support. And the system did forget about you for a while, and person who brought charges against you was killed in action, so the charges were dropped. You had quite a record in the battle over there. You were promoted to Major afterwards for your duty on the ground. You even got a Navy Cross with it, but for just calling in air support?”

“I did more then just call in air support,” Nick said. He also had been forced to fight as a rifleman alongside with the Marines during some of the hottest ground fighting. It really sucked being a foot soldier; it was something that Nick never wanted to do again. Trying to shoot at Kilrathi, trying to avoid laser rifle fire, trying to avoid plasma artillery fire, trying not to get your foot blown off by a land mine. It didn’t matter if he was a Space Force officer; as long as you were attached to a company of Marines they gave you a rifle and expected you to fight with them.

And him receiving the Navy Cross was out of amazement. He remembered recuperating on a medical frigate from wounds received in combat when a Marine General came into the room. The General congratulated him for his valiant effort in combat and then told him, “Good job, Marine.” Nick had objected. “Sir, I’m Space Force.” The General had smiled as he took something from a little hand-held box. “Well, Captain, this one says you are a Marine,” he had said as he pinned the Navy Cross upon Nick’s pillow.

Nick zipped out of his flashback as Commander Butler continued on. “Good, and from what I see, you are going to fly Vampires. Looking from your record, you flew Excaliburs for most of your career and you did a really good job killing the Cats, judging from your kill score.”

“Kills don’t count for anything, Commander, it is getting the job done and bringing every one of your men home - that's what counts,” Nick replied. Commander Butler looked up at him and his single eye looked at him and then gleamed.

“That’s right, Lieutenant Colonel, that’s totally right. And what’s why you will be having one of Mistral Sea’s hard-core squadrons for yourself. I’m putting you in our third flight wing, which is our heavy wing. It’s mostly made of Vampires and Devastators. Have fun.” Nick nodded, “The name should be familiar to you. It’s the 46th SFS, the Death Angels.”

“I don’t have to go over your rules and responsibilities, Lieutenant Colonel. I am not going to whisper sweet nothings in your ear about what to do or not to do. That is because you already know them. I have too much stuff in my hands trying to babysit all the newly promoted squadron commanders in what to do,” Butler said, and then continued, “So pretty much, Lieutenant Colonel, you are your own boss, I know when to leave you alone because I expect you to do what I want you to do.”

“But there is some stuff that you must do. First of all, you must re-qualify for flight status. After this little meeting, you are to go to the medical staff and see Doctor Wredberg. There you will get a physical checkup,” Butler ordered, “And also you better find out where the simulators are because by the time this week is over, I want you to get yourself in the simulations and I want you to be in there 24-7. I don’t want you see your face for the rest of this week.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, tomorrow at 0600 you will report to Major Rushing in the PT track and you will take the PRT (Physical Readiness Test) to prove that you are still in top physical shape. It’s the usual, pushups, sit-ups, and a one and a half mile run. Looking at you, it shouldn’t be a problem. You get me?” Butler growled.

“Yes, sir.”

Butler tossed him a packet from his desk and Nick reached over and picked it up. It was big, not to mention heavy, “This is everything you need to know about the Mistral Sea, her escorts, her fighters, her organization, her people, her toilets, everything. If you have a question, then consult that packet. Don’t ask me, I have better things to do. Look at that packet. This packet will be your fucking bible. I expect you to know everything in that packet. If you do not then God help you, because I won’t. Do you understand, Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Then get out of my sight. Dismissed.”

Nick’s stateroom
1824 Hours (CST)

Nick spent the rest of the afternoon in his stateroom, giving the packet a good read over. He put off the simulator time until the next day, knowing that Butler would raise holy hell if he found out that Nick wasn’t spending more sim time. What a shame, Nick thought, Butler was a decent guy. Nick then took a glance into the packet. The packet had everything he could have asked, but he first checked out the specifications for the new Confederation warships and starfighters that have been introduced in the service in the months following his retirement. He was impressed by some of the statistics; he never knew that the new generation capital ships could go that fast or where that armored. Times have surely changed in the Fleet.

Especially this room, Nick thought as he looked around. The stateroom was of higher quality then Nick’s room back on the Invincible. As per Standard Operating Procedure, commanding and executive officers had their own personal staterooms. Everyone else in the squadron was bunked in pairs. Nick’s room back on Invincible looked shabby and dilapidated. But this one seemed so... so... clean. It looked like a virtual hotel suite. Nick then shook his head and reminded himself that this was a warship; probably the deadliest weapon that the Terran Confederation had constructed ever in the history of mankind.

The next thing Nick did was to look at the current air group roster, looking for any acquaintances in the other squadrons he knew. He looked at the roster of Air Group Five. One thing about the Midway, Mistral Sea, and the other planned megacarriers was that it had up to two hundred and forty plus fighter pilots. That means Confed would have to pool its pilot force together. Invincible had a total of seventy-two pilots in all. The large amount of pilots made Nick know that he would run into some old friends (or fiends) in the next few days.

Let’s see... one megacarrier air group, split into three flight wings, Nick mentally told himself as he scanned through the roster. Three Wings. Light, Medium, and Heavy. Each wing with five combat squadrons. Sixteen fighters per squadron. In addition a support wing of SWACS, utility shuttles, and Marine landing craft. Two hundred and seventy two craft in all. Nick paused and blinked as he looked at that number. In-fucking-credible.

He scanned down the air group manifest when during the scanning of the Second Wing roster he stopped and stared at a bunch of names sitting on the roster. Whoa, Nick thought. He never knew they would be here. I thought they were in the Border Worlds. Guess that they wanted to go back to Confed again. He would make sure to pay them a visit and give them a really roguish greeting. He then looked at his own squadron roster, reading it for another hour.

An hour went on before a rumble came in Nick’s stomach. It told him that it was time to something to eat or something to drink, preferably both. Nick knew that it was time to get something at the Rec Room, where most of the pilots would be hanging around. But there was just one problem.

“Where the hell is the Rec Room?” Nick took the information packet Commander Butler had given him and turned to the schematic portion. He looked at the very complex blueprints that represented the Mistral Sea herself. Let’s see where I am, Nick thought as he pointed a finger on the map’s location. And let’s see where the bar is... The destination turned out to be virtually an entire ship’s length. Nick grunted as he turned off the lights of his stateroom and stood up from his chair. Mumbling curses about the length of the ship, he walked out of his door on a quest to meet his comrades.

Comrades he would live with... or die with.

FINIS