Newlin's direction, with the assistance of the geographic maps on the ship's navigational computer, had brought the Jerusha through the turbulent re-entry process and into Gorin Tali spaceport in the city of Duronaide, only a few hundred kilometers from the capital city of Gulnorm. Though not much could be said for the condition of the Gulnormese capital, it could hardly be said that Duronaide was in better condition. Lomigian 'peacekeeping' forces were extremely adept at keeping the Gulnormese in a state of inferiority, often by causing a general mess of their cities.

Vex Mortlef sat in the pilot's seat of the Jerusha, tapping nervously on the console beside him as he listened to an audio broadcast that had arrived some time earlier.

"This is Tani Giordana of the Terran press, reporting on behalf of the Galaxyscape News Network," the broadcast said, in Azrat as usual. "Moments ago, word arrived confirming the destruction of Tythus station. Casualty counts are preliminary, but the numbers we're receiving here at the station are in the tens of thousands. At current, information we're receiving is fragmented and unclear, but suspicions and rumors are circulating, suggesting that the event may have to do with a question asked of Cads only yesterday."

"You're alive," was the first thing Sarnrei brought himself to say after finding Jarin, indeed, alive and well aboard the Jerusha.

"Yes I am," Jarin said, "and you're holding an assault rifle. We're both surprised. Now what the hell is going on?"

Kareima's eyes grew wide as soon as Jarin turned to face her. His shirt was stained down one arm and along the chest with blood, and his face looked not unlike the face of someone who had just killed someone else.

"What happened?" Kareima gasped. "Is that yours?"

Jarin looked dumbly at his shirt. "No. I..." he paused. Kareima, he thought, looked so beautiful; the thought of what Franchot did to her made him as sick to the stomach as the thought of what he did in return. "No, it's his."

Kadon Parwiz was beginning to grow exasperated. His protégé sat in the co-pilot's seat of his ship, attempting to dock with the Opaque pirate base, but the Pugnarian control scheme was simply unintuitive to a human.

"No, starboard roll!" Kadon exclaimed.

"I'm trying!" Sarnrei shot back. "Who the hell came up with these controls, anyway?!"

Galed Sartis, his walking stick in one hand as it usually was, and a heavy black duffel bag in the other, was waiting in the landing bay of Copia for the arrival of his business partner, Franchot Brogan. Understandably, he was nervous, but he wouldn't let it show.

"I'm sure he'll be here any minute," Galed told Gregorie, his walking stick. "We got it off Tythus. That's the hard part. Now we just need to hand it off to Franchot, get our money, and we're home free."

Gregorie had very little to say about this, as usual, but Galed could sense her agitation.

In the otherwise relatively quiet landing bay aboard the Eneac shipmesh, a jet of exhaust shot out of the thruster assembley of the Jerusha. Running lights illuminated the landing pad, and moments later the ship lifted from it's landing struts and made for open space.

The familiar shakiness of takeoff awoke Kareima almost instantly and, doing her best not to wake Jarin on the bunk below, she climbed out of her bunk and slipped out into the hall.

It was much later, well after the others aboard the Jerusha had gone to sleep, that Franchot Brogan stumbled drunkenly through the tiny hallway past the crew bunks. With very little on his mind but sleep, he turned and climbed the stairs into the galley. A small table, a few chairs, a two-seat couch and a counter is what made up the general living space of what was typically just himself and Liz Athalia.

It may be of note that that class of ship was decommissioned by the navy because while the standard crew roster was ten, three for each of the three shifts plus one captain, the living space was hardly adequate for one, and crews tended toward mutiny and suicide more often than the navy cared for.

Vex sat quietly, concern strewn across his face as he watched the news program that played on his PHT.

"This is Tani Giordina, reporting on the Galaxyscape News Network for the Terran press," said the newscaster, her speech translated into subtitles to Azrat. "The press has gathered on GSHQ for a conference with Cads to address recent concerns regarding the use of Galaxyscape naval forces."

Vex sat up as much as he could in his bunk, eager to hear more.

Franchot's ship, a mid-sized frigate called the Jerusha, made no effort whatsoever to stand out from any of the other mid-sized frigates on various pads throughout the Eneac's landing bay. In fact, this was intentional on the part of her captain. A successful businessman, Franchot easily could have afforded to retrofit the Jerusha with paint, new lettering, and other such flashy accessories available at any port in the Galaxyscape, but that would be contrary to his preference of remaining unnoticed, if not unseen altogether. This preference, of course, did not always extend to the bar called Steve's.

It wasn't until Jarin stepped out of the Albatross into the loading bay of the Eneac shipmesh that he realized to what order of magnitude Kareima had understated it's size. Even the Albatross, large enough to comfortably crew 300 individuals, was able to easily navigate inside the landing bay and set down on one of the larger pads. Jarin found he had to stop and regain his bearings. Looking up, one could see a few ships nearly five times the size of the Albatross docked within the confines of the exorbitantly massive landing bay.

"Welcome to the Eneac," came Vex's voice through the surprisingly quiet air.

Vex sat at his desk reading from a piece of paper he was holding. His clipboard sat on his desk, neglected for the time being. On the page was another nugget of wisdom, this one much shorter than most of the others.

When tasked, one must at times risk his task to save those he loves with trust that in his absence, his task will be minded for him.

The page was troubling to Vex. Slowly, his gaze lifted to the blank page attached to his clipboard. Finding a pen, he leaned forward, and on the page he wrote a series of numbers. He pulled the page from the clipboard and rose from his desk, taking the clipboard and making his way out the door onto the command deck.

Jarin, having already dismissed the disorientation as a hunger pang, decided that it was time to eat dinner. He pulled himself off his bed and wandered out the door, hoping that he'd see Kareima there.

"I think I like you," he muttered to himself under his breath. "Quite a bit, actually," he added. If he was to be successful in forming coherent words, he'd need to rehearse.

Jarin laid on his back staring through the dark window at the stars, blissfully unaware of the tension circling through the fleet. In fact, he was quite probably one of the happiest people in the fleet at that moment. Kareima, cute as she was, liked him, and the rough start aside, his first date with her had gone spectacularly well.

In fact, Jarin couldn't help but find it interesting that after seventeen years of barely fitting in with anyone but his small group off friends, he was suddenly so much more successful in a world entirely foreign to him. This, he found, was a difficult train of thought to continue with for any extended period of time, as his thoughts were frequently stolen by Kareima.

"I'd be interested to learn your process for accomplishing that, Mr. Mortlef," I said as Vex took a few steps away from the door.

"That's not something I can share, but I think we both know I'm perfectly capable."

As Vex stood in the middle of his lounge, I couldn't help but wonder. Truth be told, I had no idea if he was bluffing or not. Vex Mortlef was not a man to test.

"Tell me everything about the fleet," he demanded.