The first thing he noticed was the smell. The God-awful metallic tang that came with navy-grade recycled air. Lieutenant Matthias Hendrix scrunched his nose and eyes reflexively before vigorously rubbing them with a hand and pulling that hand down his clean-shaven face. Before even opening his sleep-filled eyes, Matthias swung his upper body around into a hunched forward sitting position and stretched his back and arms, the thin blanket falling onto his legs. Rubbing his eyes one last time, he finally opened them to darkness. Soft green lights of various panels in the room before him were the only things his eyes could make out. Taking a moment to stretch his legs, Matthias tapped a finger against where he instinctively knew his bedside clock would be in the upper right corner, its dim red lights displayed “04:59”.

“Shit,” Matthias muttered under his breath. The clock advanced one minute, and the lights in his small officer’s quarters immediately blazed to life. Matthias hissed in response to the unwelcome stimuli, his eyes reflexively squeezed shut. For a moment Matthias didn’t move, his chin now pushing into his chest. He sighed to himself and forced his eyes open while leaning forward and grabbing the edge of his sleeping pod before pulling himself up and out. Stretching once more, he quickly set about getting ready for the morning. Donning his blue and gray battle dress uniform, and putting on his boots and service cap, Matthias stepped out of his room into the hallway.

0600, or as it was now 0613, was the quietest station 247 would ever get, as the overnight crews prepared to make the official hand-off at 0630. Of course, quiet was relative. Voices of service members echoed through the thin interior plating, HVAC ducts roared with their pressurized payload, and various tools could be heard clanging and driving at various tasks. The Mcmiller class exploration forward operating base—or eFOB as its inhabitants liked to call it—was as versatile and as modular as the Navy could design and that often meant assembly and work continued well after it was declared habitable. Very rarely did the Navy bother with creature comforts such as port holes or observation decks that weren’t strictly functional, but if they ever did, Matthias was willing to bet many credits that no matter where you looked at station 247 you would see at least three SRVs towing some component or another.

Despite being as busy as it was, station 247 would be relatively small compared to the 246 McMiller class eFOBs that came before it. Only three jump points were detected in this system, and one of them didn’t seem to lead to anything significant. Despite the somewhat disheartening find, the 14th Galactic Exploration Task Force personnel attacked their assignments with the same vigor they have always possessed. Station 247 achieved operational status just two months after its commissioning and was mission-capable just two weeks after that.

Last week saw a major boost in morale as Anvil Carracks 226 Journeyman and 519 Void Cutter arrived. The maintenance crews were really happy about that. Matthias had piloted his assignment here. Somewhat lackluster compared to its larger cousins, Anvil Terrapin 579 was just as vital to mission success as Journeyman and Void Cutter. At least that was what Matthias echoed in his mind. In truth, Matthias was somewhat disappointed he didn’t receive an assignment aboard either of the much more impressive exploration ships. He wasn’t expecting a command but he did hope to be piloting one of the sub-capital ships. “Grace and gratitude,” Matthias chided himself internally as he half-returned a salute to a passing service member who snapped to attention at his approach. And of course, everything had picked up in a major way just yesterday as a huge final shipment had arrived. Docking port number one’s direction room had been overcrowded as that ship had arrived. A massive MISC Hull-E had made that delivery and it was a sight to behold. The pictures didn’t do that ship justice.

Finally reaching his destination, the officer’s mess, Matthias stepped through the sliding door and removed his service cap. Instead of the ReadyMeals that had to fight for space aboard various Starlifters that were usually bringing everything the rapidly growing station would need, the full-service synthesizer was finally able to be put through its paces as one of the massive cargo arms that the Hull-E had was dedicated to foodstuffs. Matthias had never thought a plate of re-hydrated eggs and sausages would bring a smile to his face but it was hard to resist after almost eight days of ReadyMeals.

The lone door to the mess slid open with a hiss, revealing a man in his late twenties wearing a pressed navy uniform, the blue velvet of the chest contrasted by the fabric of the charcoal gray pants, proudly standing on either shoulder’s black patches were two silver inverted chevrons indicating the rank of the newly arrived Lieutenant Commander.

Matthias immediately stood at attention. “Commander Sterov, sir,” he greeted. Sterov and Matthias both saluted briefly.

“As you were Lieutenant Hendrix,” Sterov said, before moving to the synthesizer. Matthias returned to his meal half-heartedly, knowing the question that was coming. There was a clunk of cutlery on porcelain.

“BDUs Matt?” Sterov asked.

“I find they’re more comfortable than the uniform,” Matt said with a shrug. This wasn’t the question he was dreading.

“It may not seem all that important, but today will be your first command. Everyone starts somewhere, and you should look the part,” Sterov half assured him and half-chided him with a smile.

“Terrapin regulations require that a user wear a vacuum-rated suit at all times when the craft is outside of a habitable environment,” Matt countered.

“Are we on board your Terrapin right now?” Sterov snorted with a raised eyebrow. "That definitely isn't vacuum rated," he said gesturing to Matt's clothes with a fork.

“No, but it’s easier to change out of this,” Matt said between bites. “I’m bringing all of it with me anyway. I’ll be ready if we’re to have a parade at the outset of an empty jump point,” Matt’s voice held a mirthful bitterness to it.

“You know…” Sterov began. Matt had been dreading this question.

“I could delay our collective departure,” Sterov continued. “There’s still a chance for you to become a pilot aboard Void Cutter, it wouldn’t be that hard either. You may lose your first command position, but pilots do act as FOs aboard Carracks. I could easily recommend you for a position of command after. What do you say?”

So badly Matt wanted to say yes but at the same time, he didn’t want some other lieutenant to get stuck with this, or even worse be the reason the expedition was delayed getting a third Carrack out here. The 14th was lucky to have gotten two as quickly as it did.

“I appreciate the offer, Jack. But I’ll pass. Junior Lieutenant Calleban can only get so much experience from the simulators the Navy has. Unfortunate that they passed on MicroTech’s Simpods,” Matt said.

“Well, you know the old saying,” Jack said, a knowing smile forming on his face.

“Do more with less,” they said in unison. A beat passed before they started laughing together.

The door opened again, revealing a young man. His single yellow inverted chevron almost gleamed in the harsh sterile lights of the mess hall.

“Good morning sirs!” he greeted enthusiastically while stepping to attention.

“Lieutenant Calleban, good morning to you too,” Jack said with a smile.

“We’re all friends here Calleban, you can dispense with the pleasantries,” Matt said while motioning him over. Lieutenant Calleban’s smile widened at that as he strode over and joined the lone table.

“Calleban, you’re to be the pilot of Void Cutter, correct?” Matt asked. He knew the answer already, but it was good to get the new guy talking.

“Yes Sir!” Calleban replied enthusiastically. “I’m grateful and excited for my first real assignment.”

“Just call me Matt while we’re in here,” Matt said with a shake of his head.

“Understood, Matt,” Calleban replied while vigorously nodding.

“Lieutenant Matthias Hendrix, report to ready room one. Repeat: Lieutenant Matthias Hendrix, report to ready room one,” a monotone voice called over the station PA.

Matt stood with a grunt. “That’s my cue,” he said, gathering his plate and depositing it in the central dish receptacle. “Just don’t get too comfortable Calleban. The good commander Sterov here can be a real taskmaster of a skipper,” Matt joked. Jack rolled his eyes and Calleban’s smile wavered just a little.

“He’s joking,” Jack assured the young lieutenant as Matt donned his service cap and walked out of the officer’s mess.

The halls of the station were much busier now. Glancing down at the thin piece of silvery metal on his wrist that was his MobiGlass, Matt regarded the holographic display with some disbelief. It reported that he and Sterov had been eating together for nearly an hour. The ready room wasn’t far, just three sections over. But Matt still picked up his pace.

Despite Matt’s outward smiles and salutes, his feet felt as if they were encased in stone. His first command. Nearly six months of just floating in the vast emptiness of deep space, waiting for the jump point to reopen. Station 247 would continue to grow in his absence and when the jump point reopened they would have it stabilized. At least that was the idea. But the long-range sensors had said there was absolutely nothing out there. He wanted that to be false on some level, but internally he knew it wasn’t. Sure the sensors would always miss minute details, but if anything was physically there they would pick it up.

Coming to the sliding door that read “RDY ROOM 01” Matt paused for the doors to open automatically. Once they did, he crossed the threshold into an empty assembly hall with rows of unoccupied seats set before a raised platform with multiple displays on the back wall.

Matt briskly walked towards the platform and held his MobiGlass against the silver indentation in the otherwise uniform back wall. A beep sounded as all of the screens sprung to life. “LT. HENDRIX … TRANSMISSION READY” the central screen read.

“Execute,” Matt said.

The screen went dark before switching to a loading icon. Instead of being on but with no display, the right screen now read various commands and responses the system was running through. Finally, the right screen read “CONNECTION OK” before going blank. On the central screen a middle-aged man, perhaps in his mid-forties gazed on his face neutral. Behind him, the insignia of the UEE Navy. Golden letters spelling out “UEE” on a blue orb which itself sat on top of a ribbon that turned into a simplified illustration of wings. The golden border which the wings spilled out over stretched at the top to fit “NAVY” in blue and at the bottom to fit “United In Purpose” in white. The insignia which normally served as a source of pride for every service member felt large and looming on its plain white wall. Matt snapped to the position of attention.

“Vice Admiral Davis, it’s a pleasure,” Matt said while rendering a salute, his voice neutral.

“Lieutenant Hendrix, likewise,” Davis said, returning the salute. There was a pause.

“Lieutenant,” Davis began. “I’ve seen your record. You’re incredibly thorough, and I’ve little doubt in my mind that your talents are above a Terrapin in deep space. You’ve probably combed through the preliminary written briefing a few times now.”

“Five times, but who’s counting?” Matt thought to himself while schooling his expression.

“Originally this call was supposed to inform you that the assignment of a lieutenant and a Terrapin in deep space was an oversight and a gross misallocation of valuable resources,” Davis said, his small accent coming out as his words picked up speed. “You would have been put on standby for further orders, but the situation has changed. Five hours ago sensors picked up an unknown energy burst coming from the predicted outset of the jump point you’ve been assigned to. We’ve had our best minds slamming their heads at the data since we got it but they’ve so far come up empty. Your mission remains unchanged, but I want to remind you that this is your command. You are free to use your discretion and I encourage you to do so. Do you have any questions, Lieutenant?”

Matt pursed his lips. “No sir,” he said after a moment.

“Very well Lieutenant. I wish you the best of luck,” The vice admiral said, his arm shifted and the screen cut out.

“TRANSMISSION END”

Matt let out a mixed sigh before holding his MobiGlass against the silver indentation on the wall. A long beep sounded and all three screens went dark. The room lights that had automatically dimmed without him noticing came back up to full strength.

Matt walked briskly down from the speaking area, through the rows of seats, and turned away from the door that led back into the hallway. He instead turned right and walked through a door frame into a room with rows of lockers and benches. He turned at the first row, walking down to a locker with ”006” painted on its front. The digital display below read his name and had an outline of a hand, indicating where to place his own. Doing so caused the locker to spring open, and the interior lights flickered to life as the exterior screen went dark. Inside the locker was a black and gray undersuit, a black and gray set of armor with a matching backpack, and finally an armored helmet with an uplink transmitter of the same color scheme. Matt blinked owlishly at the contents before his face morphed into a scowl. Someone higher up on the command chain decided his UEE flight suit and helmet wouldn’t be good enough. With a huff, Matt removed his service cap and began removing his BDUs.

The undersuit was somewhat difficult to put on, as he hadn’t used one since before basic. This undersuit seemed to combine the benefits of a vacuum-rated armored undersuit with those of a flight suit designed to keep the blood in your head during sudden changes in flight direction and acceleration. All in all, the undersuit was tight. Tight and bulky. The videos he had seen of Earth’s penguins came to mind as he waddled around trying to get used to the foreign suit. Next came the armor pieces. These were simple enough. A collared chest plate with a flexible lower section for his abdomen and securing buckles. A strap that went over his shoulder came with a multitude of tools already attached. Then came clam-shell thigh and shin guards, as well as separate pieces that covered his kneecaps and his feet. Continuing, he put on a pair of rounded, small shoulder pauldrons that connected to a pair of upper arm bands each featuring a metal plate with a single silver inverted chevron that physically raised on the plates rather than being painted on. Finally, he pulled on the forearm-length gloves that featured a pair of formed metal plates and intricate metal plating for the back of his hand and fingers. He then picked up his earlier discarded MobiGlass and snapped it back onto his left wrist. It fit snugly in between the plating atop his forearm and the back of his hand.

Giving his left hand one last experimental flex, Matt turned to face the helmet he still had yet to remove from the locker. Its beady lenses stared back lifelessly. The area around the eyes had white lines tracing where the nano-mesh was covered by plating. Matt frowned as his much more full-of-life eyes made their way down to a completely armored facial area. The phrase “faceless superiors” came to mind. He had sworn to himself if were ever to receive a command of his own he would not be an officer who leads from a desk. Grabbing the helmet and pulling it out of the locker, Matt gave it one more once over, spun it around, and tucked it under his right arm, the uplink antenna poking uncomfortably into his armpit. Matt turned awkwardly and spotted his folded BDUs and undershirt sitting patiently underneath his well-worn service cap. With a sigh, Matt hung his head. He then released the mechanism on the helmet by twisting the antenna back, causing the back of the helmet to open on a hinge hidden inside. Pressing the helmet into his face, Matt’s other hand came around and pressed the helmet closed around his neck before twisting the hexagonal base of the antenna back into the upright position. A variety of mechanisms came to life as the helmet resealed itself and connected to his undersuit and armor. Hexagonal micro screens fluttered their borders across his vision to indicate they were all working before displaying the inside of the locker room. A series of commands were running in the lower left corner of his vision as multiple armor systems came online with the helmet now unifying them. Matt took the time to test his neck’s now somewhat limited range of motion. Turning back to the bench his BDUs were on, he picked up the clothes and tucked them under his left arm before he strode quickly out of the locker room, through the back of the still-unoccupied ready room, and out into the hallway, face to helmet with lieutenant commander Sterov.

The two stared at each other for a moment before Matt stepped to the right and rendered a hasty salute. Matt was surprised that the salute was met with first, a raised eyebrow, and then an uncharacteristically dismissive return salute. Sterov filed past while Matt held the salute, still somewhat dumbfounded at Sterov’s perceived odd behavior. Calleban thought the held salute was for him and he paused to return it.

“As you were s-,” Calleban cut himself off when he saw the rank on Matt's pauldrons. “S-sir. So sorry, s-sir!” Calleban scampered off in embarrassment, his cheeks visually flushing red. The four enlisted following him in all snickered at his expense while rendering salutes to Matt, who was only half paying attention.

“Of course he didn’t recognize you, you moron,” Matt berated himself. “He can’t see your face, and you didn’t say anything.” Feeling a little relieved, Matt glanced down at his MobiGlass and noted that H-hour for Journeyman was in a little under an hour.

“Must have used a different ready room,” Matt mused to himself. “Either that or their skipper thinks the crew doesn’t need an in-person briefing.”

Matt made his way through corridors and back into the officer’s quarters section of the eFOB. The door slid open for him automatically, revealing his officer’s quarters exactly as he had left it. Moving to the locker in the wall just opposite of the small table, Matt opened it and pulled out a small sealable container. Opening it revealed his officer’s dress uniform, neatly folded on the bottom. Placing his BDUs on top, Matt sealed the box and began carrying it to hangar seven. His walk was uneventful, and any service members he passed that did notice him and render a salute, only received a nod in kind. His steps were much quieter with the undersuit on.

Making his way to Deck One’s hangar seven through one of the number of lifts on the eFOB, his MobiGlass remotely confirmed his clearance and a heavy pneumatic door at the pad-level entrance opened for him. Passing over large warning signs on the ground which usually said something along the lines of “BEWARE BLAST,” Matt made his way into the hangar proper.

Stepping out from the crew bay, the enormous and primarily yellow space yawned above him. Harsh floodlights burned at the gray ground making his very shadow feel painfully unwelcome. In front of him was the rear of Terrapin 579 in all its ugly glory. Its primary drive arrays were rotated into their VTOL position, and the metal of the cold nozzles gleamed wickedly under the blazing floodlights. Echoing shouts of various out-of-sight maintainers and loaders turned the deceptively still chamber into a cacophony of human labor.

Matt made his way to the port side of the vessel, walking past the composite secondary drive section and the large port-side landing strut. Easily weaving around the aft port primary drive section, he spotted a service member on the open loading ramp. The man was wearing an olive green vacuum-rated jumpsuit and a helmet that had a large transparent section over the face to provide as much view as possible to the user. The five red chevrons on each arm plus the stylized illustration of a balance underneath them told Matt exactly who this was. Petty Officer Mason O’Connelly, loadmaster of Anvil Terrapin 579.

“Loadmaster O’Connelly,” Matt called out, internally noting his voice now sounded muffled and mechanized.

Mason turned to glance over his shoulder and jumped down from the upper section of the loading ramp, his face lighting up with recognition.

“Lieutenant Hendrix, sir,” the man said in a thickly accented baritone whilst snapping to attention and rendering a sharp salute.

Matt nodded in acknowledgment before offering the box to Mason.

“Ah perfect, she’s just about ready to be buttoned up,” Mason said while accepting the package and moving to take it inside. Matt took this moment to take off his helmet and tuck it under his left arm.

“Permission to speak freely sir?” Mason asked as he once again dropped down from the upper section of the ramp rather than walking the distance.

“Granted,” Matt said as he resisted rolling his eyes at the frankly ridiculous request. He wasn’t some admiral staring at a star map and Mason outdid him in the experience department by a decade at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you kept the helmet on while outside of your ship or the crew bay,” Mason said without hesitation. “Sudden decompression can be a nasty thing, sir.”

Deciding to not make any comment, Matt motioned for Mason to follow him, which he did. Stepping back into the crew bay Matt turned to face Mason, prompting him to stop.

“All set then?” Matt asked, a hand gesturing to the Terrapin.

“Yes sir, all supplies loaded and accounted for. Would you like a copy of the manifest sent to your comm?” Mason responded.

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you,” Matt responded, his gaze wandering to the ship in question.

“Do what you need to do,” Matt said, tearing his gaze away from the ship. “Dismissed.”

Mason rendered another salute, which Matt returned before turning around and heading for the access door.

“OI LADIES, BUTTON UP AND FUCK OFF!” Mason shouted into the hangar as Matt stepped through the threshold, the doors sealing behind him.

Checking his MobiGlass once more, Matt noted that the H-hour for Journeyman and her crew was in 10 minutes. Matt then strode towards the hangar lifts which moved laterally across deck one, rather than vertically like all the other lifts on the station. Selecting hangar four on the screen, the lift closed and jerked sideways. Eventually, the horizontal transport came to an equally sudden stop. Stepping out of the transport, Matt saw the digital display of the large pneumatic door that led to the pad level read “AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY.” His stride remained unbroken as he walked to the smaller door that read “CONTROL ROOM” and pushed through the freely swinging door that led to a steel staircase where every ledge was covered in caution tape.

Stepping into the control room revealed a cramped hallway with protective transparent windows. Three controllers dressed in service uniforms wore headsets, each of them communicating with a different part of the ship. The large primary drive section was already active with the telltale blue glow of burning hydrogen fuel.

“Disconnecting power,” A voice from one of the controllers sounded. Matt couldn’t hear any kind of reply but he assumed there was one. Data streams changed as the ship moved to internal power.

“Hangar depressurizing in twenty seconds,” another called. Red hazard lights around the hangar began to spin. A muffled klaxon made it through the wall. A moment passed.

“Depressurizing in ten,” the same operator said. Another moment.

“Beginning depressurization cycle,” The klaxon died off, becoming quieter and quieter as the hangar was starved of atmosphere.

The room was silent save for the soft murmur of ventilation.

A light on the control board turned green.

“Depressurization sequence complete, opening doors.”

There was a clunk heard through the walls as something shifted and engaged. Interlocking mechanisms on the massive doors ahead moved on along their vertical seam, yellow latches the size of a grown man slamming into their housing. The doors began to shift slowly. The first two sections collapsed into the next two. Another clunk reverberated through the walls. More yellow latches slammed home. The second section of the massive hangar doors began to move. There was a third clunk as those fell into the final segments of the doors. Finally, the last segments of the doors finished retracting into the walls that surrounded them.

“Hangar doors opened successfully, strut tethers disengaging now,” a final light, larger than all the others blinked green.

“Journeyman you are clear for launch. Traffic management is not online at this time, continue at your discretion,” the same controller said.

Journeyman’s ventral section came to life, slowly increasing power output. The streams of burning hydrogen grew larger, and the ground underneath the vast array of lift thrusters began to reflect their pale blue burn. The main body of the craft began to rise, slowly easing off its humongous struts. After a long thirty seconds, Journeyman was off the deck. The primary drive array flared briefly and Journeyman started to crawl forward. The massive struts retracted up into the belly of the enormous ship.

Seeing that the show was nearly at an end, Matt decided to take his leave. Pushing off the wall he was leaning on with his hips, he moved quietly to the door and headed down the stairs. As he dropped back down to the lift level, Matt glanced at his MobiGlass and saw that Jack’s H-hour was in thirty minutes. Perhaps more importantly his own was in an hour. Matt debated internally on whether to be more prudent, and head to hangar seven, or to try and say goodbye to Jack at hangar five.

Matt pursed his lips in thought as he pressed the call button for the elevator. Once the elevator arrived he stepped in. His finger hesitated over the section of the touch screen on the interior that read Hangar 5 and then shifted down and selected Hangar 7. He would see Jack again in six months. No use in trying to shirk his mission. He had done enough of that.

Stepping out into the small foyer, the large pad access doors automatically opened at his approach once more. The pad was completely silent now, save for Matt’s muffled footsteps. He trudged on through the blazing floodlights to the port side of the Terrapin, the loading ramp now closed. He then held his MobiGlass against the exterior operating panel which chirped after a few seconds. Stepping back, he brought his MobiGlass up to his chest and tapped the first auxiliary button. There was a hiss of pressuring hydraulics and a whir of an electric motor from inside the ship. The loading ramp detached itself from the upper sealing section and folded out, a secondary segment slid out of the primary portion that sealed the craft from the environment, gently coming to rest on the ground right in front of him. Floodlights came to life and illuminated the ramp and part of the interior which was dark save for the light spilling in from the opening, and a low-level red light that illuminated the floor and sensor station chair. He strode up the ramp into the main cabin and pressed the same button on his MobiGlass, causing the door to close in a reversal of the opening sequence.

Matt was plunged into darkness as his eyes adjusted. The red lights, while still on, were incredibly dim. After about a minute the interior began to resolve itself. Right in front of him, the scanning station’s operator chair was bathed in a red glow, its integrated shoulder harness was up. Just behind it, aft and starboard, was a small kitchenette that appeared to be pre-stocked with foodstuffs. Directly below it was a single bed, and next to that was a standard shower-toilet combination. On the second port side armored section—the one that didn’t act as the door—was an integrated wall locker. Opposite it on the starboard side was sample storage that could be sealed off from the rest of the ship. Continuing to the fore, just next to the sample storage was an armor locker that was flanked by two filled weapons racks. Matt raised an eyebrow at the veritable arsenal he was granted. He then turned and stepped up into the hexagonal walkway filled with various component access points. Matt moved past these briskly, stepping up further into the flight deck. Though closer to a cockpit in design in his own opinion, Anvil Aerospace had been insistent if the labeling on the floor was anything to go by. Matt forwent sitting in the chair and instead reached around it awkwardly for a button that was shining green on the panel of the main electrical board. Pressing this button caused the entire ship to spring to life with a long beep. Fans began to whir, interior lights came on, and various displays sprung to life.

Matt straightened up and then sat down in the pilot’s seat. The seat automatically turned once he had connected the three-point harness, bringing him right up to the dash. The comm panel on his right was already tuned to hangar seven’s control frequency.

“Hangar control this is Terrapin 579, standing by,” Matt said after pressing the transmit button on the screen. The response he got was almost immediate.

“Terrapin 579 continue standing by,” an unknown voice sounded throughout the ship.

Matt did just that. He waited and waited, and waited some more. After what felt like ages to Matt—which in reality was less than forty minutes—the ship’s comm came to life.

“Terrapin 579, you’re cleared for engine start,” a voice came. Matt scrambled in his seat to react. He had been watching a video version of the manual of arms for every weapon that he was granted.

“Terrapin 579 copies all,” Matt said quickly after rather aggressively pressing the transmit button.

Reaching for the engine panel, Matt pressed a glowing green button that said “AUTO START.”

With the button depressed, the lights seemed to dim briefly. There was a roar accompanied by a loud mechanical whine as the engines sprang to life. With various affirmatives appearing on the screen, Matt released the button. The roar of sudden fuel flow reduced to the familiar growl of hydrogen engines as they throttled back down from start-up. Various maneuvering thrusters ran through test fires before reporting their successful function and the primary drive array tested its range of motion by rotating out of VTOL and then back into it.

Reaching down, Matt grabbed his helmet off of the floor next to the chair where he had stashed it and put it on. The familiar start-up sequence ran across his vision as he reached for the transmit button.

“Terrapin 579, requesting launch clearance,” Matt said while turning on his landing lights.

“Standby Terrapin 579. Depressurizing hangar in twenty seconds,” The voice rang out.

From inside the ship, Matt saw the same lights begin to shine and spin. The klaxon much louder now, made its way into the ship.

“Depressurization in ten seconds,” Matt’s grip tightened around the stick in his right and the throttle in his left.

“Depressurizing hangar,” The klaxon began to quiet and the growl of the engines dimmed as atmosphere quickly left the space.

“Depressurization complete. Opening doors,” Matt felt the thud as the massive doors began to move. Not quite as impressive as those that contained Journeyman and Void Cutter, but still massive compared to himself. Slowly but surely they revealed the inky blackness that lay beyond their threshold. Matt couldn’t help but feel a little excited, even though he wasn’t particularly looking forward to the actual assignment.

“Tethers disengaged. Terrapin 579, you are cleared for launch.”

“Clear for launch, Terrapin 579,” Matt responded.

Matt slowly twisted the stick in his right hand outward. The seat pressed up into him from below. He slowly added more thrust until the altitude ribbon moved.

“Launch complete,” the ship’s automated voice said without any hint of emotion.

He let the stick go causing his upward movement to cease. Now hovering, Matt retracted the gear. The large hydraulics hissed and whirred in response.

“Landing gear, raised,” the ship confirmed.

Matt crept the throttle forward, causing the craft to move slowly out. Past the threshold, his engine output suddenly fell. Pressing a switch on his throttle quadrant, the primary drive array swiveled out of VTOL mode.

“Launch successful. Traffic control is not available at this time, continue at your discretion,”

“Terrapin 579 copies all,” Matt responded before changing frequency to the Unicom standard. He pushed the throttles a little more causing the engines to whine in response. The acceleration was laughably slow compared to the Gladius’s he was used to flying. By comparison, Terrapins flew like a brick with rocket motors strapped on. Matt eased the stick back, causing the terrapin to roll along the y-axis, fore to aft. He gave it more throttle and it sluggishly complied with another whine. Matt stopped the rotation of the craft and flipped a switch labeled “Spool Quantum,” something began to whir inside the cabin. Immediately his heads-up display changed, and a small square appeared directly in its center. Below the square read “3.9 Gm,” and “Jump Point #03.” The whirring got louder and was soon accompanied by rapid beeping. On the right of his HUD, thousands of calculations were running back and forth, too fast for him to make out any information. With one final beep, the calculations were replaced with one abbreviated word, “RDY.” The cabin seemed to be charged with power, its buzz permeating the air. With the squeeze of a trigger on his joystick, Matt heard a click followed by a loud whoosh. Space itself seemed to compress in front of him, stretching out as his craft began to creep forward. Clouds, like those of nebulae began to cover his views. Streaks of matter that ripped by, faster and faster, and with increasing frequency formed the image of a tunnel around the Terrapin. With a shudder and a bang, the craft ripped into the void.

Matt leaned back in the stiff pilot’s chair, admiring the swirling colors of quantum travel. This jump wasn’t very long but it was unfortunately long enough that he would get bored, and not long enough to get up and do something meaningful with the time where he wasn’t doing anything. So Matt decided to just sit and wait. After a few minutes of waiting, a whine permeated the space. The distance now read 500 Mm and was rapidly reducing. There was another whoosh and the Terrapin shuddered once more, snapping fully into real space. A dying whine now echoed throughout the interior. Checking his mission clock, Matt noted that he wouldn’t have time to do anything except prepare to jump. His window was due to arrive in thirty seconds.

Matt leaned over the armrest of his seat to one of the multi-function displays and tapped a few times nonchalantly.

“WARNING! WARNING!”

Matt rolled his eyes underneath his helmet at the blaring sound. While it was ill-advised to disable Quantum safeguards, he believed that ships that were designed to explore jump points really should make disabling them easier. A secondary confirmation screen with a timer on the proceed option would easily suffice, as that method was also implemented in this tedious process.

Tapping the now unlocked proceed button, Matt settled back in and brought up his MobiGlass, just watching the seconds pass until the jump point was at its weakest and he could punch through. As soon as his mission clock reached twelve minutes and thirty seconds, he spooled his quantum drive. Like before, it whirred to life. Except now there was no target for him to align to. The right side of his HUD flashed a message in red—“No destination solution”—rather than running through calculations. Eventually though, once the spooling was completed the same section of HUD displayed “RDY.”

Matt glanced back down at his MobiGlass' self-contained mission clock. As soon as it hit thirteen minutes, he squeezed the trigger. A whoosh sounded, the Terrapin shuddered as space appeared to be stretched and squeezed around it, and finally with a bang it was off again. Except this time there was no tunnel. No light existed here. Slowly the clouds of matter that made up real space drifted around and away out of Matt's vision. This was a place beyond the physical realm. There was nothing here. No two ships ever ran into each other in this realm, and if the quantum drive malfunctioned out here a ship would be lost in deep space between systems, without any direction of where it came from or where it was headed. Matt shivered at that thought. He glanced over his shoulder at the quantum drive access hatch behind him and gave a silent prayer to whatever deity would listen.

Matt didn’t know exactly how long it would take to travel through the jump point, but estimates put it at around fifteen minutes. With the estimated travel time in mind, he undid his harness, the seat automatically swinging him around to face the cabin. Making his way through the hexagonal connecting hallway, he moved to the armor locker and began removing the exterior pieces. The whole process was relatively simple, if a little tedious but it felt great to have the restored range of motion without all the added bulk. No matter how much he wished to remove it, the helmet had to stay on per Navy modified Terrapin operation manuals. At least until he was in an environment where the failure of the sealing mechanism didn’t spell certain doom. Which meant, he was going to have to get used to it. And meals would have to be eaten in the toilet shower-combo. For six months. Unlike onboard Carracks where only in two separate areas a Starman had to remain in an EVA capable suit while they were there. Behind his helmet, he gave the single door of the Terrapin a withering glare. At that moment ship shuddered and the quantum drive gave a dying whine.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Matt shouted frantically while holding his hands up as if to placate or reason with the inanimate vessel. Hurrying over to the quantum drive access, he nearly smacked the open button.

“Please don’t be broken, please don—” Matt began to plead with the silent quantum drive but cut himself off. The quantum drive was fine. Every status LED winked green in the darkened alcove.

“Did…? Am I here?” Matt asked himself. If he was he had arrived a few minutes early. Making his way towards the flight deck, he poked his head around the seat. Matt felt his jaw drop underneath his helmet.
“Is that a fucking star!?”

Author's Note

INCOMING TRANSMISSION
ORIGIN: SOL SYSTEM
DECODING

Hello! Thanks for reading! For the four of you who decided to follow me on this site after my first publication (if you didn't just skip to the third paragraph), you may be wondering "Where's Planet Side? Is it coming back?" or "You're alive? Are you alive?" or maybe even "I was sure I killed you last time. How did you manage to survive?"

Well, in order those answers are:
It's dead.
Short answer? No. Long answer? Please read the updated author's note in the second chapter. It's a bit lengthy (like this one, go figure) but it explains a lot. (And if you're on this website, you like reading. You don't have an excuse)
Yes! Isn't it great?
Calm down, Plato.
And finally, you've already tried landmines on my morning commute. You did paint them this time, which helped but I was ready for it. >:)

Once again, thank you for taking the time to read this beginning, and I hope it wasn't too boring. It is a bit lengthy. Even lengthier than I imagined it would be when I started. I welcome feedback as I'm always looking to improve and I hope you'll all join me in seeing where this story goes.
Strangest Things, signing off.

END TRANSMISSION