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Planet Earth (Sol I); Washington D.C., The White House
The Sol System
AUG 11 2416/2416.223; 1605 Hours (FST)

His wait now drawn out to just under an hour, Frederick found himself becoming bored with the scenic view from the grandiose windows at the end of the hall. Drumming his fingers on his thighs, he began admiring the carpentry of the wooden door he was seated beside.

The door creaked open and the joint chiefs started down the corridor. A couple seemed to recognize him, nodding in respect, so he stood up saluted in return.

"Frederick Tolwyn?" a voice called softly from the open door. It was one of the President’s more competent advisors, Niles.

"Yes?"

"The President will see you now."

In preparation, he brushed off his stark green dress uniform and tugged on the edges of the patch of medals over his breast.

Striding into the oval office, Frederick stopped at the center of the room. His eyes immediately traveled about, observing the flagpoles, decorative rug and curtains bearing the World Economic Consortium eagle crest, and the rows and rows of portraits that encircled the walls, each one a president of the past all the way back to Washington. Even the potted plants, most from Earth, deserved mention.

Frederick sharply brought his boots together with a sound and saluted.

"Ah, Vice Admiral Tolwyn," President Daniel Trough greeted in his usual unnecessarily pleasant tone, "a pleasure, as always."

"Likewise, sir."

"A pity I don’t have more time to speak with you. I imagine you must have a whole wealth of stories about your family indeed. Why, you yourself played a rather vital role in the war with the Yan."

"I’m afraid my family has never been one of braggarts."

"But evidently one of modesty. The name Tolwyn has been synonymous with brilliant military leaders throughout our history. I’ve done my homework, Admiral. That’s part of the reason I’ve arranged this particular meeting."

"Sir?"

The President folded his arms over his desk. "The Battle of Alpha Centauri has been lost, Admiral."

"I was made aware of that when we lost Centauri Prime."

"We never should have lost that planet. With it gone, WEC’s foothold in the Alpha Centauri System is nonexistent—we explored and colonized it only to let it fall to a band of rebels. I know I don’t need to tell you this is very bad for the war, Admiral."

"What can be lost can also be regained. The situation in Alpha Centauri presented itself at an awkward time for the Terran Federation." Alpha Centauri was the first star system outside of the Sol System to be ventured to and explored via Jump Drive by Terrans. Once the initial colonist settlers arrived after the ES wrapped up their terraforming—a tedious and lengthy procedure developed by the Pilgrims that involved injecting bioengineered bacteria into Centauri Prime’s upper atmosphere—the Federation had only time enough to send in a small garrison before the Confederacy decided one more planet under Martial Law would be one planet too many.

Frederick did not blind himself to his feelings about the Galactic Civil War—he knew the Confederacy had a legitimate cause. Yet he also did not blind himself to feeling that revoking Martial Law to the demands of a coalition of rebels would be unacceptable, the equivalent of bowing to terrorist threats. The Federation and WEC would become a joke, and Frederick would never allow that. It was what he had given his life to—what his family had given their lives to—and he would gladly die for it in a second.

"I understand it was at an awkward time," the President rebutted. "But it shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t have been allowed to happen."

Frederick pursed his lips. "It wouldn’t have, sir, had the fleet admiral heeded my advisory."

"Fleet Admiral Ishikawa has been relieved of his duties."

"Sir? Without a—"

"Congratulations, Fleet Admiral Tolwyn."

"B-but, sir..." Frederick broke off his surprised stammer, doing his best to militarily stiffen up his pose once more as he suspended his disbelief. "Thank you, sir."

"The Galactic Civil War is a direct threat—to say nothing of embarrassment—to everything the Terran Federation is to embody. When the Federation looks bad, the people lose faith in the WEC. You know this."

"I do, sir."

"And, as fleet admiral, consider yourself in charge of ending it. Swiftly."

"And the Confederacy?"

An icy look came to the President’s face, so unlike any he had ever seen in any Presidential broadcast or appearance. "Stamp it out by any means necessary, any way you see fit. You are now answerable to no one but myself."

"Your faith in me is well placed, sir. I will not let you down."

"Just do what needs to be done, Admiral. Now get to it." The President and Frederick exchanged a salute, and then Frederick started out of the room.

It’s time to live up to my name, he thought, in a seldom-allowed moment of pride.

On his way out, Frederick’s eyes dallied a moment ever so slightly over the portrait of President Ulysses S. Grant.

CFS Admonisher; Docking Bay 2
The Alpha Centauri System
AUG 22 2427/2427.234; 1703 Hours (FST)

Folded transfer papers in her hand, duffel bag slung over her shoulder, Dawn McKenzie walked off the ramp of the shuttlecraft in measured strides into the docking bay of the Confederate battle wagon CFS Admonisher. Being the shuttle’s only occupant save for the pilot himself, with no one else to share the feeling, she seemed alienated and displaced right from the start.

Giving off a look of bewilderment as her gaze swept back and forth across the vacant docking bay, she came to realize there was no one there to meet her.

"Hey!" shouted a voice. Not in an angry or questioning way, but in a cheerful one. The young pilot who had spoken, still holding his flight helmet, jogged toward her and stopped.

"Yes?" Dawn said. "Did the Captain send you?"

"Um, no. I guess you were expecting some kinda welcome wagon, huh?" He cracked a wry grin as her pause answered his question. "You’re a new flier, though, aren’t you? I heard we were expecting a new batch when we swung around Proxima IV."

"Yes. A pilot."

The man’s grin widened as he offered his hand. Unsure at first, Dawn took it and shook. "The name’s Jacob. ‘Captain Hayes’ or just ‘Hayes’ is all anyone calls me on this bucket. What’s yours?"

"Lieutenant JG McKe..." she broke off, then paused. Her voice softening, she offered, "Dawn."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dawn."

"Pleased to meet you, Jacob."

The pilot smiled. "Look, the Captain is about to give some kinda general briefing in the CIC. Looks like you’re just in time."

Knowing nothing of the Admonisher’s interior, Dawn started walking with him.

"I been here two months," Jacob spoke. "When the Confederacy came calling in Craetoria City on Venus, I signed up. My sorry ass had no military experience or nothing, unless you count being a hall monitor in high school. Sheesus, I was in high school just last year—isn’t that something to think?"

Dawn said nothing.

"You’re real quiet, aren’t you?" A second later Jacob was biting his lip. "Sorry. It’s just that most of the women here are either bitchy or chatterboxes." He sighed, again getting no response. "Where’d they recruit you, anyway?"

"I transferred. From the Confederate Marines."

"You were a Colonial Marine? Damn... good thing you didn’t get shafted to Centauri Prime. Real massacre, I heard, even if we pulled a victory off that shithole."

Faces of friends—Marines—flashed and burned back into memory, staring at her in her mind’s eye with their dead gazes. What had happened on Centauri Prime had ripped the last vestment of her former self away. "Yes," she said, "a good thing."

"You an Earther?"

"I don’t know," Dawn admitted. "I don’t remember my childhood."

"Oh. Okay." He was silent for a moment, probably thinking about something else to ask her. "You Asian? You look kinda Asian to me, if you don’t mind me saying so."

"My father was Japanese," she replied, trying not to think about it. "I never knew my mother."

"Split up with your dad? Happened to my folks."

"No. She killed herself."

"Oh." Again, the conversation killer.

Rounding a corner, they came to a double-door. Opening at their feet, an auditorium-like chamber revealed itself. Most of the pilots and Marines were already seated, but there were still a few later arrivals coming in through the other doors.

Dawn took a seat near the back on Jacob on the pilots’ division of the chamber. The important-looking man standing at the front began speaking as soon as she sat down.

"Pilots of the Confederacy’s 2nd Fighter Wing," the man said. "I know there has been some new recruits, so I’ll do my best to make you feel at home. I am Captain Donovan Cabreighny. As most of you know, this ship and crew defected to the Confederacy under my command in the first year of the war. I was a Federate, so I know a thing or two about how they think. As you also may know, or might have feared, we were all in real hot water up until we took Alpha Centauri earlier this week. We now have an entire system to ourselves—a refuge, for now. I understand, in fact, that we even have a Marine that transferred her commission to the Space Navy that was one of only a handful of the survivors that took Centauri Prime from the ground."

"You were on Centauri Prime?" Jacob asked, his eyes bright with disbelief. "But you said..."

"I was there. I fought. I also died." The memories of the explosions, the chaos, and the stink of death threatened to resurface. The person that walked away from the week of radiation treatment that followed the fighting was not the same person, the same brash, arrogant person that had thrown her name on the Colonial Marines roster at the earliest opportunity, in search of glory and fulfillment. That person had found only desolation.

To Dawn’s gratitude, Jacob didn’t press. "I see."

"In the following days, the Confederate fleet will put itself on the offensive like never before. The Admonisher will be on the warpath, following the flagship as together we blaze a trail straight to the Federation’s front door."

"Earth?" a Marine from the crowd asked.

"Yes, by God. We’ll either hoist the Confederate flag in the White House lawn, die, or drive a stake into the Feds so deep they will no longer have the power to enforce Martial Law." Cabreighny rocked on his soles. "If we can at least do the latter, history won’t soon forget what the Confederacy stood for. We won’t tuck our tails between our legs and run away like the Pilgrims." Applause broke out. Dawn joined in after a few seconds. "Thank you," he concluded. "That will be all."

Standing aside, a younger man with a more casual but no less authoritative demeanor took the captain’s place. "I’m Lieutenant General Matthew Reed, the wing commander of this tub. The Captain has done a good enough job welcoming you newbies out there aboard, so I’ll cut to the chase. We have received word that the Federation is intending to retake this system, and retake it soon. They’re massing the Fleet at the Alpha Centauri jump point beyond Pluto, so it is only a matter of time before the strike is ordered. Rest assured, it’s inevitable." A holo cube map flickered into existence to Reed’s right. Drawing a pointer from his breast pocket, the colonel indicated an area of empty space just beyond the planet Dawn assumed was Centauri Prime. "The obvious advantage we have is knowing exactly where they’ll show up—here, at the jump point in this system from Sol System. As the Confederate Fleet is in no shape to mount the offensive the captain suggests at this time, we need to buy the Centauri shipyard some time to give us what we need. The objective for you flyboys’n girls is simple, and probably good training for you nuggets and plebes: a minefield is to be laid before the jump point node." A bustle of chatter swept through the pilots and Marines. Everyone seemed to like the idea. "But it has to be done fast, which is why we’re counting on our starfighters to get it done. After that, it’s standard BARCAP duty... we don’t know when we’ll have uninvited guests, but we’ll know exactly where they’ll pop up."

After assigning Dawn and Jacob to "Atlas" Squadron, the General went on to the mission specifics, his tone and posture little different than that of the drill sergeants she’d faced in the Colonial Marines. As it was concluded, Jacob stood. Dawn followed suit.

"All right, you heard the man," Jacob said, gesturing her up. "Ladies first."

The hint of a smile graced her lips as she stood and started past him. "Yeah, right."

CFS Admonisher; Flight Deck
1751 Hours (FST)

"You given any thought to a callsign?"

"A what?"

Dawn and Jacob reached the flight deck after the rest of Atlas Squadron, sauntering in with no great urgency despite the shoutings of their squadron commander, a Lt. Colonel Tom "Reaper" Sanders. She had needed to get suited up in her flight gear, and Jacob had waited for her. In the time they had spent talking, Jacob had done his best to get what he could out of her about her past without prying. He had gotten little from her, despite his very best efforts.

"Y’know," Jacob continued, "a cockpit alias, a pilot nickname. Mine’s Python." Getting no more than a "haven’t thought about it," out of Dawn, he gave her a good-natured jab in the shoulder as they neared the first line-up of F-40B Komodo fighters they were supposed to be flying. The fighters were oblong, bracketed by an afterburning and projectile launcher system that looked like little more than an attachment. She had noted they were classified as light assault fighters, but Dawn had seen even civilian craft that looked more durable. "You all ready’n psyched and stuff for your first time in the cockpit?"

"Um... yes. Why should I not be?" She seemed worried about something, her concern growing the closer she got to the nearest fighter. She turned a glance at him. "Have you ever, um, flown a Komodo before, Jacob?"

"Komodos?" Jacob recoiled, sneering for an instant, as if the answer should be obvious. "Oh, hell yeah. First bird they stuck me in when they pulled me off Venus. Can’t say I’ve put much flight time in much else since."

"Are they... easy to fly?"

"Well, sure. As much as a deathtrap can, I s’pose."

"Death... trap?" If Jacob was trying to scare her, she wasn’t appreciating it. "Why... why do you say that?"

"Way they’re built. They’re recon spacecraft for atmospheric environments barely retrofitted enough to make them space combat-worthy. Two lasguns, a mass driver cannon, and a one heat-seeker payload is all you got on your average ’Modo. Don’t hold up long in a real dogfight, believe me. Watched two wingmen get fried in their cockpits already in as many weeks." He was trying to be open about it, but Dawn could tell the experience had eaten him up a great deal. For some reason, it was hard to imagine Jacob in any mood other than the cheery, devil-may-care mood he had been in since she met him not even an hour ago. "I been lucky so far. Real lucky."

"Encouraging."

Jacob gave a muted chuckle. "Isn’t it?"

With a parting look that said "I’ll see you in space," Dawn and Jacob headed to their separate fighters.

Starting up the ladder to her Komodo fighter, she fought unsuccessfully the urge to smile. She knew.

Today she would be airborne.

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