Into the Dark (segment)

Jane felt her mind clearing from the fog of sleep, her aching wounded body felt fresh and warm as if waking from a dream in her bunk.

She tried to take stock of her surroundings and why her mouth and nose felt funny, like they were covered by an unknown hand that still allowed her to breathe. She openned her eyes and as the pink sticky liquid filled them she began to realise her fate and terror rose through her with the accompanying scream.

She thrashed around naked in her glass cell screaming into her oxygen mask banging her fists against the sides in blind panic. The sight of row upon row of cylinders similarly filled with sleeping clones of herself suspended in the pink nutrient goo, only increased her need and desire to escape. This had to be a nightmare!

A silhouetted figure of one of those creatures stood in the doorway regarding her. She stopped banging the glass as the terror slipped away .

"Please... Please, let me out... I know you can hear me... Please... I just want to go home."

"You'll get home soon Lieutenant." The Alien's voice wrapped "You will all get home sooner than you think."

Then, the figure turned away and closed the metal door with a secure metallic clunk plunging Jane and the clones, into the dark.

Into the dark...

Ok, please be gentle. Its the first thing I've written in a Loooonnnngggg time and it is still very much work in progress.

As Princess Irulan said in Dune; A beginning is a very fragile thing and I'm hoping this isn't too bad a start... do let me know.

Chapter One

The door swung open quietly, so quietly that Lieutenant Jane Briarwood didn’t even hear it. The Endeavourhad been in space for over four months on a deep survey mission and Jane had been staring at readouts for most of it. As a junior archaeologist she’d had the honour of being assigned to this vessel mainly because she believed no one else had wanted to go and had more clout than her.

“Ah, Lieutenant Briarwood.” The voice of her nominal superiorCommander Devonshire derailed her train of thought with its usual annoyingdrone. “Are you busy?”

“Is there anything I can say that will convince you that I am?” she thought.

“Good.” He didn’t even give her a chance to  reply. “The equipment needs to be checked onagain. Make sure it is all fully functional.”

Jane rolled her eyes and closed them shut in frustration.Every other day Devonshire came in and would send her to check again. She used to argue but it was a fruitless exercise and it was a drain on the shipsatmosphere recycler. For four months they had travelled, for four months they had seen nothing but the cold black starry vacuum of space. Four months of deepscans, and long range probe reports and dehydrated food. The equipment hadn’tleft the packing crate let alone the stasis chambers. Captain Kinnock kept assuring the survey staff in fortnightly meetings that they were on course and that they should find a planet soon but she’d ceased to believe that after the first month.

She’d spent most of her days running simulations and reading, hoping beyond hope that something interesting was coming up around the corner but again, she’d given up on that too. It had become a waiting game. How long until the Captain would admit the inevitable and turn the ship around or how long until they actually found something?

She had left the confines of her meagre office on quite a fewoccasions, other than to go and check the blasted equipment. On constant laps around the ship in the early hours for exercise or a post shift drink in the mess where she actually got to socialise with real human beings. At first some of the men had hit on her but after a few clumsy approaches, some of her wittiest put downs and the intervention of Mr Miles, the ship’s Second Officer she was safe to sit and chat with the others. Although the fleet had a good mix of men and women some how this ship had ended up with a majority male crew and had she been inclined she could have any number of suitors especially now as the fourth long month dragged on but she preferred to keep her own company.

She had been so immersed in her renewed reminiscing that shehadn’t even noticed that she was already half way to the Access control room.She liked the guys down there. Like her they spent hours locked up in a roomwatching cameras and computer screens. They were all joyfully eccentric and they were used her regular visits, in fact they seemed to look forward to it. Acouple of them had an obvious crush on her to, they would fight to get to the front door every time for a glimmer of conversation and a hint of a smile.Truth be told, she found them all very funny.

As she approached and swiped her access card she could hear the clamour within and the muffled argument.

“You spoke to her last time, it’s my turn.”
“Get out of my way old man.”

She wondered who would win.

“Hi Jane, what can I do you for?” Jack had won this time.The young man with freckles and reddish tint to his blonde hair was the usualone to win but only because Boris was older and his reaction speed was just slow enough that the younger man could beat him.

She favoured him with a broad grin. “Same as always, key card 106 and an escort to hold 8”

“Comin’ right up.” He grinned broadly and disappeared intothe office again.

She started to wander down the corridor towards the stasisholds, it felt like she’d been here everyday. She had counted the tiles on the floor waiting for her escort one day and now knew how many steps it took to get to bay 8, to pass the time she counted steps until her escort arrived.

“Seven, eight, nine,ten…”

“Another service check?” Jack came down the corridor, the soft jangling of keys in his hand and an overly joyful tone of voice for what was one of the most mundane jobs on the ship.

“Yes, Commander Devonshire is very particular about his equipment.” She nodded trying not to let the her boredom spoil his good humour.

“He knows that sitting in the stasis nothing will happen to it and only you and I have keys to it so no one else can get to it right?”

The look she gave him wold have withered flowers at threeyards and required no further conversation. Jack looked sheepishly at her and then hurried past to slip the keys in the lock and turned them. She took a step forward and withdrew her battered key card and went to swipe it in the oh sofamiliar lock.

“Lieutenant Briarwood, can you report to the forwardobservation post.”

“What now?” she thought with a touch of annoyance but with an awful lot of relief at not having to check that blasted equipment again. She slung an apologetic glance at Jack and turned to leave.

“I’ll see you later Jane.” Was the last thing she heard before disappearing into the lift back to the habitat and admin section of the ship.

Endeavour wasn’t the largest ship she had ever served on, eighteen decks, two hundred metres long with another hundred for the engine module and a crew of about seventy-five, all of whom she had met at one point on this tirelessly long voyage. Most were involved in the day to day running of the ship, its engineering team, small security detail, bridge crew and victualing staff topped up with mission specialists like herself. Though it was a tight knit group of people it was also a little claustrophobic at times but it suited her better than the large battle ships like Phaeton or Kraken both of whom were almost two kilometres with crew compliments in their thousands where she would disappear into the sea of faces and was known to no one outside of her section and even then mostly all she got from her colleagues was a half nod in passing in the corridor.

She had been glad to escape Kraken and happy with her assignment to the station at DremerdiusVII where she had her own office and space and could sit and write papers,maybe go out on a dig twice a year to the Dremerdius IV and its flowing blue rivers and hazy meadows that swam through the Methane atmosphere. Still all good things had to come to an end and the passing of Endeavour and the lack of willing archaelogists saw her get plucked from the comforts of home and thrust into this boredom. Still, it acted as a catalyst for her to think about her life and evaluate whether she truly wanted to carry on down this course, something she had spent a lot of time thinking about on this voyage. Dremerdius had been a mistake, a holding pattern but it had become comfortable and the norm for four years of her life and now that shereally thought about it she realised that she wasn’t happy there or here.Especially here.

Rhaegar & Lyanna

Vengeance teaser- Final Ghost visit

The air was icy cold, his skin dimpled and a slight frost began to form on the hair of his arms. Jonathon stepped further down the corridor and into the darkness, he stretched his left arm out out and felt the cold metallic sting of the hull plating running along the side.
A light in front of him snapped into life and filled the darkness burning his eyes. Charlotte stood before him illuminated in her Captain's uniform. She looked sad, her eyes were ringed with red as if she had been crying. She shivered and pulled her jacket tightly around her.
"Why are you here?" his voice rasped, he barely recognised it as his own.
"You keep bringing me here." He heard the hint of frustration. "If you don't want to see me stop summoning me."
He was doing this? How?
He took a step closer towards her but she raised a hand to block him.
"Stop please. Don't come closer."
"But why?"
"Jonathon, I barely know you anymore."
"I'm the same man you fell in love with, the same man who fought to save your life, the man who stood in front of the entire world and said I love you Charlotte Bell." He felt a lump in his throat as he felt her scorn. "You're my everything."
She looked on stonily, her eyes fixed on his. "I fell in love with a good man, a man of principle and honour, now your heart is filled with nothing but darkness."
"You were my light, without you I can only dwell in darkness." he bit back.
She shook her head and he could see a fiery rage he'd not seen in years, a deep burning poison was preparing to escape. Instead she spoke in measured tones.
"You're blaming me?"
"You left me..."
She cut him off with a controlled explosion. "You make it sound like I had a choice! I was taken from you! Do you think I wanted to go?"
He stared at her, his mind robbed of cognitive thought. The anger in her eyes still burned bright and he knew there was no point in questioning or pushing any further. He thought of the deaths, the blood on his hands and the route he had found himself on. Part of him, his old self was revolted by his actions. Was she a projection of his subconscious? Was it a N'kell trick?

"What would you have me do?"
"You need to turn back Jonathon, turn away from this course, you are a better man than this. Then maybe I can rest in peace."
"I wouldn't see you again?" He sounded needy, even to his own ears, had she dominated his life so much?
"One day..." She said wistfully.
"What would I do without you?"
"Go on living." She sounded incredulous. "Jonathon you have many years of your life to go, you can't become fixated like this. My life is over, yours is still ongoing."
"But I don't want to." Tears welled in his eyes. "Not without you."
"Then take your side arm, press it to your temple and end it." She lost her patience and snapped.

He glanced down at the butt of the sidearm protruding from it's holster. It seemed to call to him and he felt his hand twitch towards it. The lure of peace, of being with her. He felt the weight lifting from his mind, the voices quietening down.

Rage suddenly filled him, bubbling out of control and he spat vehmentally at her. "You would like that wouldn't you? For me to stop my work."
She was even more incredulous. "What?" she narrowed her eyes and her cheeks flushed with rage.
"You're one of them. You're here to stop me..."
"If I wasn't who I said I was would I know about Doolan? You're nickname was Freya because of your snoring? That your mother's name is Florence?"
He looked at her knowing what she said was true. How could a facsimile know all of those details?
But how could it really be her?
"You have to have faith, not everything can be explained. I can't explain it myself. All I know is I keep finding myself here watching you disintegrate from the man I knew and loved. It's too painful Jonathon - I can't do it anymore."

What am I doing with my life? Help please!!!

At somepoint this morning everything cracked and I found myself telephoning my wife and asking;

"What am I doing?"

"I don't know. What are you doing?"

"Well I'm on my way to work... I meant in life."

"Oh... do you..."

"Obviously not you and Sophie... Just everything else!"

I had been reading "One day" and was relating to Em's post university crisis of not achieving all that she had dreamed of and being defeated by the city of London. I started thinking about how I'd felt post degree and how I had hoped and dreamed and now....

Now I'm sat in a darkened room doing the same things day in and out for a company I'm no longer thrilled to be working for.

At 10.02 am I answer the same phone call "Hello Fred......... Thanks Fred....." EVERY LATE SHIFT.

I think about what some of my friends are doing with their lives or even what my sister is doing and it saddens me.

Other than my wife and daughter, of which I am eternally thankful and a hand full of close friends I've a massive hole in my life... I mean what is it all about?

In my spare time I write... not meandering rants/pleas for help like this but prose and essays that I publish on line but ultimatly what does it achieve? Nothing.
I read a lot too. I amass great swathes of fascinating (to me) information about people who are long dead and governments of countries that no longer exist and for what?

I want to do more Lib dem stuff but ultimatly can't imagine what it would achieve and I don't have the time or money to get as involved as I want to either. I just feel life has cornered me and is happily kicking the crap out of me and that Game Over is looming over my head.

I guess I'm reaching the point that I need some direction, I want to do something worth while, something productive or feel productive... Like I am doing something to benefit others, myself or society rather than sat in comfy chairs eatting Haribo waiting for the shift to end and wondering what the hell has happened with life.

I can't believe I written this... even if it is for a bet.

I woke up the next morning slowly, not with what have understandably been a shocked start in an unfamiliar room. A smug smile spread across my face as I pulled the white duvet over my head and nuzzled into the soft white pillow. I could still smell his aftershave on his side and I felt excitement build within me again and my heart skipped a beat.

I heard music gently emanating from down the hall way, it was... Oh what was it? The Magic Flute! I remember being pleasantly surprised. Then a new smell caught my attention.
Bacon.
I felt my stomach grumble as the smoky smell filled my nostrils, I was being pulled inexorably out of bed towards the kitchen. I stepped out onto the soft carpet and looked at my disheveled pile of clothes, abandoned in the heat of the moment. y eyes fixed on a soft white dressing gown and pulled it tight around myself and stepped out into the hall way. Sunlight streamed from the window at the far end blinding me somewhat. The kitchen-dining room door was open and the sound of Mozart and soft Germanic opera grew slightly in volume and in the background I could hear bacon sizzling under the grill.

I stepped into the room and there he was, dressed in a scruffy pair of jeans and an old graduation T-shirt from King Ælfred’s college. His hair was scruffy but roughly combed and his eyes fixed the bacon and sausages cooking under the grill, he clung to a mug of tea casually and a spatula with the other hand.
“How do you like your eggs?”  How had he heard me approach?
“That’s rather presumptuous of you.” I retorted. “I might be a vegetarian.”
“Surf and turf.” He said simply.
“What?”
“You told me your favorite meal was Surf and turf. Also in the restaurant you had Lamb Balti. Any way its Sunday. You have to have a cooked breakfast. It’s the law.”

I smiled “Scrambled please.”

He smiled back at me briefly then put the tea on the work surface. “Breakfast will be served in five minutes.”

I decided to let the master carry on his work and padded softly down the hall to the bathroom. As I washed my hands I saw his bathroom cabinet open curiosity got the better of me and I had a quick look. I’m not sure what for, maybe some sort of horrific medication or cream but no.
Just a flannel, spare razor blades, a bottle of aftershave and paracetemol . In a way I was a little disappointed.

As I stepped back into the hall I saw the oor to the second bedroom open and again curiosity [piqued my interest. I stepped into what appeared to be a study with all the walls lined with shelves heaving with books and a loan desk in the corner by the window with a PC and a couple of framed pictures.
I started to look through the books casually to see what he was interested in. The first few shelves were general fiction, some thrillers and a couple of books by that upcoming authoress  whose name I can’t remember at the moment. Then there was a couple of shelves dedicated to his favourite sci-fi franchise including some technical manuals as to how all the ships worked etc. I shook my head with a wry smile. The next set were history books about Medieval  England, eighteenth century Imperialism and wars in America and of course lots of books on the Second World War. The shelf next to his desk, obviously the ones that were used the most, their spines creased or with little bookmarks poking out. A well thumbed copies of Goethe and Schiller, some political philosophy like Hobbes, Locke, Mills and even some Marx. I was pleased to see a copy of Mrs Thathcer’s autobiography among the collected works of Grimond, Beverage, Keynes and Asquith. I looked away to the desk and at the framed pictures, nothing out of the ordinary just a couple of family ones of what I assumed were pictures of his mother and brother, one of his ex… she certainly was a plain Jane! Short copper hair scraped back in a tight bun and a look of serious expression, he was sat at her side beaming and holding a glass of wine obviously having a good time but her eyes showed she was obviously hating whatever the event was. The last was him wearing a black suit and yellow tie shaking hands with…

My heart began to race with dread as I turned back to the bookshelves and stared at the politics books again. Grimond, Asquith,  Keynes, The Orange book… back to the picture of him shaking hands with another suited man wearing a yellow rosette. It was Nick Clegg.

Dave was a Liberal Democrat!

I felt, let down. I’d almost wished I had found a herpes cream in his cabinet instead. It sounds stupid but I really despised Liberal Democrats, I always had. They were always so wishy-washy, always on the fence and when they did have policies they were always opposite to what I believed in. Pro-Euro, always bringing up human rights and constantly banging on about electoral reform! There was nothing that needed reforming. My blood began to boil at the thought of it.

“Breakfast.” I heard him call from down the hall way.
I turned to look out the study door as he appeared in the doorway.
“Isobel,” he grinned. “Breakfast is ready. How would you like your tea?”
I looked at him with in hindsight was more of a glare, I tried to quickly recover and forced a smile. It couldn’t be that big a deal, so what if he was a Libdem? So what if I was a Tory and we had completely different outlooks on politics, the world and everything?

Book 2- Chapter 1. When Jonathon met Charlotte

Jonathon and Portia walked along the main street of Belgarum. The sun was setting and cast an orange tint across the houses. Portia shivered as a cold breeze whipped up and ruffled her platinum blonde hair. Jonathon put an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've missed this." She said "Your company I mean."

"I've missed you to. It's been too long."

They lapsed into silence again as they wandered the streets. It had been four years since they had last seen each other back on Rowlatt, they had both been on leave and bumped into each other and spent the next week soley in each others company. Portia had seen him change from a burnt out grief stricken young man into the care free youth he had been when he had left the planet for the academy, his metamorphosis had been amazing to behold. 

"How is home?" He asked presently.

She smiled "Not sure, haven't been back to that dust ball in four years but I imagine it’s still the same."

"Remember that guy who hangs around the star port?"

"Doug!" They said in unison.

"Oh my God yeah!" She giggled. "Remember the Doug trap?"

"Remember it? I'm still paying off the damage it caused."

They laughed as they pictured their youth on Rowlatt, the serene picture book version of their lives where the bad memories were white washed over and hurt was forgotten.

"What happened to those two teenagers Portia?" he asked sounding suddenly serious.

"We grew up I guess." She sounded distant, probably thinking of those days in the countryside.

"But why?"

"Well if I remember you wanted to go and fly your precious salamanders... I- I wanted to just get away from that place."

He nodded in agreement. "Now I remember."

Silence lapsed over them again as they walked with no direction.

"Do you ever regret it?" She asked.

"Some days." He was quick; he didn't even think it over. "But then I would never have flown, would never have met Doolan and would probably be working the family lot scratching out Potatoes. Strange but I spent all those days wishing I was elsewhere, fighting bad guys and flying and now I'd give anything to be that young and innocent back there, and I know I’ll never get back to that until I'm retired and too old to enjoy the pleasures of youth."

She squeezed his arm gently. "I know it’s been five years but... Do you still miss her?"

Jonathon looked down at the cobbled street and lost himself into thought. He had not thought about Claire in a while and he reprimanded himself for his failing.

"Often." He said finally. "We were close. I wish that I had realised sooner that I loved her, I wish that she had told me sooner and I wish she was here now."

"Those are quite a few regrets. You shouldn't live in the past."

Jonathon said nothing. He thought of the young woman he had lain to rest on Zosen IV all those years ago, her eyes always sparkling with mischief and that irresponsible grin. He missed her so much. She had always been there and he had thought, even presumed that she always would and the cold vacuum of existance without her stung him deeply.

"She would want you to move on." Portia continued.

"I know." Pentlow, Snellgrove and Stacey had told him that over the last five years but he couldn't think of a reason why. She had been his friend, his confident and perhaps his soul mate.

"Is there anyone else on the horizon?"

"No" he stopped and looked around the cold grey prefabs. "Where are we??"

She laughed that crazy boundless less laugh she had laughed when they were young.

"Only we could get lost in a town mapped out as a grid."

They turned around and headed back down the hill, pausing briefly to look out across the panoramic view of the city.

"Any way, what about you?" He tried to change the subject.

"No nor me. Although I wonder what my new first officer will be like. Maybe he will be the one." She half smiled. "I don't know Jonathon; I've not decided what I want yet."

The city lay below them in a quiet haze, street lamps began to come on as well as a few lights in the houses. He could just make out the town clock saying seven O'clock.

"Guess it’s time we got back to the Mordred and I can collect my new C-O"

Portia threw her head back and laughed. "Oh yeah Jonathon you will love her!"

He furrowed his brow and raised an eyebrow in concern "I don't like the way you said that. What is she like?"

"Charlotte is... well... She is an excellent officer. She knows the regs, is calm under pressure and exemplary in her field but..."

Portia paused that laugh still rang in his ear and made him worry. "But?"

She squeezed closer to him and kissed him on the cheek. "She's one of a kind." She whispered. "You get to meet her in half an hour."

The entry ramp to the shuttle slowly descended towards the docking bay floor, a stream of coolant spraying along its length. Through the swirling white steam Charlotte could see her Captain chatting to another officer. Her eyes narrowed with anger as she glared at Portia. Her opinion of her Captain had never been particularly high, she constantly flaunted the rules and let her crew get away with murder at times and When Charlotte tried to enforce the rules she was made to look like a bitch. Portia had always been really polite and friendly with her but deep down there was a mutual understanding that they didn't like each other. In fact Charlotte felt the Captain's motivation to put in a word for her at the Promotion hearing was so she could move her on. Charlotte would prove wrong, she knew she deserved this promotion and could handle the responsibility. She had put up with enough crap from her superiors and subordinates for too long. Now was her time to shine.

Portia and the other officer were finally within six feet of her; she threw a quick salute and clicked her heels.

"Good to finally have you back sir."

Portia winced at the thinly veiled rebuke.

"Shall I have some quarters prepared for your friend?" Charlotte continued unabated.

The other officer, a commander wearing the yellow rank badges of a fighter pilot and a collection of commendations on his left breast crowned by the Galactic cross at his throat on a torn ribbon looked shocked.

"That won't be necessary." Portia raised her hands defensively.

"Understood." Charlotte nodded again, another velvet covered sledgehammer struck home. "Nothing to report by the way."

"I'm sorry commander." The red haired pilot broke in. "That is no way to speak to a senior officer."

Portia squeezed his arm. "Jonathon it's ok. Don't..."

He held up a hand in defiance. "NO Portia... It's unacceptable."

"Well commander." Charlotte spat back acidically. "Seeing as you don't out rank me and this isn't your vessel." She gave him one of her cutting glares that was usually enough to silence the most rowdy of crew men or belligerent of officers.

"As acting Captain of the Agravane I do out rank you Commander." He puffed his chest out and tried to look more important than he was.

Charlotte looked shocked. Agravane? That was her ship. This jumped up space jockey couldn't possibly be the new Captain. Then realisation struck. It was worse than that he was her new first officer. A thin smile etched its way across her face.

"What's your name and position?" Jonathon continued.

Portia's eyes rolled and she squeezed his arm gently. "Jonathon..."

"Commander Charlotte Bell, First officer of the Mordred and Captain of the Agravane."

Icy cold horror washed over Jonathon. What had he done? "Oh shi-"

Claire Doolan's grave stood alone on the water meadows outside Dracon, long grass tugged at the shaft of the wooden cross and brambles were questing towards it through the undergrowth.It had been undisturbed since the fateful day it was placed there, standing like a beacon among the peace and serenity to remind passers by of the war and the sacrifice of a young officer who had given her life to save this planet and the human race from a genocidal onslaught. Through a sheer miracle her silver cross still remained hanging from the marker, sparkling in the sun and dancing in the wind.

A single red rose lay before it dying a slow death as a mark of sentimentality; laid by someone who loved her and had made the pilgrimage on her birthday, next to it lay a wooden Nautilus model, hand carved and painted by another who loved her although he had not been to her in a long time - for Jonathon the pain was far to deep.

The wind caught the small silver cross and it danced once again back and forth in its waltz with nature. High above the field the clouds turned black rapidly slowly whipping up into a swirling black mailstrom in the heavens, great forks of lightening arched across the formations and speared towards the ground ripping the ground assunder and tearing trees in twain.

Rain began to fall from the skies in long hard lines that hissed and burned on contact with the ground and caused the brambles to whither and die along with the once vivacious green grass. As the poison began to take affect all life on Zosen IV reached out before choking on burning trachia or suffering hidious chemical abrassions. Even the fish in the rivers that flowed past Claire's grave floated to the surface, their gills and eyes bleeding from the acidity in the water.

Within fifteen minutes all life had died and only Claire's grave remained now on the barren wasteland that had once been a lush green meadow even her silver cross had fallen, it's chain eaten through and its light died in the darkness of the passing storm that had killed the planet.

Keister watched Zosen IV die, something he had dreamed about for five years. This planet had been a dark stain on an otherwise immaculate career, he had been called to the prescence of the Gefuht for the first time and instead of a glorious promotion he was given a three hour dressing down followed by a demotion to Commodore. It had taken five years to claw his way bcak up to admiral, calling in old favours he had hoped to save for something really important.

Now though- Now he had his revenge on this pointless world - this planet that had blighted him. The black clouds swirled around the epicenter of the explosion slowly spreading out across the planet like a voracious tumour. He knew that under the black shrowd the Szac gas was killing all biological life and leaving a scarred burnt husk behind.

Within twenty minutes the swirling black clouds had taken over the whole atmosphere turning the planet almost invisible against the darkness of space.

Four small vessels roared past his flagship and dived for the surface, their glowing orange exhausts illuminating a yellow plasma trail in their wake.

"Remora." He spat. "Why am I not surprised?"

The Remora were the most hated species in the galaxy, no one knew where they had come from or where they went just that their tiny vessels always seemed to be around large battle fleets and often swooped in to pillage from the dead and dying. The admiralty had issued an order not to fire upon them though, an order he felt was an afront to the honour of the Navy but orders were orders.

He allowed himself a quick smile. They would be surprised when they landed on Zosen IV and found their lungs melting and their eyes bleeding. That would soon teach them.

He turned from the observation point and pointed to the helmsman.

"Ensign! Plot a course for Staaken."

"Yes Admrial."

Keister turned again to watch the orange light fade into the swirling black abyss that now covered Zosen IV, like candles in the night.

Jonathon sat opposite Charlotte in the shuttle's passenger bay on what felt like the longest shuttle flight in his life. He fidgeted uncomfortably as he replayed their first encounter in his mind's eye. How could he have been so stupid?

She was sat leaning away from him facing the loading ramp and staring intently at some paperwork, her eyes like icy pools devoid of light and warmth.

He cleared his throat nervously as he shifted again.

She didn't move.

"So sir..." he tried to break the tension. "How long have you served under Captain Wright?"

There was a long pause and Jonathon thought she would ignore him thenn her voice cut through the silence, her gaze didn't shift from the page.

"Two years." Her voice was was clipped and sharp.

He felt foolishly encouraged. "How did you find it?"

She sniffed distractedly and continued to read. "It was alright." She eventually muttered in the the same curt tone.

He looked at his boots and the foolish bravado that had powered him as a youth tried one last stab. "How does it feel to have your own command?"

She slammed the pad into her lap as a cold stab of rage filled her, those cold eyes came to settle on his and he felt himself whither away from it and stare back down at his feet like a naughty school boy.

"Is this inane interrogation going to go on much longer?"

He mumbled a brief "No sir..."

"Then Kindly do shut up." She scooped up the pad and with a frustrated sigh resumed her reading, obviously still fuming to herself.

Silence descended and Jonathon stared uncomfortably at the floor unconsciously flicking Doolan's Galactic Cross, his mind wandered to Claire. Her memory was fading but still close to his heart, he could remember actions, pranks they had pulled or her saving his life but the sound of her voice had faded save for that scream, her final scream as he had lapsed into unconsciousness. Guilt dug at him as he remembered rushing to her in the field hospital after he had come to, the night vigils by her cot - he never let go of her hand even as she flat lined he squeezed it tight.

A tear welled up in his eye as his heart sank. He missed her.

A scalpel sharp voice cut into his thoughts. "I said... Have there been any orders as to where our next mission is?"

Jonathon looked up to see that icy glare studying him as one would sturdy a biological specimen.

"Not yet sir. Just to rendez-vous with Mordred." He said slowly and quietly still thinking about Claire, her hair blowing in the wind, her smile and those sparkling blue eyes that enchanted him.

"When was your last medical?" Charlotte's voice seemed to be echoing from another room.

"Two months." He said mechanically, still staring at the floor and tugging on the medal at his neck. TWO MONTHS. He thought. IT'LL BE THE ANNIVERSARY OF ZOSEN IV AND CLAIRE'S DEATH.

"Right...Well I want you to undergo another hearing test." She muttered "I can't..."

He cut her off in midd acidic flow. "I need a week's leave in two months time...I have some personal business to attend to." His voice was still hushed and distant.

Charlotte appeared to think for a while and nodded gently. "Fine."

Jonathon nodded and looked down at the cross at his throat. He wished she was still here with him.

Charlotte turned back to her paperwork and resumed her reading.