At least a quarter of the Solar System Defense Force Navy was in port for the day. Hundreds of soldiers mingle within the corridors of the United Nations’ Low Orbital Civilian Commerce Station Four; crowds dotted with civilians unaccustomed to zero gravity mixing together with well experienced, and slightly tipsy marines: the chaos of the celebrations reaching towards its peak point this Friday afternoon.

A figure floats through the docking section, a lanky form expertly maneuvering through the dozens of civilian bodies slowly acclimating to multi-dimensional movement in the cramped terminal.

The well-worn Officer’s Uniform of the Solar System Defense Force Naval branch receives a handful of respectful salutes from several marine guards as the young man carefully finds his way through the familiar section of the station, the exclusively military security checkpoint nearly deserted. A gateway between illusory safety and true reality.

The first security checkpoint is reached, a Marine Guard raising an armored hand to stop the approaching Officer as the other instinctively reaches for the submachine gun at her hip. “Lieutenant…” She begins as she notes the rank on his shoulders. “Sorry, but in order to exit the docking sector we’ve gotta put you through security. I just need your IDs and a go through on the scanner.”

“Of course.” The Officer nods, handing over a thick stack of identification papers from his uniform pocket. “Security’s pretty tight today.”

“You have no idea; been a string of attempted bombings this month leading up to this. Caught a guy with an IED in his ass just two days ago.” The Marine Guard answers as she notices the patch on the uniform’s unit identifier. “Combat Engineer huh?”

“Yeah, probably shouldn’t let me through if you’re worried about explosive devices.” The young man jibes as the guard logs both the identification and order forms with a QR scanner.

“Funny jo…” For a moment the smile slacks, the Marine Guard stopping as the readout confirms a suspicion. Her eyes take a glance at the young face before her, recognition flooding back into current memory. “Lieutenant Jonathan Keys?”

The Lieutenant smiles lightly. “Corporal.”

The marine instinctively salutes the name, rest of the guard post following suit.

“At ease.” Lieutenant Keys awkwardly waves off.

“Damn I thought you were still earth side.” The Marine Corporal begins, hiding nervousness as she scans over the papers one more time. “Did they reassign you back to the Corps?”

Lieutenant Keys shakes his head with a light smile. “Corporal, I’m not even sure I got reassigned in the first place.”

“Desk duty?” Another marine asks from the scanner. “Star of Terra putting you on the back burner now?”

“Maybe.” Lieutenant Keys answers. “I don’t think I can honestly say anything; got pulled out of leave with these orders right there.”

The Corporal clears her throat, handing the identification papers over to the man. “Well Lieutenant, it's an honor to meet you.”

“Thanks.” Keys answers oddly as he begins to maneuvering himself towards the security scanner. “I’m honestly quite new to this… whole experience as well.”

“The Star of Terra’s a big award sir.” The Corporal agrees as Keys moves into the scanner’s central chamber. “Are you doing something special for Fleet Week?”

“Hopefully not, I ain’t got shit prepared.” The Lieutenant replies with a sarcastic tone.

The checkpoint technician raises a hand as the scanner seals the man inside, a snarky, European accented voice echoing through the speaker system within the machine. “Alright Mr. Explosives, let us see if you have any bombs on you today. Put your hands up and remain still.”

“Never going to live that down am I?” Lieutenant sighs deeply as he follows orders.

“Living the dream, as it is said.” The Technician replies. “Question: did you really strap that bomb back on a terrorist?”

“No, not officially.” Lieutenant Keys sighs as the scanner hums. “But that did make the hostage exchange a lot more interesting.”

The Combat Engineer is checked and cleared, pulling himself along handrails as he coasts to the other side of the security checkpoint.

“Uh Lieutenant, one more thing.” The Corporal speaks up through the gate. “You might not know this but thank you… for saving my brother’s life.” She pauses. “He was at Collins Memorial at the time and…”

“A lot of people were.” Lieutenant Keys quickly interrupts. “Thank you Corporal, have a good day.”

Situated in low earth orbit United Nations’ Low Orbital Civilian Commerce Station Four had slowly, over the course of the decade, become the de facto stop for all civilian traffic in low earth orbit. Though, just for this special week, the Solar System Defense Force had turned the usually busy commerce station into a military anchorage.

From within tight corridors the uniforms of military personnel mingle among civilian dress. Soldiers primarily from the United Nation’s Solar System Defense Forces, identified with the pale blue flag on their right shoulder patches and the black uniforms upon their bodies, Lieutenant Keys manages to spot even a few national space forces amongst the mix. The fifty two stars of the modern United States intermix with the tricolors of the Russian Federation, the red-gold of China, and even the dark blue gold-starred European Union. Factions all united amongst the revelry of a forced vacation.

The final checkpoint between the docking section and civilian sector folds outward, the dimly lit chamber expansive and crowded with dozens of individuals; civilian families and reunited military squads. One final security check in place; eight armed marines wearing light vacuum suits wielding a mixture of shotguns, sidearms, and sub-machine guns alongside plates of heavy, ceramic armor.

A push sends the Combat Engineer towards them in zero gravity, feet dragged upon the padded walls as he slows his approach. Noting the highest ranking of their squad, the young man speaks up. “Staff Sergeant, good afternoon.”

“Lieutenant.” The Guard nods through their open helmet, a mild Spanish accent hinted through well practiced English. “Entering the civil-sector?”

“On business.” The Officer nods as he retrieves the deployment orders from a pocket. “Is this a security checkpoint?”

“Yeah, got a millimeter scanner hooked up right at the door.” The Squad Leader points out towards the gaping entrance at the end of the room. “Anyone comes in with a bomb or a gun we’ll… ‘light ‘em up.’”

“Convenient.”

The Guard scoffs as he slaps his shotgun, the white painted shape of the lethal weapon pointed directly at the bulkhead beneath him. “Well everyone’s on high alert after the Space Liberation Front’s attack on Collins. Can’t be too careful right?”

“Right.” Lieutenant Keys agrees as he awkwardly glances around the anteroom, gaze returning to the massive armored airlock leading towards the civilian sector. “Either way, I’m late for lunch.”

Unlike its predecessors, Station Four had space to spare. Dozens of stores lined the eight divided sections of the central spire: restaurants, clothing shops, and even a few hotels were mixed in between small zero-gravity park areas filled with plant life and benches. Humanity’s arrogance was matched with its stubbornness here, United Nations’ Low Orbital Civilian Commerce Station Four representing the fantastical power mankind now wielded against nature herself. A vibrant bastion of life just inches away from the cold vacuum of space, when just a mere fifty years ago was complete science fiction.

A demonstration of the power of collective humanity, of an insane decadence made abundantly clear to all witnesses of the station.

Though, the arrogance only spreads so far; with vigilant guards at virtually every corner a sense of unease echoes through the celebratory atmosphere. The ever present threat of terrorism a suppressed thought in minds, Lieutenant Keys quickly checking his redeployment orders again.

A meeting space familiar to both military service and civilian use, the named and familiar restaurant spotted at the end of the station.

The legendary Ming’s restaurant of Station Four, decorated with a south-eastern Chinese flair of yellow-gold and red. Within the clear polymer windows the projected images of whole roasted ducks upon hooks slowly rotate in advertisement, a betrayal of the reality of food in zero gravity. A sin forgiven as the void within the man’s stomach begins to growl, a skipped breakfast coming to haunt him again.

A stretch, followed by movement. A single leap bridging the distance of almost one hundred twenty meters; the initial acceleration sending the body of the Combat Engineer soaring through the interior of the space station at a moderate pace.

Expertly avoiding a few impacts from awry children an open hand catches one of the many railings, velocity stopped in front of the target as the young officer gathers his thoughts.

“Lieutenant Johnathan Keys!” A shocked voice in a familiar accent calls out towards him, the Officer turning quickly as eyes meet.

A single muscular figure wearing the standard dark fatigues of the System Defense Force Marine Corps slowly glides towards him, recognition taking a moment for Lieutenant Keys. Pale skin of an east Asian complexion, the dark hair and darker irises immediately recall images of recent pasts.

The Marine speaks up, a smile approaching as he reads the recognition on his friend’s face. “KEYS! Don’t tell me you have forgotten me.”

“Master Sergeant Ling Shu!” Lieutenant Keys reaches out a hand before realizing the gravity of his own rank, the approaching form snapping to attention with a smile.

“At ease.” Keys waves his friend off, watching as the man’s inertia continues moving him forward.

A graceful landing upon the relative floor, a hand outstretched for the western cultural greeting as the pair exchange a heavy gripped handshake.

The raw strength of the Marine crushes naval finesse, a spike of pain flashing through Lieutenant Keys’ fingers. “Ling…”

“Hmmm, you have gotten soft.” The Master Sergeant notes, heavy Asian accent voicing a slightly disappointed tone. “Does the Navy have you sitting behind a desk?”

“No…” Lieutenant Keys whimpers slightly.

“Well it is good to see you again. 看的挺好.”

“Thanks.” Keys grunts as the Marine lets go. “It’s good to see you too.”

Master Sergeant Ling slaps him on the shoulder, speaking up as a passing group of marine guards takes note of the pair standing in front of the restaurant. “I served with this man on the Beijing and the Pacific. Best Combat Engineer in Force!”

“I just do my job.” The Lieutenant nods as the forms pass, turning back to the man. “And it’s not like you did much work recently huh?”

“That is what they always say.” Ling shakes his head as he chuckles. “Congratulations on the Star of Terra. I watched you on the broadcast, very amazing performance standing there and saluting.”

Keys’ expression sours into a sarcastic smile. “Thanks…”

“In honesty that was good work on Collins Station. Surprised you carried out thirty people from the station, did not expect a navy man like you to…” He snaps his fingers as he tries to remember the word. “拿起松弛?”

“It was us or them. Picking up the slack was honestly secondary when compared to what was going on.”

“But you lived.” Ling slaps Keys’ shoulder again, the force enough to redirect the man’s velocity downward. “And that is what is important.”

The Lieutenant nods solemnly. “I agree.”

“It is easier to have a friend than a grave.” The Master Sargent shifts, turning back to the restaurant as he attempts to scan the interior. “Now, we will need to catch up later. I am on assignment right now. I was told to meet here.”

“Hey me too.” Keys informs, the conversation stopping suddenly as realization hits both of them.

“Admiral Tucker.” Both of them vocalize at once.

Ling continues. “He sent personnel transfer papers, told me that I…”

“… had to meet him here.” The Lieutenant interrupts.

The Marine pauses, smile slacking. “Oh no.”

“Same orders.” The Lieutenant pulls open the papers within the uniform, looking around towards any other possible personnel.

The crowd remains intermixed, the pair the sole proprietors of printed orders.

Keys turns back to Master Sergeant Ling. “Well, guess this just got interesting.”

“操...” Ling swears. “Keys, this is no good. We get reassigned together, bad things always follow.”

“Combat Engineers and Special Warfare Teams, put two together and there’s too much C4.” Keys agrees as he dives back into memory. “And you said you were reassigned?”

Ling nods. “No more Kaiju Squad for me. Sergeant O’Connor is the new lead of the group.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It is fine, I know the squad is in hands of a good person. Knows how to say no to too much explosiveness, unlike me.”

“Right…” The Lieutenant pauses as he turns towards the restaurant. “Guess we’ll find out why we're here soon enough.”

“If it is Admiral Tucker…” Ling stops. “That is worrisome. If he is recreating the Beijing squad then this is bad.”

A general announcement echoes through the station, broadcast through speakers scattered across padded walls and storefronts. The voice feminine with an untraceable accent, English easily heard through the chaos. “All individuals please be alert for suspicious unattended baggage. Report these items to your nearest security guard. Thank you for your alertness.”

It follows with several languages: Chinese, Russian, German and French strung together with short pauses.

“Security’s tight.” Keys notes. “Not taking any risks this week are they?”

“It is makes sense.” Ling chuckles. “Bombs are everywhere. Even saw someone make a printed gun through a smuggled 3D printer.”

“Oh I saw that!” The Lieutenant interjects. “Guy printed resin ammo too. Didn’t work too well though, got taken out the moment he open fired.”

From behind them the voice calls to them, sarcastic through age and experience. “That’s why they’re testing the air for trace amounts of explosives now.”

Face defined by older features, the man at first glance perhaps pushed the late sixties with his full head of gray hair and slightly sunk blue eyes. Relatively fit beneath the uniform for a man of his age, Admiral Issac Tucker coasts down through the open space. An eccentric smile barely contained as he greets the pair. “Lieutenant Keys, Master Sergeant Ling!”

“Admiral Tucker.” The pair respectfully acknowledge.

For a moment the old man chuckles, pitching a well-trained salute to the Lieutenant.

“At ease… Admiral.” Keys uncomfortably acknowledges.

“Salute the Medal, not the rank.” The Admiral begins as he drops his hand. “It’s good to see you two again!”

“You as well sir.” Both Sailor and Marine reply at the same time.

“Ah well you look good.” Tucker shakes the hand of Lieutenant Keys, firm but steady in execution. “And sorry I couldn’t make it to the award ceremony. Moscow had to deal with a helium freighter hijacking, took us almost three days to deal with that mess.”

“I heard.”

The Admiral turns, pointing to the Master Sergeant. “And Ling, I thought you said Kaiju Squad was going to keep a low profile.”

The Master Sergeant raises his hands in defense. “All due respect Admiral, but I can not predict where the Space Liberation Front attacks.”

“But you can control how quickly the situation changes. Hostage negotiations are supposed to occur before a rescue is attempted. And when you attempt one you’re supposed to do it with the rest of the squad.”

“Thirty minutes for negotiator to arrive, fifteen minutes to first execution.” Ling points out with a dumb smile. “And Squad was also involved. They offered distraction, I move in. Saved lives.”

Tucker shakes his head, groaning as he sighs. “You know if you actually followed protocols you’d probably already have a Star of Terra.”

Keys coughs. “It’s about duty over glory. Plus you think this idiot cares about that.”

Admiral Tucker laughs as he maneuvers himself towards the far wall, idly readying himself in the environment. “And that’s the point exactly. I’m glad you two got the transfer orders, wasn’t easy dragging you from your previous assignments.”

Keys sighs, staring at the old man. “And I thought I was on track for an admin job. Nice little cubicle out in Florida?”

The Admiral shakes his head. “Fat chance with that Medal Lieutenant. The Brass was thinking of putting you in a teaching position for that planned Combat Engineering School in Camp Armstrong.”

“Ha!” Ling slaps the Lieutenant’s shoulder.

“But, you two are probably wondering why I’ve got you transferred here in the first place, right?”

“Nightmares abound at the concept.” Lieutenant Keys admits sarcastically.

The Admiral raises his hands in defense. “Don’t worry, I'm not planning a reunion of the Beijing’s marine detachment. As much as the Brass enjoyed watching you guys blow up shit, that got them into too much trouble with the Security Council.”

“Even with the revised engagement rules?” Keys raises.

“Well, I’ll explain that after lunch.” Admiral Tucker’s face sags, eyes blank. “The Moscow didn’t resupply back on Luna Anchorage, so I’ve eaten nothing but R-rations for the past three fucking days.”

“Perfect timing?” Lieutenant Keys asks as he glances at the restaurant behind them.

Admiral Tucker looks up, sly smile on his face and ambition in his tone. “Yeah you know what’s up. Before we get to business we all need to catch up, and since its Fleet Week, my treat.”

Adapted for the limitations of microgravity, the entire establishment was built into three dimensional space. Tabling provided across five padded walls, a nauseating experience for the uninitiated.

Though, with the passing of an afternoon Ming’s patronage was slowly crawling to a post-lunch lull. Three groups were currently seated within; one civilian and two military including the three.

Admiral Tucker chuckles as he carefully collects one of the floating dumplings, the small item held and observed by a pair of thin aluminum chopsticks as the man speaks up. “Twenty five years ago I had the greatest meal in my life.”

“Was that the Founding Ceremony in Hong Kong?” Lieutenant Keys asks as he sucks on a sealed pouch of heated tea. “The attendee dinner?”

The Admiral stops. “Wait have I told you people this story?”

“I just guessed.” Keys motions to Ling. “Has he told you this?”

The Master Sergeant shakes his head, returning Keys’ glance. “I guess it is probably Hong Kong. It was twenty five years ago, correct?”

“Yeah.” Admiral begins, inhaling the dumpling as he leans back while strapped in the chair. “Ok imagine this. You’re a ranked Commander of the United States Space Force, invited down to beautiful summer Hong Kong as part of the founding ceremony of the newly formed Solar System Defense Force. You’re one of the founders, hand chosen for this job; top of the line. And what do they serve at the dinner after the ceremony?”

“Chinese food?” Keys answers carefully.

“No! Not just that!” Tucker stops. “It was the greatest fucking thing I tell you. Four entrees each representing a nation on the security council, you had to be there to believe it. Pelmeni, a peking duck, whatever the European Union dish was I don’t even know, and even a motherfucking hamburger.”

“Which one was the best?” Keys asks.

The Admiral immediately answers, the words coming through without second thought. “Peking Duck.”

“You were in Hong Kong at the time so no surprise.” Ling shrugs. “And have you eaten peking duck before the event?”

“Master Sergeant, I grew up in San Francisco on the West Coast of America. Lived two blocks away from Chinatown. I know a good Peking Duck when I see one, and the one I ate was out of this world.”

“Is that why we’re here?” Keys turns to observe the slightly empty restaurant, ancient Chinese decor dominating the space in replication of a traditional establishment on Earth. “Chasing after that high?”

“Well, partially. Too bad this place doesn’t have a pecking duck on the lunch menu so I can’t try it.”

“Oh this place does. As saying goes, ‘you need to know who to ask.’” Ling smirks, flagging down the sole waiter of the establishment. “你這有北京烤鴨嗎?”

The sharply dressed middle aged waiter stares at the entourage for a moment as he floats in place, eyes narrowing. “ 這道菜要200美元。”

“Oh that’s a pretty good price actually.” Admiral Tucker waves, adding with an accented response. “謝謝,我們就點這個菜.”

The man lightly bows, moving away as he registers the new order.

“Was that two hundred dollars for a roast duck?” Lieutenant Keys whispers from his crude translation.

“Come on Lieutenant I’ve had peking duck on Earth that costed a good seven hundred.” The Admiral sighs. “Well, dollar inflation is on a runaway these days so I’m probably wrong.”

“It is a good price on a space station.” Ling assures. “Comparatively.”

“Still two hundred dollars…” Keys worriedly glances around. “Feel a little bad putting it on your tab Admiral.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Hey do you even know why Fleet Week started Lieutenant?”

“Media outreach?”

The old man’s smile sours at the word. “Absolutely not. Back when the System Defense Force was founded the Security Council had no clue how much funding a transnational Space Faring Peacekeeping Military needed. And so, after careful deliberation, they decided to ballpark a budget that made the Ares-Martian Program look like chump change. And you know what happens when budgets aren’t fully utilized?”

“Budget cuts.” Ling answers as he claims the final dumpling off the sealed bowl.

“Correct.” Admiral Tucker snaps his fingers. “So, what do you do when you still have three hundred million dollars and a week to spend it?”

Silence propagates, the concept drawing blanks on the two.

“Well for the first year of the Force we as the founding officers pitched in for the development of the Washington-Class frigate.”

“You spent three hundred million on that?”

“Three hundred million minus the fifty bucks we spent on the food during the dinner meeting at the KFC. And now, it’s traditional to spend whatever’s left in the budget on a special warfare project, plus a small party for the staff. Hence why Fleet Week exists now, even though the celebration part is officially now paid for as community outreach.” Tucker explains. “Last two years the project we funded was the Cyclops Program, though, this time around that’s getting its own mainline cash flow from the U.N. Orbital Security Fund.”

Keys blinks. “Was that the laser module weapons program for the combat M.M.U.s?”

“Yes, but it's not complete yet. The people at Tranquility Station have finished the upscaled prototype laser system for naval assets, but the man portable version is still a few years out at best.” Tucker snaps his fingers, lowering his voice as he speaks. “But that was last year. Do you know what we’re doing this time around?”

“That will depend on the money left, correct?” The Master Sergeant pauses.

“Correct. Though, not a lot’s left in the coffers this fiscal rollover: between the Space Liberation Front, some pirates, and skirmishes with both the South American Alliance and the Java Treaty; the System Defense Force is spreading too thin for my liking.”

“And is that an opinion shared with the rest of the Admiralty?” Keys asks with concern.

Admiral Tucker smiles. “Most definitely, which is why we’re here.”

The final order arrives, roast duck coming in a sealed plastic bag along with a topped bowl of prepackaged rice cakes. Out in zero gravity, the mixed chunks of meat float without organization, a slightly odd sight as Admiral Tucker leaves the thing hanging a few centimeters off the table as he prepares the pancakes. Rehydrated green onions and cucumbers in vacuum sealed bags, sauce from squeeze tubes; the ancient recipe translated into the necessities of a new age in space.

The Admiral takes a small bite, nodding as he processes the flavors. “Man going from R-rations to this is nice. Real food beats that crap any day of the week.”

A minute passes as the two soldiers watch Admiral Tucker enjoy the food, an awkward silence broken by social contract.

Keys clears his throat. “Um, Admiral, why are we here again?”

“Oh, right.” Admiral Tucker coughs as he sips hot tea through a liquids pouch. “Are you two aware of Article Fourteen Section Eight of the Solar System Defense Force Rules of Engagement?”

Keys and Ling exchange a glance, turning back to the Admiral with blank stares.

Unimpeded, the old man continues. “Well, section eight is just a small paragraph that deals with special operation teams and the like. We’ve mostly ignored it, given that there’s now only four such teams in operation.”

“Was there not five?” Ling raises.

“Razor Team from Task Force 17 was declared M.I.A. four weeks ago.” Admiral Tucker informs carefully. “And that’s all I’m privy to share.”

“Fuck.” Lieutenant Keys blinks. “I knew Razor Two. Hannah was in my zero gravity warfare class four years back.”

Ling nods. “And I worked with Captain Ludwig. Good man.”

Admiral Tucker takes a deep sigh, giving a ready glance to the pair. “I’m sorry you two.”

The Lieutenant nods, silent prayer held within a glance. “Still some hope with a missing in action. Not a lot, but some.”

The Admiral takes a breath, continuing as he sends a folded sheet of paper floating across the table. “But going back, one specific area of section eight has caught the particular attention of the Admiralty. Sentence three, highlighted for your ease.”

Ling snatches the document from the air, unfolding the creases as both Master Sergeant and Lieutenant read it over.

Highlighted in red, the printed words betray just a single obvious line.

Keys looks up. “So Special Operation Teams don’t have to follow standard rules of engagement and operational regulations?”

Ling shakes his head at his companion’s words. “But a special operations team are under a task force, and such rules apply to them.”

“Probably an oversight.” Keys nods.

“But the rule stands.” Tucker stops them. “A special operations team is treated differently compared to a standard detachment when it comes to regulations and engagement rules. But, the only reason a spec ops team follows the standard rules of engagement is because task force command isn’t allowed to order the team to break them.”

Ling blinks, thinking the fallacious logic over. “But a Special Operation Team cannot exist without a Task Force.”

“Can it?” The Admiral smiles, a wide brimmed expression that garners more concern than anything.

Minds make the connection.

“I don’t like where this is going.” Keys comments.

Reaching into his uniform, a thin stack of paper is produced. The Admiral stares at the documents, ensuring their validity before handing them over. “For this year’s rollover: Task Force 31. A Task Force that consists of a special operations team and a special operations team only.”

A measly four pages of legal documentation and regulations, Master Sergeant Ling Shu and Lieutenant Jonathan Keys splits the sheets in two pairs, scanning the words over as they exchange packets midway through.

The Lieutenant is the first to speak up. “Admiral, if this loophole exists then why haven’t all task forces converted to this method of organization?”

Ling coughs, answering before Admiral Tucker. “I believe special operation teams are limited to low numbers. At most we can have one big ship asset?”

“One corvette tonnage vessel.” Tucker nods. “And fourteen personnel including the naval crew.”

“A task force of fourteen personnel?!” Lieutenant Keys stops. “Is that even allowed?!”

The Admiral smiles. “According to the regulations made by the Orbital Security Council right there, yes.”

The two think it over, Keys voicing the standing question. “So how many people are currently in this task force?”

“Right now, including me? One.”

“One.” Keys states.

“Just one?” Ling follows.

The Admiral nods. “Should you accept this transfer, you two will be the first real personnel of the 31st. There will be more to follow of course.”

The Master Sergeant stops Admiral Tucker, words dimmed against authority. “And we can choose to accept this assignment?”

Tapping his loose chopsticks on the table, Tucker sighs. Old friends, and even older allies in precarious standing, the man speaks. “Please understand that this won’t just be a standard special warfare team. The 31st is going to be operating with near zero oversight and will only have to answer to itself. You won’t receive any awards for your actions, and it's very possible you will make choices that go against the oaths you’ve made to the Solar System Defense Force and the countries you call home. We will be engaging in a shoot-first doctrine and can be deployed anywhere both in orbit and planet side.

This will be the biggest change in doctrine for the Force since its founding; so no more defending assets, the 31st will be taking the fight to the front door of Pirates, Terrorists, and even the occasional P.M.C. in open warfare. Should you accept you won’t be peacekeepers anymore, you will be soldiers at war.”

Almost instantly Lieutenant Johnathan Keys smiles, leaning back as he releases the papers. “Sign me up.”

“Me as well.” Master Sergeant Ling adds.

“You don’t need time to think it over?” Admiral Tucker looks over the pair concerningly.

“Whatever gets me back in orbit sir.” Keys answers.

The Admiral nods, turning to the second variable as he tries to hide surprise. “And what about you Ling?”

The young man thinks for a moment, the options weighing in his head. “I am close to receiving the four year service bonus. How much will this position pay?”

“Seriously?” Keys turns.

“Four year service bonus is good.” Ling shrugs. “Pension, insurance, and free visa to all security council nations. It is good for when I get married to my fiancé, she can have bonus as well.”

Keys blankly stares at the man. “Ling, your fiancé is literally the captain of the fucking Rubicon. She gets paid four times as much as you and gets the exact same benefits.”

Admiral Tucker clears his throat as he gathers their attention again, cutting a smile to Ling as he hears Keys’ words. “Well I can say for certain it’s going to pay much more than a standard special warfare team. Almost as much as some of the private military companies out there.”

Ling nods. “In such a case, I accept.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Admiral Tucker takes a sigh of relief, looking over the pair.

Keys speaks up. “So what now?”

The old man looks down at the filled table. “Now, we finish this meal.”

“I mean afterward.”

The Admiral stops, smirking as he speaks. “Master Sergeant Ling Shu, Lieutenant Johnathan Keys; we’re gonna assemble a team that’ll change the System Defense Force forever.”

“A team of fourteen.” Ling states. “To change the Defense Force?”

Admiral Tucker leans in, deep brown eyes darkened by intent and ambition. Almost instinctively both Ling and Keys move back, the words echoing past them. “I have a saying, ‘if one man can save the world, imagine how much chaos a dozen can cause.’”