“Captain Benson,” Neerson snapped. “Do I need to relieve you of your duties and fly this damned shuttle myself?”

“Do you know how to sir?”

“I do indeed. Move.” Neerson all but shoved Benson out of the pilot’s seat and righted the shuttle’s course. Then Benson stood next to Martin, their jaws slack as the full majesty of Saturn was splayed out before them. Everyone had seen the pictures, everyone knew that the awesome size of Jupiter was only matched by the stunning grandeur of Saturn and her rings.

There were even training simulations that took your breath away. Benson had flown them, Martin had commanded them, but none of them compared to being cramped into a tiny docking shuttle and knowing that what you saw in front of you was the real, true thing itself.

“I didn’t think anything would phase me after Jupiter.” Benson said in a somewhat stupid voice.

“No.” Neerson said. “Nor I. Commander, are you still with us?”

“I— yes sir.” Martin said, straightening and smacking his head on a low hanging portion of the craft’s ceiling.

“The starboard vessel is yours.”

Martin hadn’t even noticed Titan, much less the station and three Dreadnaughts holding their position there. The Deterrence was in the starboard flanking position to the Onslaught, with the Vigilance to its port flank. They seemed tiny, like the model ships used in the officer’s courses he had been through. Programs were all well and good, but there had always been a place for table-top models and grid squares. What would have been an expressive display, with the Vulcan and two smaller stations, both large enough in their own right, and Detachment Cerberus, was simply dwarfed.

“No matter what the most skilled artisans and engineers craft, no matter the advancements we make as a race,” Neerson said nodding to the planet. “It will never compare to the power and majesty of the cosmos.”

They made the rest of the docking approach in silence, coming up nearer than Martin would have guessed before Benson reached for the comlink. “Onslaught, this is relief docking party Relief, respectfully requesting permission to come aboard.”

The connection clicked off, and then back on. “Come aboard.” A woman’s voice came back across the channel. “Good to see you, relief.”

“No doubt.” Neerson said as they were brought aboard and the five minute wait for oxygen levels to normalized passed. “Commander, you will take lead here. Captain, you will back him up when he cannot see the full picture.”

Both officer’s looked sharply at the Admiral.

“Evesdropping is only performed when the overheard party is attempting not to be heard.” Neerson said, unbuckling his flight harness. “Keep your voices down next time.”

They disembarked the vessel with Martin in the front, and a small greeting party was there. Five people, a woman with the captain’s insignia on her collar standing as their leader.

“Welcome aboard, sir.” The woman said, saluting Neerson before turning to Martin. “Commander. It’s good to see you. Captain Jericho.”

“Captain.” Martin said. “I was expecting to be welcomed by Commander Macintosh.”

A small, irritated smile played over Jericho’s lips. “I know, sir, I was rather expecting that as well. Unfortunately, he has informed me that he won’t be able to greet you at this hour, and that I am to make introductions to the crew and a tour of the bridge. Is this acceptable?”

“No.” Martin said. “Please take me to him. I would rectify his lack of protocol and professional courtesy before I merit yours.”

“At your command, sir.” She turned, made a sweeping motion with her hands, and the other members departed.

“Their purpose?” Martin asked as they walked.

“They each hold various responsibilities here, sir, but I brought them mostly because I dislike being outnumbered in potentially tense situations. And I trust them.”

“I see.” Martin watched the four other members vanishing down various corridors. “Worthy naval space farers?”

“I serve with some of the best, sir.” She said. “And some of the worst. The Commander’s berth is through here, sir.” Jericho gestured to a wide hallway, and Martin raised his eyebrows, turning to the captain.

“Captain, these are Admiral’s quarters.”

“Yes sir.” Was all she said to that.

“The access code?”

“Commander Macintosh keeps those private, sir, and they are kept on a reparation.”

“Benson.” Martin stepped aside and Beson stepped up into the hallway. and walked to the single door. Then he began meeting on the metal in a steady, reverberating cadence. A roar of protest came from within, followed by what sounded like furniture being knocked over.

“By order,” Benson roared back. “Of Fleet Admiral Richard Neerson, open this door and present yourself for inspection. You have five seconds to comply with this order!”

The roaring continued.

“Five!” Benson shouted, slamming his fist down again.

A more panicked shout of protest came.

“Four!”

All noise on the other side of the door stopped.

“Three!”

The door slid open, and there stood a man. He was skinny, unshaven, too old for his rank, and his eyes were bloodshot. A stiff odor of the previous night’s activities wafted out. For a moment, the Pilot and the the Disheveled Commander stared at each other.

Benson leaned very close to the man’s face. “Two!”

“I’m here, damnit!” The man yelled back, though his voice cracked as he did.

“Then step out into this hallways and present yourself for inspection!” Bellowed Benson. “One!”

The Commander came out. He was barefoot and dressed in little more than undergarments. When his eyes found Neerson’s what little color was left in his face drained away and he snapped to a wobbling position of attention, though his eyes never left the Admiral as Neerson slowly climbed the steps.

Coming to a halt a single step away from Commander Macintosh, Neerson held eye contact for three seconds. Then his head snapped up, where it stayed for another three. Then down for another three count, and then slowly up and down again.

Then he made a deliberate step to the man’s right, made his facing movement, and repeated the process until he once again stood face to face with the now trembling Commander. “You,” Said Neerson, his voice like a block of ice. “Have failed this inspection, Commander.”

The Commander in question, said nothing. He just wilted, cowering like a small animal under the watchful gaze of a predator several rungs up the food chain.

“The proper response to that statement.” Neerson snapped. “Is ‘inspection failed, aye’.”

“I— in— inspection f— failed aye.” The Commander said.

“Then,” Neerson said, his voice back to ice. “You respectfully request to be briefed on how to improve so that your next inspection might reflect honor upon the navy and her officers. I will spare you this, as I do not have the time, the patience, or the self control to do so in a way that would reflect the same. I will make my report to the MSS Venator, and if the Board rules it to be so, you may read it for yourself after your tribunal.”

“Yes sir.” Macintosh stammered.

“Report to the drill hall, as you are.” Neerson said, turning away from him. “Captain Jericho, muster the crews of Detachment Cerberus to the same. They have forty-five minutes to comply, starting now, or be subject to recommendation of disciplinary action at the height of Flag Officer’s capabilities.” He turned to face her. “Please convey the gravity of that statement in whatever terms you deem appropriate”

“Yes sir.”

“Dismissed.”

As she walked quickly from their presence after the sniveling Commander Macintosh, Neerson breathed a sigh. “It is such a relief to be in the presence of a Captain who does not question orders.”

“I don’t question orders, sir.” Benson sniffed. “I respectfully request clarification.”

“See you do not in the presence of any of the crew that remains after this.” He said. “Both of you. That which has developed over the past weeks can, will, and must remain. But maintain the grounds of subordinates when not in private.”

“Yes sir.” They said together.

“Come.” He said. “We are awaited in the drill hall. Well done, the both of you. Maintain this.”

And then they three made their way to the cluttered and altogether unpresentable drill hall. There were boxes of storage and random bits of equipment around, though a space had been cleared out where Captain Jericho stood at the front of a fifty strong formation.

“Time?” Neerson asked.

“Twenty three minutes, sir.”

Neerson approached Jericho, who had her formation standing at ease and her face set into a military bearing that was worthy of any Station or setting Martin had been involved with.

“Who are these personnel, Captain?” The Admiral asked.

“Crew of the Vigilance, sir.” She said at once. “Sixty three all told, fifty two present.”

“The others?”

“Maintaining the Vigilance and standing by to be relieved and presented for inspection.”

“I see.” Neerson’s eyes swept over the formation. Their posture mirrored Jericho’s. “You command the Vigilance?”

“Acting commander until a more fit officer relieves me, sir.”

Neerson’s eyes turned on the milling personnel trickling in from the docking bays, most looking confused and barely presentable. A few had noticed Neerson, and were looking very frightened. He observed the goings on for a time.

“Time.” Neerson growled.

“Thirty eight minutes, sir.” Benson supplied.

“Fix this, Captain.”

Benson turned smartly to Martin. “Please take command of time keeping, sir.”

“You are relieved.” Martin nodded, and Benson strode off, snapping orders and bullying the personnel into formation.

“In another life that didn’t involve flying ships or prosecuting in military court, he would have made an excellent Crew Instructor, don’t you think, Commander?” Neerson asked as they walked to the front of where the would be formation would be.

“Yes sir.”

“Time.”

“Forty three minutes.”

“Captain Benson! Post!” Neerson called, and Benson came loping over, coming to attention. “Make me a secondary formation apart from the main body of personnel for the stragglers, so I may deal with them.”

“Yes sir.”

Ten minutes later, Neerson walked to where the still trembling form of Commander Macintosh was standing in his night’s undergarments at the front of the formation. Martin stood some distance away, but the Admiral’s low, cold voice carried through the room all the same.

“I trust you know the protocol for relinquishing command of a vessel better than you know how to assume it.” The Admiral said.

Macintosh brought his hand up in a pathetic salute. “The crew is formed, sir. I hereby relinquish command.”

Neerson’s salute was perfect, crisp, and conveyed all the respect reserved for bits of space junk and refuse found in the gutters of the Cluster’s most derelict stations.

“You are relieved.” Neerson snarled. Then, where a speech of thanks and assurance would have usually been made between outgoing and incoming officers, the Admiral leaned forward. “Get off my fucking ship.”

Commander Macintosh ran.

As Neerson stood there, surveying the crews of Detachment Cerberus, Martin shifted uncomfortably. In that moment, looking at that man, he wondered if he had become too comfortable over the last weeks, too free with his conduct. It was a feeling born of looking at the fury, feeling its palpable emmination from the Admiral, and knowing that if it was ever turned on him it would be all he could do not to follow after the Commander that had just vacated the hall.

“Captain Jericho.” Neerson’s voice rang out. “Post!”

Coming to attention, Jericho fell out of the front of her formation and approached, coming to a stop in front of Neerson and saluting, which Neerson returned.

“You are acting commander of the Vigilant no longer.”

“Yes sir.” She said quietly. “I will return and prepare the vessel for a change of command.”

“You will identify twenty of your best to report to Commander Ziggenbor temporarily. Then you and the remainder of your crew will return to your ship and prepare it for my arrival and inspection to the best of your abilities. Perfection is not required. Appropriate reason will be.” Neerson said in return.

“Yes sir.”

Then Neerson lowered his voice.“Your initiative is admirable, but do not assume your orders before they are given.”

“Yes sir.”

“Dismissed.” He saluted, as did she, and returned to her formation. “Commander Ziggenbor. Post!”

Martin approached, saluted, and stood to attention.

“Take Captain Benson and the crew identified by Captain Jericho to the Deterrence and assess the situation there. Report back to me at your earliest convenience.”

“Yes sir.”

“Additional crew will be arriving in the next seventy-two hours, and we should be able to begin smoothing over this mess.” The Admiral saluted. “Dismissed.”

Then he looked back to the formation. “Those standing in main formation are hereby ordered to the holding barracks of the Onslaught to await removal from my fleet. Fallout.”

“Not you lot!” Shouted Benson, pointing at the secondary formation that had begun to move as well.

Turning his eyes, still full of wrath on the formation of latecomers, he said, “Thank you, Captain.”

“Would you like me to standby, sir?”

“Please.” The Admiral said, stepping forward. “And secure a weapon.”

Unzipping his jumpsuit, Benson drew out a small, folded strip of cloth and drew the components of a carbine from it, assembling it almost faster than Martin could follow with his wide eyes. Then the Captain loaded a clip of hard ammunition, and took up his position at Neerson’s back.

“Sir.” Martin turned to see a lieutenant standing by. “Lieutenant Aaron, here to take you aboard the Deterrence.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Martin said, turning his eyes back to Neerson, now standing in front of the formation. “Standby.”