Sleep was shattered like a brick being thrown through glass. Neil thrashed, trying to move himself back as the hissing sound dominated every part of his consciousness. He would be screaming warnings, telling Troy to get down if his breath wasn’t coming in short, ragged drags.

Something fell next to him, causing the heavy chunk sound metal on metal so often did.

Thump-chunk. Thwump-chunk.

The sound of the APES filled his skull, and the very loud, very real hissing still dominated his mind, the wobbling sound of its irregular flight as it came towards him faster, faster, faster—

“Get this thing out of here!” Came a harsh barking order, and the canister rolling steadily towards Neil leaking its pressurized contents, was kicked away. Hands that were small and wrinkled and knobbed, but string, were suddenly around Neil’s wrists. He struggled for another moment, gasping as the last memory of Troy leaping on him overwhelmed him.

“Sergeant Ziggenbor,” came a voice through the panic. “Sergeant First Class Neil Ziggenbor, I need you to listen to me and I need you to breath. In and out, in, out, in, out. Look at me, please, Sergeant.”

Snapping his eyes up Neil fought to see through the haze. Nurse Rayne looked down at him. Though she held his wrists tight, she allowed him motion, restraining him only enough to keep him from hurting himself. “In and out Sergeant, breathe as easily as you can. Please look at me.”

Trying, grappling with what was going on inside him, Neil tried, but if anything his heart rate tried to speed up again and he tried to roll away from her.

“Neil,” She said. “I’ve got you. Listen. I’ve got you, I’ve got this. You don’t need to worry about what’s happening, because I have it quite under control.”

The words did it better than anything else had. Neil felt his muscles relax and his breath become regular, even if his heart still felt like a runaway jackhammer. It took him another minute to realize that the old woman was running her hand soothingly down the side of his face. “There,” She said. “Just like that, you see. Come on, I’ve got something for you to see that might help calm you down.”

She was right, because as she helped Neil to his feet and turned him towards the observation port in the wall, his mouth fell open.

“She came into view while you were sleeping.” Nurse Rayne said, peering at Saturn from around Neil. “Magnificent, isn’t she?”

Standing, staring out the small window, Neil found himself completely lost for words for the first time in his life, and for several minutes he just stood there with his mouth open. Before he realized it, his breathing had finished normalizing and his heart rate was down to a less alarming level. Another few minutes, and he closed his mouth, letting the episode wash out of him. Then he turned to Rayne. “You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?” He asked.

“Only once.” She smiled. “Though the sheer beauty of Saturn is something I hope to never take for granted.”

“Are you going to wake Valentine up for this?”

“He would be more focused on his irritation with me than anything else, and medical orders require cryo-stasis to be maintained until docking is complete and a medical facility arrived at.”

“Unfortunate.” Neil said.

“He’ll get his chance, I’m sure.” Rayne sat again and looked over Valentine’s vitals. “He’s made the trip well enough.”

“Were you expecting complications?”

“No.” She leaned back. “Have you been enjoying your conversations with him?”

Neil paused, feeling a twinge of embarrassment pass through him. “You’ve heard that?”

“My hearing isn’t what it used to me. I made an effort to keep the bay private whenever possible, though you should have told me you were sneaking back in here and I would have provided you with some type of sleeping arrangement.”

“I wasn’t sure it would be appropriate.”

She gave him a gimlet eye. “Sergeant, do you really thing there’s much I haven’t seen in my career of treating soldiers? You aren’t the first one I’ve seen grapple with horrible things, though I pray, every time, that you are the last.”

“I thought there was no god.”

“Did I say that?” Rayne said, looking at the ceiling.

“Often.” Neil grinned. “Loudly.”

“And at great length?” She smiled as Neil froze at the words. “Your grandfather was one of those who dealt with horrible things.”

“I know that.” Neil said, balling his right hand into a fist. “He didn’t talk about them much.”

“No, nor do I.” She said sadly. “He managed well enough in his twilight, though, did he?”

“Yes.” Neil whispered.

The silence stretched between them as Rayne waited. “Would you like to tell me about him?”

“What about him?” Neil said. “You want me to tell you that he was the best man I ever knew? Or that he was the most stone cold bastard stuck in his ways who never got his mind out of uniform? Both are true.”

“It’s no surprise. But you don’t sound bitter about it.”

“I’m not.” Neil shook his head. “One man who got saddled with three boys he never thought he’d have to raise after watching his own son lose it. Then he was on his own doing it, but he never asked for help. He just did it.”

Rayne nodded. “What did happen to your parents?”

“I don’t talk about it.” Neil said automatically.

“I can see that much. But if you carry too many horrible things with you, you’ll get tired, Sergeant.”

“Neil.”

“Neil.” She said. “People who are tired for the long haul are what make bad things happen again.”

“You really did know him, didn’t you?”

“I broke the mold on how I deal with soldiers after he came through the EMAR. Blunt, and direct. Soldiers are used to being angry and more often than not they’ll find a reason to be, so why shy away from it?” She leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. “I won’t press you. But I may ask about it, from time to time.”

“Won’t do you any good.”

“It’s a good trick.” She said in a dry voice. “Your lips are moving, and Norman Ziggenbor’s voice is coming out.”

“Yeah, well, I sat on a wooden chair in my kitchen and was forced to listen to it for hours on end. Lectures about weighing the difference between the right decision and the easy way out, questions about how a choice I made today would have a consequence two years from now.” Neil turned back to the observation port. “Endless talking about scales and the universe always righting them.”

“Do you think it did you any good?”

Watching the three Dreadnaught ships holding position off the RAE station Vulcan, Neil nodded. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Then I would say that he’s smiling now, content.” Rayne said. “Like I said, I won’t press you. But I will say that I had a son very like you, some years ago. And I wish he had talked about the horrible things he saw.”

The station grew closer and Neil remained quiet. As the docking procedures unfolded and Valentine was carted out, he said softly. “Dad couldn’t deal with his older brother dying when they tried to salvage Ashwind. He blamed himself, for some stupid reason, but he took it out on our mom. Right after I was born, she pushed him down the stairs, probably defending herself. But it had been an accident and she couldn’t deal with it.” Neil climbed into his chair, and Rayne wheeled him out.

The medical staff was milling about with Valentine’s cryotube and they followed it into a medical bay. It was no where near as nice as the EMAR, but it was clean with everything that was needed, and with a nod Rayne gave her approval.

Thirty minutes later, Valentine was in a bed blinking groggily at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. “I don’t feel like I got any rest at all.” He turned, and his squint became a half hearted glare as his gaze found Nurse Rayne. “Wonderful.” He groaned. “I had hoped they pushed you out an airlock or something.”

“No such luck.” Rayne said, checking his pulse. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold. Hungry. Irritable.”

“Right as rain, then.” She said. “Be quiet and I’ll see what sort of food they have in this place.”

When she left Valentine looked at Neil. “How was the trip?”

“Fucking long.” Neil said, crossing his arms. “Hated you for being as broke as you are, getting to skip it all.”

“I guess missing my legs at the knees has its perks.” He sighed. “Where are we?”

“You are at station 0001013S.” Came a voice. Both men turned to see a small woman there. She was, perhaps, five foot and an inch or three, with hair that was wild despite the tail it had been wrestled into. She was their age, perhaps a bit older, and her eyes were magnified by thick glasses that were strapped in place. She wrung her hands nervously. “Er, more commonly known as Research and Experimental Station Vulcan.”

“Cool,” Neil said. “Next question: who the fuck are you?”

“I,” The woman said with a smile. “Am the fuck Artisan Tabitha Coppersmith, or Coop. I’m the director of the station and its operations, and was alerted late to your arrival, or I would have been there to meet you.” She looked between the two men. “You are?”

“Sergeants First Class Ziggenbor and Valentine.” Neil said, and pointed. “He’s Valentine.”

“A pleasure to meet you both. If you have any questions, please let me know.”

“I’ve got one, Artisan.” Valentine said. “What’s your area of study?”

“Artificial intelligence in medical application with a specialty in nanorobotics.”

—

“I am sure you’ve heard the expression, ‘new boss, the same as the old boss’, Captain?” Neerson said, staring across the newly cleaned and furnished desk in the admiral’s office.

Captain Jericho said in the position of attention, and nodded once. “Yes sir.”

“I cannot emphasize enough how greatly this phrase does not apply to myself and my predecessor.”

Jericho wanted to say something like ‘I cannot emphasize how evident this has been through the conduct and discipline of the officers and enlisted personnel that have been coming aboard the ships, Admiral’ but she chose to go again with the safe option of, “Yes sir.”

“Your leadership, acting or no, of the Vigilant while the fleet itself was under such subpar command is admirable, and I do not blame you or your subordinates for the areas of your inspection in which you failed. A standard is often difficult to reach when it is not being modeled for you. The progress you have made to correct the most glaring of the issues is likewise admirable.”

“Thank you sir.”

The Admiral tapped a screen in front of him. “You are one of several personnel that I have identified to look into. Your record lacks official command time, as well as time underway, but both of these are understandable. You have amassed a great deal of remote learning, however, including several advanced courses not usually afforded to Captains without approval from both commanding officer and authorization from the Venator. Please explain this.”

“I tried to take advantage of the time as much as possible, sir.” Jericho said past the knot of anxiety in her throat. “Commander Macintosh often left us to our own devices, and when I wasn’t maintaining the crew I tried to further my career path in the way that I could to make up for the mentioned lack of command and underway time.”

“Your initiative remains consistent without the overwatching eye of rank.” Neerson said without looking up. “Excellent. And these courses? Were they taken without authorization, or are there outlying circumstances?”

“As you said sir,” Jericho said, feeling like a child presented with a crime they had obviously committed. “The courses for entry to senior leadership and senior leadership itself require commanding officer and administrative authorization. Commander Macintosh would usually sign whatever paper came across his desk if it came from me.”

“A dangerous quality in a commander.” Neerson said with disdain, his eyes coming up to meet hers. “And the administrative authorization?”

“I— know someone who is stationed at the Venator, sir.” She said, her face flushing. “I explained to him the situation and he appealed to one of the Admirals there, and he was sympathetic to my circumstance.”

“Which Admiral?”

“Rear Admiral Jason Timothy, sir.”

“Ah.” Neerson said, putting his table down. “He was aware of this situation, and did nothing?”

“I didn’t want to make it sound like I was begrudging my posting, sir.” She said, somewhat bitterly. “And for a time, Commander Macintosh wasn’t all bad, sir, he was just… posted here for a reason.”

“What reason was that, do you think?”

“He would always say it was because the command was out to get him and didn’t want his career to go anywhere. I guess he started to believe it.”

“Do you agree with him?”

That question smelled. Smelled just like a test that Jericho had been used to growing up. “I haven’t known very many highly successful officers, sir. But I knew I couldn’t believe it for myself.”

“I see.” Neerson said. “It is in fact, these types of postings that will test an officer’s mettle of command and loyalty. You have succeeded where Commander Macintosh failed.”

“Sir?”

He said nothing, just sat and waited expectantly.

“Am I in trouble?”

Neerson raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

“For using people I knew to access those sources, even though I wasn’t authorized for them.”

Neerson seemed to process this information, his eyes never leaving hers. Jericho wanted very badly to look down, but she did not.

“You have used opportunely placed assets in a strategic location to circumvent obstacles before you.” Neerson said. “In short, you were presented with a problem, and you solved it. Furthermore, you were performing the task of maintaining a Republic Dreadnaught Class warship, a task for which you did not have the adequate personnel, and for which they were improperly qualified. And you commanded the respect and loyalty of a crew that would have been justified in feeling wronged by their fleet command.” Neerson drummed his fingers on the desk. Then he opened a drawer. “I would be a poor excuse for an incoming flag officer if I punished such an action.” From the drawer he drew a pair of golden oak leafs and handed them to her.

Jericho hesitated for a moment, and then took the rank insignia.

“The two years in acting command has been amended to command time, and all credit for the report training you took upon yourself had been credited to your promotion file.” Neerson said. “Congratulation, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Thank you sir.” Jericho breathed.

“I can arrange for you and the crew of your choosing to be rotated out of the Ninth Fleet as soon as a replacement officer and crew can be trained to uphold the standard you have set.” Neerson said with a nod. “Or you are more than welcome to remain in command of the Vigilant. I have use of officers of your caliber.”

Jericho looked down at the rank insignia and thought of all the hours she had laid awake in her bunk dreaming of leaving the Saturn system, never to return. Now as she stared into her palm she had sudden second doubts. She had only ever known the one commander in Detachment Cerberus, and now she had another. One that couldn’t be more different, and she wondered if she would be able to accomplish the things now, finally, that she had come here to do in the first place. Then again, that all seemed so far away now.

“If I choose to stay now, can I choose to leave later?” She asked without looking up.

“Certainly.” Neerson said. “But this is the only time that I will let you do so without question. If you change your mind you will owe me a suitable explanation.”

Jericho closed her hand around the ranks. “Understood sir.” She looked back up. “I’ll stay on, if you’ll have me.”

“Excellent.” Neerson rose and so did Jericho. “I believe the Ninth Fleet is better with you in it, Lieutenant Commander. I look forward to earning your respect and confidence as your commanding officer.”

“Thank you sir.”

Neerson nodded once. “Dismissed.”

Standing, nodding, and departing, stepping aside for the next officer waiting to meet with the Admiral. “Please, come in.” Neerson said, reaching across the desk.

“Admiral Neerson,” the woman said, shaking his hand. “It’s good to be here sir. Your reputation precedes you.”

“As does yours, Captain Ridgewater.” Neerson said. “Welcome to Detachment Cerberus.”