May the Fourth be with you.
:) -RebelliousWaffle
Caldera was a lush world, rich in minerals and many other necessities. The spot that had been selected for a landing was near a large freshwater lake, and construction of a pier to get past the primarily stagnant water had been completed earlier in the day. Ezra Bridger stood on a small, grassy knoll just south of the city that had been built out of concrete and steel. From the outside, it looked primitive, but on the inside, one would find that it was actually quite the luxury living space, with multiple rooms in each housing unit. The buildings were short, however, with no skyscrapers to prevent an outside force from seeing a civilization that was relatively advanced. Two kilometers to the east, one would find a sheltered cove where there was a significant build-up of training facilities for infantry, marines, and even Jedi.
If one looked under the houses, however, one would find a gigantic, winding labyrinth of tunnels connecting the food stores and houses of the village. This labyrinth extended down several levels, connecting sick bays, cafeterias, sleeping quarters, a massive command center, a sensor room, several bathrooms, Research and Development (RD) areas, and a large hidden drydock/hangar, which was in a canyon about three kilometers away from the village with a large overhang shielding it from visual detection. It was, in short, a superbase, and it was totally hardened against any sort of sensor sweep with 'quiet' jamming devices.
Currently, there was a ship under construction in the drydock, the RSS (Resistance Star Ship) Three Thousand, a light cruiser with crazily, borderline impossibly fast engines compared to their First Order equivalents. The drydock was basically a spider's web of extending catwalks and metal stasis clamps, with four unmoving catwalks at the top left, top right, bottom left, and bottom right, if one was looking from the side of the dock. Sabine Wren stood on the far left of the top right catwalk, looking over the new ship's frame.
"It's different, all right," she muttered to herself, looking at the four diagonal dagger-looking wings that doubled at engine compartments. They slanted away from the main body of the ship at a roughly forty-five degree tilt upwards and downwards, the lower wings pointing upwards and the upper wings doing the opposite, so they touched wingtips at the very ends of the wings. It was a fairly new design, almost entirely experimental, that had come from the RD department sixteen days ago. It was interesting, to see how every fighter on the planet had thrown themselves into service for the Resistance so readily, to see how if you took a planet from someone, they would go through hell to get it back.
A seesaw effect, really. Take away Lothal, and Caldera becomes a major- if not the largest- Resistance stronghold in the galaxy, completely uncharted, off the hyperlanes by a lightyear. Take Caldera away, and Lothal would probably be back in Resistance hands by the end of the galactic week. Just like a seesaw. Up… and down… and up… and down….
Lothal… and Caldera… and Lothal… and Caldera…
"Sounds like some sick philosophical osik…." Sabine muttered to herself. She heard an indignant squeak from her side.
"General Wren, I assure you, this is not-"
"Wait, wait, wait, Emma, when did you get here?" Sabine asked, recognizing her technological liaison when she saw her. Emma McCulloch was a human female, both physically strong and intelligent, who was a former AFC trooper with a liking for the explosive finish. She and Sabine had, naturally, become fast friends. She had long black hair that she tied back in a loose ponytail that was dyed green, with roughly-medium-to-small-size breasts that she wore a sports bra to, for lack of a better word, compact, and also wore a black camouflage jacket in colder environments. She was also rather short, but underestimating her could be fatal, as several condescending males had found out. Seven of them had tried to force themselves on her once. One of them survived, but got out with a broken neck, broken ribs, fractured jaw, fractured left tibia, and some pretty severe brain damage. The other six were all dead by the end of the week, most of them from injuries sustained in the fight.
Emma felt terrible about it, so she was… touchy… around the topic.
"About three seconds ago. You were muttering to yourself about something."
"I was? Huh. Anyways, what were you going to tell me?"
"The Radio Detection And Ranging systems that we're installing on this craft. It'll light up our ship on enemy scanners of the same type but we'll be able to determine the type of ship, and where they're going, as well as ETA to their theoretical destination. Latest tech from the chaps down at RD. Won't do a thorough scan of a ship, and if anyone else has it they'll show up like a wildfire, but it will detect almost any type of stealthed ship that can be made."
"Impressive."
"Yeah. I know."
"Are you okay? You seem… queasy."
"I'm okay."
Sabine wasn't convinced. "Emma, I've known you for years. I can tell when you're hiding something."
"I'm not hiding anything!" Emma responded, cheeks flushing red..
"You just confirmed it. You're hiding something. It's you and Ty, isn't it?" Tyler "Ty" Lisoi was an active-duty Resistance Infiltrator operating with the Second Infiltrator Division (Whose catchphrase was rather awesome: Here and everywhere) who was currently training the newest crop of stealth enthusiasts on base. Currently, they were running a quarter-mile obstacle course. Four times. Sabine herself had trouble doing that. (Of course, she was wearing full armor- the new Infiltrators were not.)
Emma just turned on her heel and walked away, typing in the passcode given to all on-site members into a type of movement-sensing keyboard. To put it's inner workings into comprehensible terms, it worked by projecting a holographic keyboard, on which the user would type in the passcode. Then, as they did so, motion sensors would detect which key they had touched by 'seeing' the user's hand pass through with two motion sensors, one on the top and one on the side, and cross-referencing the two points to approximate the key touched. This was all done in microseconds, so naturally the developers were very proud of it. Or, they would have been, if they had made it off Lothal.
Damn Order. Killed so many that day…
But there was no sense in dwelling upon the past. It was better to look towards the future.
Like picking a captain for the Three Thousand. Sabine turned for the long, winding hallways of the inside of Caldera, with their electric lighting and durasteel walls (that you were allowed to paint!). In a lot of places you could look over the walls and you would see evidence that you were actually encouraged to paint the walls. There were intricate murals of Resistance fighters and the faceless stormtroopers of the First Order battling across destroyed landscapes, TIE fighters burning as T-70 X-Wings flew over a cheering populace, and- perhaps most touching of all- a long, unfinished painting along one wall, with blank gravestones every few inches. The first eighteen had names on them. Kilcil Braken, Julia Monevar, Chester Nez, Elena Alvarez, Ah-zhol Kex, Mikal Noama, Ingil Atarakan, Hal Mikkelson, Sopar Jacey, Tina Lin-Tsang, Maya Pierce, Cha Morro, Mari Aka, Godul Coonel, Luken Misolka, Will Honagar, Mirie Naza, and Maxim Basuda were all warriors that had fought and died a warrior's death in service of the Resistance. Those entombed on Lothal were kept elsewhere.
Eight of them- Kilcil Braken, Elena Alvarez, Ah-zhol Kex, Tina Lin-Tsang, Maya Pierce, Cha Morro, Mara Aka, and Maxim Basuda- had died under Sabine's command. She could remember each of them perfectly.
Kilcil Braken was a jokester from Corellia who believed that no situation couldn't be solved with the proper application of high explosives. He was known to say, As the power of an explosion increases, the number of social situations it cannot solve approaches zero. He had helped Sabine rig the LDC's tactics room to explode as the First Order charged the building, sending it to hell in a fiery explosion that vaporized the room, the surrounding rooms, and damaged half the building to some extent. The blast also killed anywhere from fifty to one-hundred fifty enemy troopers, and was visible from over a mile away. Naturally, being in this job had blackened his tougher clothing with debris and ash and ripped his lighter clothing to shreds. So, he wore a heavy demoman's coat and work jeans, and usually had some sort of energy shielding on hand to protect the group he was working with.
Elena Alvarez was a technician who had quite the sarcastic streak, as well as several awards from the New Republic for helping improve some of their best military vehicles. In short, she was a genius who was, like Sabine, from Mandalore. She also wore a one-way mirror as a visor that did double duty as sunglasses. (Hey, there was no anti-modification law for the AFC troopers.) With this, when in combat she wore what basically amounted to a solid durasteel plates with notches cut into it for armor.
Ah-zhol Kex was a die-hard warrior from Cerulia who was also, incidentally, Force-sensitive. He wielded some sort of crystal sword instead of a weapon as well, just to add to his speciality. He was a stealthy sun of a gun, though, who could sneak up on you, steal your blaster, your belt, and your shoes, and leave you wondering where your weapon went, why your feet are cold, and why your pants are falling down. Then he would kill you, if it was in his best interest. He wore typical Infiltrator garb, which would be a sort of stealthy-silk weave.
Tina Lin-Tsang was a cold, calculating soldier who never took shortcuts. She was also a sorceress when it came to any sort of trap, especially disabling traps. She and her husband, Maxim Basuda, had been hunters before receiving the call to action from the Rebellion and putting a quarter of a lifetime of weapons and special operations training to good use. Maxim was a lot like his wife: a dead shot, a expert hunter, and a cunning warrior. He used tiny explosive triplines to eliminate enemies, which sometimes was horrifying and sometimes hilarious, as they tended to fly through the air.
Maya Pierce (brother to David Pierce, a fighter pilot with Light Wing) was a beautiful brunette who was also an excellent infiltrator, due in part to her being…. rubenesque. She did seem to have a talent for drawing soldiers away from their posts, either with sound or sight. She was also deadly with a blade. Or a staff. Or really anything close-quarters. Oh, she was a master martial artist, as well- deadly with anything in her hands, including the hands themselves.
Cha Morro was a experienced warrior from Honoghr, the birthplace of the Noghri. They were scary, to put it simply, with a talent for killing from the shadows. No one knew much about him. When on combat missions (actually, when anywhere at all) he wore a dark green poncho as a camouflage, as well as a metal headband that he dulled with soot and ash to camouflage. The reason he wore a dark green poncho, as opposed to a black one, was because black was actually too dark- it created too deep a shadow. Dark green created a less-dark shadow and blended better with the dark night. The Empire had tried to conceal that knowledge. It didn't work. They thought they were the only ones with stealth units working in the shadows. How wrong they were, as they found out when some Infiltrators assassinated one of their Moffs.
And finally, Mara Aka was Maya Pierce's best friend. They were alike it a lot of ways, both physically and mentally. Mara, unlike her friend, was a cool-headed sniper who was an expert at hitting heads at long range. Many a time, members of a team had come upon a spot where there were three or four fried First Order guards. She wore civilian clothes when off-duty, but full sniper gear when on duty. Ghillie suit, camo, everything.
All of them had died under Sabine's command. In most cases, the team had been ambushed by First Order forces as they were moving to exfil.
She still remembered them.
But there was no time for reflection now. The Three Thousand needed a captain, and Sabine knew where to find one. Passing the Intelligence HQ (where someone had scrawled, "In God we trust, all others we monitor") and the Cybersecurity Division, where someone had painted "9ec4c12949a4f31474f299058ce2b22a," or "Our computers will destroy your computers," all the way down to the Marine barracks of the First Marines, otherwise known as the "Pathlighters." This nickname had been given to them after they had performed a rather crazy operation a few years after the formation of the New Republic, where they had landed to create a beachhead for a larger New Republic force. The chosen beachhead for the force was alive with enemies, though, so they had used flares to say (in code as well) Land at Sector 17-Beta-Echo-8-Sierra, which was a relatively clear field with meager defenses. Since then, they had gained a reputation for creative, effective responses to difficult situations, as well as come up with the unofficial motto of "We Will" and the official motto of "Volens Et Potens," or Willing and Able in some obscure, ancient language.
That they were.
Rows of bunk beds ran down the sides of the room. In the far corner, there were several soldiers and two lieutenants playing cards. Technically, gambling was not allowed, but as long as no one gambled with money, the rule was generally flaunted. (Hera would occasionally punish someone if they were too obvious, but… she was Hera.)
"Hey, do you soldiers knew where Keset is?" Sabine asked. Keset Iwagara was a Marine Captain who had taken control of his troop transport during an ambush after his pilot died and managed (somehow) to get his platoon out of the kill zone during Lothal's chaotic evacuation.
The general response was no, but one of the lieutenants pointed Sabine topside to the landing pad near the village, where Keset was supposed to be bringing in a cache of supplies.
Sabine began the hike to the surface, walking along the brightly-lit hallways of the base until she reached a turbolift that took her to near the surface. Then, she walked through the hidden door that led to the surface and walked out of the door, tracing her hand over a delicate inscription on the wall.
The Gallofree transport was just touching down as Sabine exited the hut, it's tiny maneuvering thrusters expertly angling the ship as it deployed it's massive landing gear and settled onto the cleared 'landing' area.
Mira approached Sabine from behind her. "Hey, mom?"
"Yes?" Sabine said, without turning.
"Is that the supply run that Keset was on?"
"Yes. It is. Although I still don't think you're going to get a Suten for your birthday." A Suten was a small bird, similar to a colorful songbird.
"Eh, it was a bit of a... desperate gambit. I think that's the word?"
"Probably not."
"Yeah."
The hold of the Gallofree opened up with the metallic hiss of escaping pressure and dropped to the ground slowly. A team of soldiers began ferrying cargo out of the hold, and Sabine and Mira entered said hold to make their way to the cockpit of the (relatively) small craft. Crates were stacked around the hold and the two girls picked their way through the cockpit, following a winding path.
Keset and Mira walked into each other as they rounded the corner. Both fell backwards.
"Oh! Mira! Hey," Keset said, awkwardly. Both of them were red with embarrassment.
"Hi, Keset," she said, with maybe a bit of longing in her tone. Sabine groaned inwardly. This was exactly what had happened with her and Ezra, where they both tiptoed around the topic of romantics without either of them acknowledging their feelings for each other. I'll let this ride for another month, at most, she thought.
"Hello, Captain," Sabine said evenly.
"General?" Keset responded. "I'm a Sergeant."
"Not anymore. Report to the drydock at 1200 hours tomorrow for your new assignment. I understand you have an affinity for flying?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then your new job should be perfect. I'll let you select your crew."
Sabine turned on her heel and walked away. Keset looked to Mira and let out a long breath. "Your mom is one scary person."
"Oh, you should see her fighting. You were a Marine, right?"
"Yes."
"Not an AFC trooper?"
"No."
"Have you seen an AFC trooper fighting?"
"Yes. They're terrifying."
"Now imagine them hitting almost every shot while being super hard to hit and throwing explosives all around. And you've got a basic idea of my mom."
"Really? She doesn't seem like she goes on the front lines a lot."
"There haven't been any major battles, either. You just wait and you'll see how terrifying my parents can be."
"Oh? I take it your dad is also quite the warrior?"
"One word. Jedi."
"... Ah. So… um, do you want to join my crew?" Keset asked awkwardly.
"Yeah. Sure," Mira responded, maybe just a wee bit hesitantly.
Ezra looked over the Force-Sensitive warriors training in one of the larger gyms. They were sparring each other with practice sabers, which were really just vibroblades with the edges dulled. It was possible to kill someone with one, but it was extremely difficult. So Ezra had guessed, and a few friends of his confirmed, that it was an ideal practice weapon for training a new generation of Force-Sensitive warriors. (Not necessarily Jedi, though.)
As he looked over the yard, he saw several instructors moving among the students, correcting a movement here, removing a movement there, and generally fine-tuning the students into proper warriors. These ones were Jedi. Or, at least, they were in a physical sense; most of them had been Jedi before the Order fell, and those remaining were Apprentices they had trained on Lothal that had graduated to Jedi Knight.
He hated to admit it, but he only had the slightest idea of what he was doing. His training with Kanan had been comprehensive but more action-reaction-based, and Ahsoka had helped him at first but had disappeared since.
A slight tingly feeling came onto his shoulder. Ezra turned his head to find a bearded man's ghost with something between a samurai bun and a ponytail, putting one hand on his shoulder.
"Still somewhere between death and life?" Ezra asked. Kanan smirked.
"No. There is no death or life. Only the Force, my young-ish Padawan."
Ezra snorted derisively. He was no longer young by almost any terms, being fifty-six, although he looked to be about thirty-five. He wore a orange undershirt with a forest camouflage jacket, currently unzipped, and combat jeans, also in woodland camo, which both served to place his age around the general age of soldiers he led- 20 to 35. "I made it to Master, old man. I have my own Padawan."
"Oh, I am aware, Padawan," Kanan said.
"I'd punch your shoulder, but…"
"Incorporeal."
"Yeah."
Kanan leaned on the railing that overlooked the practice yard. "You're doing a good job."
Ezra laughed ruefully. "I'm not sure we can say that yet. I haven't tried taking them into an actual battle yet."
"Your Jedi did well on Lothal."
"We lost."
It was silent for a moment. Kanan spoke next. "Did Sabine ever tell you about why the Rebellion chose the Starbird as their symbol?"
"No. Why?"
"I think you'd benefit from hearing it. The Starbird is a mythical, immortal creature. Well, not immortal, exactly. You can kill one. But, whenever a Starbird dies, it's reborn from its own ashes, stronger than before.
"That's why it was chosen as the Rebellion's symbol, among other reasons. The first reason, for some reason, is it's the 'Marek family crest' which I have no clue what that's about but I suppose it's important."
"An immortal bird… that's the craziest, most inspiring thing I've heard all day," Ezra mused.
"You've talked to thirteen people about strategy, supplies, and troop numbers/dispositions," Kanan responded flatly. "And to Mira, about her new ship."
"The Stormwhite? Yeah, I figured, she made it to Corporal, she can have her own ship."
"You had a hard time convincing Sabine."
"Do you stalk me as I go about my day?"
"Pretty much."
"Why do you have to be a ghost?"
"Because if I wasn't, you would slap me."
"So you've seen through my skillful verbal gymnastics."
"More like verbal balancing beam."
"Ow."
"Suck it up, buttercup. Now, about the Stormwhite. Do you consider it strange that it's not actually going to have any white on it?"
"Actually, I don't really care. It's her ship, and I'm not going to control that."
"You said the same thing when I asked you about her getting a tattoo."
"A: It's her body. I have no control over her life, which means her body by extension. B: Sabine has tattoos all over her left side, from her waist to her shoulder."
"Touche. Although, Sabine got hers as a 'kriff you' gesture to Skystrike."
"And Sabine would prefer if her husband had a Listen check worth ten credits," a voice said from behind. Ezra turned to find Sabine standing a meter away, with her helmet by her side.
"You've been playing Dungeons and Dragons again, haven't you?"
"So sorry, darling," Sabine cooed, kissing Ezra lightly. Kanan took a small bit of satisfaction at Ezra and Sabine's marriage, seeing it as something between the 'End Result' of his and Hera's efforts and a very heavy dose of 'Finally!'
Mentally, he compared and contrasted the crew from before and after the Galactic Civil War. Ezra and Sabine were taller and more open about their relationships, but both were just as fit (if not more) and, while neither looked like they were in their teens, neither looked fifty-five or fifty-seven.
Hera was 65 and looked about forty-nine. She also looked perpetually stressed, but that was to be expected- she was the driving force behind the Calderan Resistance, as it was called. She no longer flew much (although she still could kick any pilot's butt in a dogfight) but she had picked up several skills required of a Resistance leader; that is, leadership, public speaking, and supply frugality.
Zeb had gone back to live on Lira San, and was currently defending the world via a lot of gravity wells, and black holes. To explain that further, you cannot go into hyperspace if there is an active gravity well. So, therefore you cannot get to Lira San with a Gravity Well generator online. All contact had been lost since about a month ago.
And Kanan himself was dead. That was something, right?
Ezra decided to change tack. "How's Mira?"
"Having fun with her friends, I assume. I'm not sure."
"Well, as long as she isn't dogfighting in the Stormwhite, I'm sure she's okay."
Mira was okay. Ish.
"Piss off! I owe you nothing!"
"C'mon, baby. I'll owe you one!"
"Right. And that's worth how much? Ah, yes- nothing. Go kriff yourself."
"Hey now…"
"Aww, did the big mean Mandalorian hurt your feelings? Grow up."
The person Mira was arguing with was Lukas Duders, a twenty-year-old half-Mandalorian that seemed to think this made him equal to every other Mandalorian on base, Mira and Sabine included, even though he was horribly incompetent. His father, hoping to instill some sort of motivation inside of him, had given him a squad of droids to command, all of which were now basically a hit squad that he loosed on people who rejected him. They had all been painted black, instead of the standard camouflage color.
Sadly, he also had a rather large crush on Mira that was entirely one-sided.
"I'm older than you."
"Really? I couldn't tell by your behavior."
Mira turned on one foot, a mass of long, midnight-blue hair whirling around her head with the occasional flash of green, as she had dyed the ends of her hair seaweed green. It merged with the rest of her hair slowly. Mira had grown from a small girl with dreams of a normal life into a strong young lady who had come to terms with her life being chaotic and just generally strange beyond belief. She usually wore some sort of tank top in varying colors and a camouflage solid cardigan over that, and combat jeans in digital black camouflage. "Now, if you'll stop wondering what my bra size is, I have places to be."
"Now, babe, c'mon, don't talk like that-"
Mira bounced off of one foot and hammered Lukas with two mid-air sidekicks, leaning backwards and throwing her leg out to the side of her body as she flew through the air hitting with the blade of her foot. She switched from one leg to the other as she hammered the blade of her foot into Lukas's chest. Lukas crumpled like a rag doll to the ground, winded and unable to speak, but with nothing broken.
"Oh, thank god, you finally shut up," Mira mumbled to herself. "Now if only I could tie you up…"
She scouted around the small room for some sort of tape or rope. It seemed to be a small storage closet that had been converted into a hideout/den. It reeked of primer and worse. How Lukas tolerated it, she didn't and would never know. Eventually, she found some cable ties and tied Lukas's hands behind his back and tied his feet together.
"Mira! Let me go!" Lukas said, enraged. Mira kicked him in the side instead.
"Look, Lukas, there is nothing stopping me from shooting you in the head right now and leaving your body to rot, and believe me I would love nothing more than to do so. So if you want to live, I suggest you shut up now." To emphasise her point, Mira casually placed a blaster against Lukas's skull.
Lukas shut up.
"Good. Now, I'm going to leave. You are going to stay quiet for the next ten minutes. Then you can free yourself."
Lukas glared and made several enraged noises, but did not open his mouth, to his credit. Mira twirled her blaster and placed it back in it's holster before exiting the room. Briefly, she looked around, gaining her bearings. She recognized the place almost immediately. It was the Starfighter Corps barrack's southern area, in a back alleyway. Truly an undesirable place, but she did know a few people nearby. Walking casually out of the alleyway, she was immediately met by Thane Kyrell, a tall, pale-skinned X-Wing ace pilot who flew with the remnants of Light and Monarch Squadron. 53 years old but looking thirty-six, Thane had reddish-blonde hair and blue eyes. He was currently wearing a orange flight suit with a white survival vest, just like the other pilots did. It was more than likely' that he had just come off of a combat flight, as the nearby systems did need to have some covert surveillance so the Resistance could tell what was heading to their base.
"Ah. Hello, Mira," Thane said. Mira nodded acknowledgement. "Why are you here?" Thane asked next.
"Some prick dragged me here."
"Lukas?"
"Jackpot."
"Sorry. Please tell me you were able to show him something."
"Well, I kicked him and tied his hands behind his back. Is that something?"
"It's enough."
Thane continued on, going to the apartment that had been set aside for him and Ciena Ree, his wife. Ciena, and old Imperial Captain that Thane had forcibly rescued from a crashing Star Destroyer on Jakku, was also a ace X-Wing pilot that had flown in battle against several Imperial Remnants and piloted a XT-75 during the Evacuation of Lothal. (Incidentally, she was one of the three pilots who had flown the experimental (or X)T-75). Currently, her ship, the Looking Glass, was under repairs. The primary navigation had shorted out and taken the weapon systems with it. The bigger problem was a bug had been found that made the weapon systems overheat immediately if they were fired. Needless to say, that was a problem.
Currently, she was sitting at home, waiting for Thane with their six-year-old son, Jackson Kyrell. Ciena laced her fingers together, watching as Jackson ran around the house, his energy almost boundless. The sharp corners of furniture had long been rounded off so Jackson could not cut himself on them, but he was not big enough to be trusted to stay by himself while his parents went on patrol.
Usually, when patrols were increased and the base was brought to a state of combat-readiness, someone would have to watch over Jackson. There was fierce competition for who would get this job, usually, and the winner tended to be one of the teenage civilians that had evacuated Lothal in time. One was coming over in a few hours so Thane and Ciena could head for the Command Center, to discuss fighter deployments on the new ship that would be launched. Thane was supposedly heading there already. A few people had already arrived, sitting in the rows of seats that had been set up.
Keset's promotion wasn't an extravagant affair. He was given two silver bars to wear on his dress uniform and a Captain's emblem to wear on his shoulder for his actual gear.
There was a small ceremony, where Hera pinned the bars on Keset's lapel and he was given a little paper that said that he was now the official captain of the RSS Three Thousand. Then he bowed to Hera, Ezra, and Sabine, before leaving the Command Center, where there were multiple screens showing scans from all around real space and the nearest hyperlanes. In the center, there was a holotable which could display anything from technical readouts of enemy ships to a real-time map of a battlefield in blue light.
Mira was waiting at the drydock where the Three Thousand sat, almost completed but still requiring the final details to make the ship whole. Currently, the technicians were having some problems with the hyperwave particle accelerating device (known by everyone without an engineering degree in Starship Design as a hyperdrive) and the chaps at RD were trying to help them out.
"Hello, Mira," Keset said.
"Hi," Mira responded. "Figured you'd want a picture to… you know… savor the moment?"
"Um… sure," Keset responded. "You want to join in?"
"I dunno. Do you want me there?"
"Yeah."
The two posed in front of the nearly-completed ship. Mira held up a encouraging "V for Victory" sign as the camera flashed, preserving the moment forever.
"Could you send that to me?" Mira asked.
"Yeah, sure," Keset responded. "So, about my crew… I was thinking you could be my first mate?"
Mira glanced at him suspiciously. "You're going to have multiple?"
"Well, yeah. There are, like, second and third mate, right?"
"No!"
"I'm pretty sure there are. It's a rank, right?"
"A… rank?"
"Yeah! Like, Captain, Commander, and so on…"
"...I thought you were talking about marriage."
"What? Oh, gods no!" Keset said. He managed to keep a straight face for most of this, before he and Mira almost collapsed in laughter.