Chapter XI

Carroll came back to reality with a jolt. He had never slept, but he had let his mind wander to a daydream. The drab interior of the pelican felt a darker grey here, the titanium seemed covered in an intangible soot of some sort. The jets created small pools of jet wash as they slowed the Pelican's decent into the landing bay of the UNSCDFS Liverpool gently setting it down, slowly descending, then, the last half meter, the jets seemed to give out and the Pelican sat down with a gut wrenching shake and a series of clunks and clanks that while dull, were still very loud and hurt the deck crews eardrums.

The door to the Pelican opened with a hiss and a metal on metal screech, as if it had not been lubricated in years. The battered refugees slowly stood up, their minds as bashed and beaten, if not more bashed and beaten then their bodies. Like driven cattle to the slaughter they made their way to the landing deck of the ship.

Navy men handed out firstly blankets, then canteens of water. Carroll and Dakota stood side by side, hand in hand, wondering what would happen next. Their home, their planet, their family, everything, yet, they had found refuge only with each other.

"People of Jericho Three," began a tall, well-defined, but not overly muscular man in a pristine white naval officers uniform, "Welcome aboard the UNSCDFS Liverpool, we're on our way to Reach." The medals on his breast rattled ever so slightly as he spoke in his deep voice.