5: 48 P.M. Dalaman Cruiser

The two men sat in peace in the center of the dimmest section of the Starlight Lounge. They're glasses set firmly on the table, still half-empty with plenty of time to settle. Silence emanated from both, and eye contact was minimum. Body language was all but mute.

This was what Kenny Ferdan preferred to do the most during his downtime. Silence and loneliness. No one disturbing him, no one wanting to disturb him.

The crowds were gone; all nonessential personnel having been transferred to civilian ships that would remain behind and not fight. Only a few pilots still remained in the Lounge, most of them having already reported to the hangar. A vessel's Commander was usually supposed to be prepped forty-five minutes before a mission or attack, but Kenny wasn't this time; and he wasn't worried about getting in trouble for it either—considering the man he was sitting with was the cruiser's Captain.

Kenny raised the glass to his lips, and again enjoyed the tangy taste of his non-alcoholic Galamanian Fruit Margarita. The drink was famous for it energy-giving properties, the likes of which Kenny loved thoroughly. So as the drink wet his tongue again, Kenny Ferdan sat back in his chair and sighed in satisfaction.

"What do you think of this attack, Kenny?" Captain F'ter'yu asked him randomly in a monotone.

Kenny looked at him then away. "I don't know. It sounds okay, but so did the plan for Deil Nine," he said wryly.

F'ter'yu snickered. "That's true. I don't know. I think we're jumping the gun a bit." He gestured outside the window to the fleet. "That's almost two-thirds of our fleet. If we lose this...we're gonna be in serious trouble."

Kenny shrugged as he took another sip. "This war has to end sometime. The sooner the better. I mean, if we get a chance..." he took a soft breath. "We should take it."

F'ter'yu's Trisalkan whiskers twitched. "Maybe." His eyes snapped up to Kenny's face. "Didn't you used to like the Empire?"

Kenny nodded. "I didn't really care up until..." he let the sentence trail off for a bit. "You know."

"Mmm," F'ter'yu said in understanding.

"I used to like them when I was a kid," Kenny said with dry humor. "But back then, it wasn't real. It was a just a movie." He smiled. "I had a shirt that had the pirate symbol on it, but instead of the skull in the middle of the two bones, there was a stormtrooper head."

F'ter'yu laughed slightly. "You humans do have a weird taste in fashion."

Kenny shrugged carelessly, taking another sip. "We don't care."

Suddenly, from the other side of the Lounge came a staunch amount of cheering and clapping. Kenny looked over and saw his Lieutenant Second, Darisha Farls, move away from the crowd of cheerers and start up on stage.

The mike was basically open now, to anyone who wanted to perform. So Farls, a Caldoran, walked briskly onto the stage, her Gerdiril—the Caldoran version of a guitar— strapped around her shoulder. She grabbed a stool, and sat in front of the microphone. "Hello everybody," she said rather shyly. Pushing a lock of her dark hair out of her face, she continued, "I'd like to play one last song before everybody has to go to the–to the hangar. I wrote it myself. I–it's called 'Never Forgotten,' and I wrote it in honor of my father, Oren Farls, who died in the Sloman Massacre." She scanned the crowd, her eyes falling on Kenny for a moment, before clearing her throat and playing the solo that started her song.

Kenny dunked the rest of his drink down his throat, then slammed the glass on the table and got up quickly. "I need to get the hangar." He looked over at F'ter'yu. "And you should probably be getting to the bridge, sir."

The two exchanged nods as F'ter'yu rose and stuck out his hand. As Kenny shook it, F'ter'yu said, "Good luck Commander. And be careful."

"You too, sir."

As Farls sang the first lyrics, Kenny walked, rather fast, out of the Lounge, not wanting to hear her song; not wanting to remember, or even be reminded of, the Sloman Massacre.