Captain Bolerov found himself standing on the bridge of the Warlord alone. Despite the relative smallness of the bridge, it still looked daunting when no one else was there. He knew he came up here for a reason, but it had left him. He stared at the patterned olive and gray hard rubber deck plates. He rested his rear end on the hand rail separating the secondary bridge stations from the main floor and looked at the various consoles before him. He wanted to use one of them.

Bolerov rubbed his temples. Then, it dawned on him. He wanted to make an announcement of some kind. Yes, that was it. He wanted to use the intercom system to welcome the new crewmembers! He let out an audible sigh of relief and leaned forward towards the communications console. Thankfully, the layout wasn't that much different than on the USS Vigilant.

The lights on the already smoky bridge went out as the another set of alarms crecendoed the existing alarms. Within a second, red lights above the turbolift doors and floor plates came on bathing the bridge in an eerie blood color. Sparks rained from an overloaded power coupling in the ceiling over the navigation console. Lieutenant Commander O'Neill was thrown from his chair, but climbed back in, his face being perforated by red-hot sparks.

"We've lost main power!" Lieutenant Bosa yelled.

"My weapons console is dead," added Lieutenant Iieria calmly.

Captain Bolerov had to make a quick decision. Weapons were down. Shields were down. Main power was gone. As much as he hated it, fighting was out. There was only one option available. He spun in his command chair to face his communications officer. He sat stalwart, but obviously panicked, at his communications console. "Lieutenant Curran, alert the crew... all hands abandon ship."

Bolerov slammed his eyes shut and shook his head, forcing the memory away. He refused to allow these memories to affect him any more... not again. His thoughts meandered towards his new group of Marines. Somehow, they symbolized the mind he thought he had... an illusion of discipline and self control being broken into a reality that was almost uncontrollable. "No!" He agrued. "That is NOT me. I WILL finish what I started." With a look of almost enraged determination, he pushed himself to the communications console and pressed a series of buttons.

"Attention new cremembers of the starship Warlord," he began. His voice was almost angry. "This is your captain speaking." He attempted to calm himself, but he had something to say. It was more to himself, but directed at the crew. "Welcome aboard. I want you to realize the posting to which you have been assigned. In its short history, this vessel has already served with distinction and honor. Its crew have performed far beyond expectations. Their talent and determination have redefined excellence. I expect nothing less from any of you. In fact, I demand nothing less. Get settled in, then contact your department's duty officer for your shift and station. That is all." He pressed the comm button again, his hand shaking.

"I demand nothing less." His own voice repeated in his mind. Bolerov looked at the chronometer. He had almost two hours before the peace delegation arrived. He decided to head back to his quarters and calm himself with a drink or two.