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Mission Report: August 25, 8 BLW 1935 hours

Captain Carter Whittaker, commanding officer: CSS Spirit of Valor

Valiant Class Frigate, Crew Complement: 452

"Captain's report August 25th, on the advice of my senior officers I have decided to cancel all remaining drills for the remainder of this tour, as well as shorting the ship's watch and cutting back on nonessential duty stations. It should come as no secret that I have a more formal command style than most other captains in the fleet; that said, after five months in deep space I believe the crew appreciates the extra time off.

CDF policies are very lenient on how a captain chooses to command their ship. While I often ask my crew to make great sacrifices, it is only with the knowledge of their great potential. The Spirit of Valor's crew have served with honor and distinction fitting of the ship's namesake. I could not ask for a better crew. End captain's report."

Grace placed her foot on a outcropping, testing if it could support her full weight. Luckily it held, she straightened her leg using the added leverage to haul herself further up the cliff side. A cool breeze crossed the face of the cliff, ruffling through her fur and making her blonde ponytail sway. She took a moment to enjoy the wind, providing a brief respite from the rays of Lylat beating down on the rockface. From her position on the cliff she could see the entire valley below and the gleaming skyscrapers of Corneria City in the distance.

She reached out with a paw to grab another outcropping. After applying a fraction of her weight it gave away, nearly threatening to unbalance her precarious position. The vixen swore under her breath as she struggled to regain her footing.

"Isn't there a rule about not rock climbing alone?" A male voice with a jovial tone interrupted her recreation. Grace looked down the cliff face to see Commander Scott in full uniform below her. "Commander!" she shouted down. "I believe there's also a rule about entering other people's private simulations."

The husky smiled. "Privileges of being the executive officer."

Grace repelled down the cliffside using her safety harness, meeting the husky on the forest floor. "Something I can do for you XO?"

"I was just coming off duty," he replied. "I wanted to thank you for convincing the captain to give the crew some time off."

"Just doing my job, sir," she said with a smile as she pointed towards the rockface. "Besides, the crew aren't the only ones taking advantage of the extra time off."

"So I gather," Michael chuckled mirthfully. "I'm heading to the Galley for a drink, care to join me?"

"I'd be delighted. Let me head back to my quarters to shower and change," she gestured to her T-shirt and shorts lightly coated in sweat from her exertion. "Meet you there in twenty minutes?"

He nodded, "Sounds good."

He turned to face to the exit as she followed behind. As the door to the simulation room opened Grace terminated her rock climbing program. The natural landscape of cliffs and forests pixelated and dissolved revealing a large dull gray room, its walls lined with holographic projectors at steady intervals.

The Galley was a nickname given to the ship's hub of social activity. Located on the starboard side of the ship's recreational deck, it served as the ship's mess hall as well as a bar, lounge, and bistro for all off duty personnel. Large floor to ceiling windows dominated one wall, presenting a canvas of black void lit by distant stars. The wall opposite the windows was lined with food synthesizers, small lines forming behind each one. Crew members and officers both in and out of uniform sat at various tables enjoying food and drinks, chatting away the evening.

Normally the Galley wasn't this crowded, but the majority of the ship's complement had taken the captain's offer for extra time off. Michael walked over to the synthesizer, getting in line. He engaged a young ensign in small talk before reaching the front and ordered himself a light ale. The husky found an empty secluded table and sat down. Being the executive officer meant he had the option of taking his meals in the wardroom, but he preferred the friendly, warm atmosphere of the Galley and socializing with the crew.

After a minutes of nursing his drink, Grace —now back in uniform— stepped into the Galley. He flagged her down after she ordered a drink from the synthesizer. Setting her drink down, she sat down across from Mike.

"What'd you order?" The husky asked curiously.

"Cider, although the synthesizers can never get it quite right," she replied.

"Tell me about it, I'd give my tail for a good ale." He stared into his glass, scrutinizing the golden liquid, the drink being the last thing on his mind.

Recently his thoughts drifted more and more towards home. His modest two bedroom studio in central Corneria, currently occupied by his wife and four year old son. The last time he saw the pup in person he had just turned two years old. He thought about how he lost the chance to watch his son grow up, how he had left his wife to raise the child alone. He had sacrificed a lot for his military career, perhaps too much. After the Valor finished this tour he planned to apply for reassignment to some desk job on Corneria, maybe at the academy. He felt torn between the love for his family and having to leave the ship he called home for three years. This crew was his second family, he made an oath to them, how could he just leave them? How was he going to break this news to the captain? Three years of serving with Whittaker had made them friends, but he was such a private and reserved man there was no telling how he might react to the news.

Grace raised an eyebrow and gave him half a grin, "Staring at it isn't going to make it taste better."

"No I suppose not," he said before raising the glass to his muzzle to take another sip. "How's the captain doing?"
She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to share. "This tour has been hard on everyone, including the captain."

Michael let out an uncharacteristic sigh that threw her off. The friendly, charismatic husky she had come to know disappeared. She was accustomed to the crewmembers bringing their problems to her, she was practically the unofficial ship's counselor, however she couldn't remember anytime their executive officer sought her guidance, nor could she recall him ever looking so disturbed. Whatever it was he would share it in his own time. It wasn't like she could give orders to the XO anyway.

"The ale is that bad, huh?" she attempted to lighten the mood, bringing her own glass to her muzzle.

"I'm putting in for reassignment when we get back to Corneria," he said in a quiet voice.

The vixen nearly choked on her cider, eliciting a few glances from nearby personnel. She waved off their concern with a gesture of her paw. After the shock wore off and the nearby patrons resumed their conversations, she lowered her voice so she wouldn't be overheard. "You're leaving the ship?"

He nodded once, his eyes firmly locked on the glass in his paw. He couldn't find his voice, to confirm with certainty that he was in fact leaving. The conflict in his eyes was evident. She knew their XO was one of the few members on board that had left a spouse behind. These past few months had taken its toll on everyone, more so for those who left family and loved ones behind. "Your family?" she asked.

He nodded again, before responding with the same quiet voice. "My son needs a father."

Grace knew that the loss of their executive officer would severely impact the crew. Part of her wanted to convince him to stay, not just because the ship needed him but because Michael was also a friend, but she had no right to keep him or anyone from their family. Nobody had that right. "Have you told the captain?" she asked.

He finally shifted his gaze from the ale in his paw to her. "You're the only one who knows," he said as he hesitated for a moment. "How do you think he'll take it?"

She paused to contemplate her response. One of the most important relationships on a vessel was the dynamic between the CO and the XO. Changing that dynamic would be a enormous disruption. Michael's joviality and friendliness had acted as a counterbalance to the captain's strict adherence to military protocol. Given Whittaker's recent disposition, that counterbalance was needed now more than ever, but the vixen had no desire to add to the growing conflict that he must have been going through. It was better to help guide him through the decision rather than try to convince him of which action to take. "You've been his faithful right hand for three years, losing you will be difficult, but the Valor will go on and so will the captain."

The husky shook his head, "Don't do that."

"Do what?" She asked confused.

"Grace, I'm here as a friend, not your superior officer. We both know that you're the one who he's developed a personal connection with rather than a professional one. You've developed a rapport with him. He listens to you."
"He listens to you too, Mike. He trusts you," the vixen insisted.
He scoffed lightly, "He trusts me to execute orders and he trusts my judgement in tactical situations."
"You're selling yourself short. Carter trusts you with his ship, and this ship is his life."
Mike held the same look of defeat. " Like you said, I've been at his side for three years. I can't just walk out on him."

She reached out with her paw and gently grasped the husky's forearm. "Michael, no one has the right to keep you away from your son, not even the captain."

"Maybe. . . maybe it'll be easier if I don't tell him. Not until we get back to Corneria."

She shook her head. "Carter deserves to know. You should tell him, sooner rather than later." No sooner than the husky opened his mouth to respond was he interrupted by the ship's P.A. system. "Commander Scott report to CIC, Commander Scott to CIC."

Elizabeth glanced around CIC. Roughly half the duty stations were empty as most of her staff accepted the captain's invitation for time off. But not Lizzy though, she had declined the offer for extra downtime. Her duty was here in this room, it didn't feel right to lounge around when there was work to do.

The remaining staff in the room sat at vital defensive and communications stations, each person taking on added responsibilities now that only half were present. The feline was no exception. She kept her eyes on the holographic table while her ears monitored the fleet traffic.

Suddenly one of the small holographic ships winked out of existence. She blinked to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. The dot was still missing.

"Smith," she addressed of the crewmembers sitting at a nearby communications terminal. "Confirm that picket ten stopped squawking."

"Confirmed ma'am, all transmissions from the Royal flatlined at 2124."

By Lylatian law, a ship's transponder had to be online at all times in order organize space lanes and prevent collisions. In rare occasions military ships would turn them off to run dark, but primarily outlaws and pirates would switch them off. Something had to be wrong, "Is there a problem on our end?" She asked, looking for any explanation.

"No ma'am, comms report all systems green." The technician replied.

With comms eliminated as the issue, Lizzy decided to focus efforts on acquiring a picture of what was going on. "Lidar, do you have anything?"
"Negative ma'am, the Royal is gone."
"What do you mean gone?"

"I mean there's nothing there ma'am, no movement, no debris. The ship simply disappeared from the scope."

Lizzy immediately activated the direct comm line to the bridge. "Bridge, this is CIC. get me the captain."

Captain Whittaker rushed his way through the corridors to CIC. Naval personnel in various uniforms and fatigues stepped out of the way and gave him a quick salute as he passed by. He stepped in CIC as the doors automatically shut behind him. "Lieutenant, this had better be good," he said walking over to her position.

Lieutenant Robins brought the captain up to speed from her position at the briefing table. "Sir, picket station ten went dark at 2124 hours. Lidar has confirmed the Royal is missing from her post."

Whittaker frowned, picket ten was the closest to the asteroid field. The station was given to the CSS Royal, a Gladius-class corvette captained by commander Abigail Rixx, a retriever who had been repeatedly promoted due to a desperate need to fill fleet vacancies and demoted for borderline insubordination. She frequently acted outside the chain of command and on her own accord. It if wasn't for the need for more personnel, Whittaker suspected she would have been discharged from service entirely. Given Rixx's service record he decided further investigation was warranted.

"Have we tried hailing them?" He asked.

"Yes, sir. No reply."

"When was their last check in?"

"At 2100, they reported all systems green."

With the exception of the small stealth ships used by Cornerian Naval Intelligence, the Gladius was the smallest warship in the Cornerian Navy. Barely armed and sporting a crew of less than a hundred, they were designed for mine sweeping and fighter screening.

Whittaker took a position next to the briefing table and stared into the holographic representation of the surrounding space. The now empty picket station was void of any debris or asteroids. An entire ship's complement didn't simply disappear. "Hail the Dauntless get me a direct line to Commander Alba, and get Commander Scott down here."

The Dauntless, captained by Commander Tyta Alba was the next ship in formation and the closest to the Royal's last position. Alba was a middle aged brown owl with a reputation for caution and level headedness. Her Resolute-class destroyer was better equipped and armored to deal with whatever unknowns they were facing. Whittaker considered himself fortunate to have her assigned to his flotilla.

"Aye, Sir." Lieutenant Robins left her place at the table and began to relay his orders. After a few seconds she called out. "Captain, I have Commander Alba on channel five-one."

The arctic wolf tapped a control on the table and the image of Commander Alba appeared on the display. She was sitting on the bridge of her ship as uniformed officers milled around in the background. "Commander Alba, have you been apprised of the situation?"

The owl glanced to the side, "Affirmative captain, we've lost all signals from the Royal as well."

"Commander, I want you to take the Dauntless to get visual confirmation of the Royal, then report back."

The owl looked hesitant; she appeared to have reservations about his orders. "Speak your mind commander," he added with limited patience.

"Sir, if the Dauntless leaves her position, that will leave a gap in the sensor net, not to mention that we would be out of position to assist the fleet."

"Which is why I'm only ordering you to make a visual confirmation and then report back. I'm not ordering you to take their station. And I'll remind you that with the Royal's disappearance we already have a hole in the sensor net not to mention a ship full of Cornerian sailors missing, commander."

The owl furrowed her brow. "Aye, sir." The channel closed and her image disappeared.

The door to CIC opened, once more letting light enter the dark room. Commander Scott stepped inside. His usual easy going personality missing from the expression on his face. "What's the word captain?"

"The Royal's disappeared. I'm trying to get confirmation on the ship's status."

The husky's face darkened further. "Isn't that Rixx's ship?"

Whittaker nodded in acknowledgement.

"What do you think she's up to?" The XO asked, "should we alert the Admiral?"

"Not yet, I want to make sure it's not a technical glitch. Some stray asteroid might have damaged their communications array, or it could be solar flare activity." As soon as he said the words Whittaker knew how improbable it sounded. A ship was built with redundancies to make sure communications didn't fail spontaneously. Not to mention the Royal wasn't showing up on lidar but there could be explanations for that as well. Whittaker needed to be certain it wasn't natural interference. If he decided to expend fleet resources and it turned out to be nothing he would be be ridiculed for 'crying wolf'. God, he hated that expression.

"Aye, sir," Commander Scott replied.

The next half hour passed with apprehension. It would take approximately 40 minutes for the Dauntless to get visual confirmation of the Royal. Commander Scott had returned to the bridge, and Whittaker stayed in CIC glaring at the tiny holographic Dauntless move slowly towards the last known position of the Royal. Despite his caution he had reservations; any natural interference should have passed long ago. He was tempted to scramble his crew to their stations, however without more information it would be premature He couldn't act on a hunch.

As the holograph ship approached the edge of the asteroid field, it too vanished. A nearby technician called out, "Contact with Dauntless lost."

Whittaker immediately acted, barking out orders. "Hail the Dauntless repeatedly. Don't don't stop until you get a reply."

"Aye, sir," a technician replied.

"Where was the Dauntless' last known position in relation to the last known position of the Royal?"

Robins spoke up from her station, "About three thousand kilometers, sir."

Whittaker frowned, three thousand kilometers was well within visual range; Commander Alba should have reported back. He had lost contact with two ships under his command now, this was not any natural interference.

"Hail the fleet, priority channel to Admiral Stanforth."

A/N: Another chapter signed and delivered! I'll be honest I'm not entirely satisfied with some of the dialogue and narrative in that chapter. It took me a while write it the way I wanted to portray it, which is why it's a little late. Sorry! Expect the next chapter on February 5th. As usual if you're interested in any of my current projects you can find them on my profile. Any and all reviews are appreciated, they help me improve as a writer. Thank you for taking the time to read!