Cal had spent the time waiting in the Azusa's hangar for the fold operation to begin. He had drawn first patrol watch after the defold and needed to become more familiar with his new bird and the ordnance systems that Bell-Casse had installed on it. Cal stood near his ship, admiring its beauty. Ever-so-gently, he caressed the hull of the ship learning, by touch and sight, every detail of the ship's profile. He introduced himself to the ship and climbed into the cockpit. The EX-gear he was wearing seemed so clumsy, but he did the best he could to cope with it.

Cal pulled out the package from Bell-Casse and extracted its contents. Numerous crudely written and drawn manuals laid inside. There was also a test schedule mixed among the documents. Cal immediately began to read the manuals to pass the time while he waited for the fleet to finish the fold operation.

As the ships defolded, the crew in the hangar began to scurry about in preparation for the first launch of the fighters. Cal had gotten through most of the manuals by this time. He placed them into a convenient stow in the cockpit and put his helmet on. The EX-gear firmly rested in place around his body and in the pilot's seat. The mechanic did a final check on Cal's EX-gear and the RVF's flight systems. After a thumbs up, the canopy closed over Cal and he awaited his ascension to the launch pad. The launching arm entered the hangar through the airlock and plucked Cal's ship up from the deck and hoisted it onto the ship's surface. As the arm moved into place, Cal was bathed by the light from the Coral star reflecting off of Coral-5's moon. The catapult officer, located in the transparent dome near the launching point, performed a final visual inspection of Cal's bird. "Good luck, Helios 14!" the officer's voice crackled over the radio. "Thank you," Cal responded. Satisfied with the readiness of Cal's ship, he released the arm and gave the OK signal for launch. Cal pushed the throttle into military power and the ship instantly reacted, subjecting his body to the inertial force of sudden acceleration.

Cal notices the lack of g-forces on his body, despite the ship accelerating so fast. He decides to spend a moment getting a feel for his ship's power and the effectiveness of the EX-gear's inertial dampening abilities. The Azusa's Flight Control Officer gave Cal his heading orders. He promptly acknowledged and headed towards the rings of Coral-5. He was to meet his patrol partner once he got there.

The fleet slowly moved into position near the rings, with a complement of fighters spearheading the expeditionary force. Cal had some time before he reached his designated patrol area, but he remained attentively fixed on his radar screen, looking for any possible hostile targets. He also began to acquaint himself with the improved sensor array and readouts from the RVF. He only had time to read the manuals and watch tutorials, so this was his first time working with the real thing.

The fighter patrols worked their way outward into a spherical shape, securing a very large area of space in preparation for the combat simulations and training that were to be taking place on an ongoing basis for an undisclosed amount of time. Hundreds of fighters formed the defensive perimeter, which stretched on for hundreds of kilometers in each direction. The fleet of ships spread out to engulf a large portion of Coral-5's rings. Fighters continued to launch from the Quarter and its companion carriers, filling the complement of required fighters needed to secure the perimeter.

A lone bright red Queadluun charged through space on its way to its patrol area. Inside the power armor, Klan Klang began to anticipate the upcoming action of the operation. She was quite excited about finally being back in combat, regardless of it being virtual or actual. It was just another chance to assert herself as one of the best pilots in the NUNS forces.

As she reached her assigned rendezvous point, she decelerated and stopped near a large ice particle. No sign of any ships, friendly or hostile, nearby. She clicked her tongue at the ineffectiveness of the poor sap she was going to be paired with since she traveled a farther distance to get there than any other fighter not from the Quarter. After about 30 seconds of waiting, her radar display alerted her to a fighter entering the regional space nearby.

Cal approached his designated coordinates at a moderate cruising speed, looking for signs of the craft that he was to conduct the patrol with. Once he came within 200 km of his rendezvous point, a blip appeared on his radar screen. After confirming IFF, the screen revealed the craft profile to the pilot. "A Queadluun Rhea?? I don't believe it! I've only seen them on TV, but I get to work with one! No doubt, the pilot must be Zentraedi," he said to himself with glee. Cal's interest in military vehicles and weapons gives him a keen insight to the details of those kinds of things.

"This is Skull-5, Lt. Commander Klan Klang. What is the delay in your arrival?" Cal's radio barked. The visual image popped up on display after the report, revealing Klan's face to him while she waited for an answer. "Ma'am! I proceeded to my assigned coordinates as ordered. I have no reason for the delay," Cal promptly answered. "Your designation?" Klan asked. "Helios 14, 2nd Lieutenant Calvin Wagner, Ma'am," Cal replied.

Cal's RVF approached Klan's Queadluun as he finished his response. He slowed, transformed his RVF into a battroid, and saluted. Klan returned the salute in kind with her Queadluun. Klan thought to herself, "Great, I get to spend the next 8 hours with a fledgling." "Your slow arrival will be noted in my report, Lieutenant. It would be wise to try to keep up with me for the duration of this patrol," Klan barked. "Yes, Ma'am," Cal courteously replied. The comm line cut and Cal was left in silence. "What a nutbuster..." he muttered to himself. This was not starting out well for him. He always knew that Zentraedi took their military service quite seriously, but this wasn't what he had expected.

Cal spent the next couple of hours doing his best to relearn flying the 171EX. Klan was moving quickly amongst the ice and rock particles, dashing back and forth through them as if it was nothing to her. Cal's piloting skills were noticeably shaky to start and Klan started to get annoyed with his showing. "Wagner, is there something wrong with your RVF?" she asked. "No, Ma'am. This is just my first flight in a long time. I spent the last few months in a hospital bed, so it's taking some getting used to." Klan became frustrated with this development and began to think to herself, "Leave it to the NUNS to hurriedly put someone in the cockpit of a fighter." "Do you want me to slow down so you can use your training wheels?" she sarcastically asked. She expected him to agree. "No, Ma'am. I'll be fine from here on out. I'm pretty much used to it now." Klan tried to not let it surprise her and she instead scoffed and charged on ahead of Cal to resume her patrol. Cal's movements tightened up as he moved closer to the Queadluun to follow Klan's route.

After completing a thorough search and scan of the area, Klan asked Cal for a summary of his readouts. After receiving his report, she gave him his new orders, "Okay, we're going to remain in this area for awhile. Set your sensors to continuously scan at a 500km radius. You are free to go wherever you wish, as long as I am within 10km." Cal acknowledged his orders. Virtually leashed to Klan's Queadluun, he decided to just float around nearby while he fiddled with the nuances of his ship. Klan watched him constantly transforming his ship and boosting off, as if he was testing out the reaction and transformation times. She thought to herself, "At least he's getting to know his machine the right way." It was a sign that he was a pilot with potential.

Back on the Quarter, space traffic control was a full-time job for Jennifer Wentz. Bobby watched Jen juggling communications and orders around like a pro. It looks like she'll be fitting in well as the flagship's FCO. In the hangar, crews ready Alto's and Ozma's VF-25s for their first sorties. The war games will be well under way once they have reached their observation coordinates. As the VFs taxi towards the deck elevator, Ozma gives Alto an important order, "Try not to make these newbies look too bad, Alto." Alto worked to get his mind into a focused state.

During one of his practice maneuvers, Cal noticed the faint flashes of exhaust bursts and muzzle flashes coming from the areas around the Quarter's location. The bursts indicated frenetic combat taking place there. Cal opened up his channel to talk to Klan, "Looks like they've already started the war games." "Don't take your eyes of that radar screen for too long," she curtly responded. Cal's attempt at small talk failed miserably. He must be on patrol with some kind of robot.

Once the patrol shift began to wind down, Klan ordered Cal to follow her on another set of rounds. This time, Cal had grown more accustomed to his ship and made a game out of trying to keep up with Klan's every move, while remaining in gunsight. Klan noticed Cal's continuous attack posture towards her ship, with every turn she made. She decided to put Cal in his place with an acrobatic show of piloting prowess. "I see you've improved. However, you still have much to learn," she said as she increased the throttle on her Queadluun and maneuvered around the particles with blinding speed. Cal tried his hardest to keep up and was somewhat successful, but he eventually became flustered at trying to mimic her moves and eventually entered into a more stable cruising posture. Klan scoffed at Cal over the comm line and turned down the showcase a few notches. Cal couldn't help but snicker in response. Klan was right... he's got a long ways to go.

Some hours later, Cal relaxed in the Azusa's galley. He sat with a drink in his hand, watching the television set. Kyung was also off duty and set his food down beside Cal. "How was it?" he asked Cal. "I got paired up with one of the Skull pilots on the Quarter. Lt. Commander Klan Klang and her amazing Queadluun Rhea..." Cal trailed off. Kyung's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "Klang? THAT Klang?? I feel sorry for you, Cal," he said. Cal sat up and turned towards Kyung. "Why do you say that?" he asked. "I've heard stories about her from other pilots," Kyung replied, "They say she singlehandedly took on 10 Vajra at once and emerged without a scratch. Plus, she's a real hard pill to swallow. There've been numerous complaints from pilots about her overbearing, despotic, iron-fisted command style."

Cal laughed at the tall tales he was being told. "She's tough, I'll agree with that, but ten Vajra? I don't know..." he said. "Shall I go on?" Kyung asked. Cal thought about that for a second. He's had enough of Klan Klang for one day. "No, that's okay. I think I'll just lick my wounds over here for awhile," he jokingly said.

In the Quarter's hangar, Ozma had just returned from his first set of wargames observations. Klan promptly entered the office to deliver her patrol reports. "You've been busy..." Ozma remarked at the lengthy report. He continued to read the report and stopped midway, "Just make it brief. What did you think so far?" "About the patrol or the pilot?" Klan asked. Ozma just smiled and didn't answer. Klan waited for him to speak, but instead continued with her response, "Chicklings... all of them, I swear to God. They're going to be the death of me, Ozma. I need good pilots, not this fodder." Ozma began to formulate a plan in his head to push Klan a little more.

Minutes later in the hangar, Klan was seen leaving Ozma's office, obviously upset about something. She stormed off to the stairs leading to the living section of the ship. Some of the pilots and personnel looked at each other in curiosity as if to discuss what they just saw and the reason for such a hostile attitude. Then they remembered that it was only Klan just being herself.

As the day cycled over, 1st shift began its operations. This was Cal's sleeping time and he was sawing logs on his bed. The Bell-Casse manuals were dispersed around the surface of his bed, with one still in his hands as he slept.

Cal drew patrol duty again the next day. He had been wondering when it was his team's turn to participate in the war games, since he'd heard numerous stories from pilots while he ate breakfast in the galley. The most dominant subject from the pilots' mouths was the glaring difference in skill levels of the NUNS pilots and the pilots in Skull Squadron. Expectations must have been put out of reach of many of the pilots after their brief and decisive encounters with Skull pilots. Cal's experience with Klan the day before helped him accept the truth from the other pilots on the Azusa.

Cal's RVF-171EX charged to his patrol checkpoint at full throttle. He wasn't going to be reprimanded by whoever was in charge of the patrol this time. His eyes kept wandering towards the ship's synchronized clock, making sure he'd arrive to his destination on time.

Once there, he stopped and did a sensor scan to find out if his patrol partner was waiting for him. The only ships in sensor range were the two VFs from the previous patrol shift; exiting the patrol area to return to their motherships. He was a little early, so at least he could take comfort in knowing that he wasn't going to get any crap about it.

The rendezvous time expired and a minute passed beyond that. Cal's sensor readouts alerted him to an incoming vehicle and he waited for the IFF to return a signal. Once again, the ship was identified as a Queadluun Rhea. Digital magnification showed a red Queadluun heading into the area. "Oh shit... It's Klang again..." he muttered under his breath. "Someone must be playing a really mean prank on me," he thought to himself.

Klan was already in a crappy mood. Her exchange with Ozma the day before was still fresh in her mind and she needed someone to take it out on. Ozma's voice replayed in her head, "Since you still don't understand what it is that we're doing here, I'm going to assign you to the same pilot for your patrol shift tomorrow." Klan had to be reminded of her job the hard way. Leave it to Ozma to find the best ways to punish the dumb things that his pilots say and do around him. Alto got a taste of that a few days ago on Aimo.

Klan's HUD showed a tiny RVF waiting for her arrival in the distance. She imagined taking her index finger and thumb and squishing the poor ship into a paste. If only Cal knew of the impending fury the Meltran was planning to unload on him over the next few hours...

As she arrived physically, Cal was in battroid form standing on one of the larger ice particles. Cal knew he shouldn't say anything about her being a tad late, but the urge to give her a little crap about it overwhelmed his sense of logic... and self-preservation. Klan observed Cal's battroid looking at the wrist area on its arm and a foot tapping on the ice particle... Someone is being a smartass.

Before Cal could even react, Klan had physically knocked his battroid to the ground and pointed one of her guns at the chest area of his RVF. "I swear to God, you do something like that again and I will shove my foot up your micloned ass!" she yelled over the comm link. Cal learns quickly that insolence is not tolerated. He'll have to watch himself or he might find his head literally being crushed between her thumb and index finger.

On Aimo, the NUNS had just completed its deployment strategy. Now another problem must be handled quickly. An entire fleet of Zentraedi warships remained in orbit, awaiting clearance to land and establish a base near Frontier City. Cathy remained hard at work at the Joint Chiefs office, supporting her superiors in every way she could. She was in a meeting with many government officials and a handful of the Zentraedi fleet's command staff, who micloned themselves for this meeting.

The NUNS Corps of Engineers presented their strategy for accommodating the explosion in Zentraedi population. Another enormous undertaking was about to begin, but at least the Zentraedi soldiers offered their full cooperation in helping to build onto the existing Zentraedi city of Laplamiz. Laplamiz was relatively small compared to Frontier City, but fortunately, the terrain was favorable for a rapid expansion of new buildings and infrastructure. The only hurdle was to manufacture the materials needed to create the enormous buildings for the Zentraedi to live in.

Cathy emerged from the meeting with a heavy sigh, while officers, government officials, and the Zentraedi command staff filed out of the conference room chattering amongst each other. She thinks about how she could use a little pampering from Ozma, but she knows it's not going to happen. At least a lot of decisions were made to get the project moving. The Corps of Engineers had done a thorough job of doing the expansion planning and architecture work prior to the meeting. Everyone was impressed by the presentation and gave the nod to break ground as soon as possible.

Cathy's new job was to process and deploy the Zentraedi forces to meld them in with the current planetary defense forces. One thing was for sure, though... Aimo would be a little bit safer from now on, thanks to the new Zentraedi forces joining the colony.

Since Ozma wasn't around to help her feel a little better, she looked to the next person on her mind. She pulled out her PDA and made a phone call. Waiting for someone to pick up, she reacted to the sound of the line connecting, "Ranka?" she asked.

Klan's red Queadluun charged through the rings of Coral-5, with Cal's RVF following closely behind. He no longer struggled to control his ship and began to make independent movements, while staying well within range of Klan. They completed their rounds and stopped to maintain a watch over the 500km radius of their patrol zone.

Sensing that Klan may be cooling down from her raging fury from earlier, Cal decided to attempt to make a more personal connection. Already, he sees her piloting abilities as the standard that he wants to achieve. As long as he's got the opportunity to work closely with her, he will have someone capable of pushing him to improve as a pilot.

"Commander?" Cal asked, opening his comm line. Klan answered impatiently, "What is it, Wagner?" "Sorry about earlier. I was out of line," Cal struggled to admit. He couldn't believe he was apologizing so easily about something that seemed so minor to him. He figured he'd have to remain on her good side in order improve his chances at flying with her again. Fortunately, Klan had subsided from her outburst earlier. She'd remembered her promise to herself about lightening up.

"Damn straight you were out of line. Make sure you keep your nose clean, chickling," she said. Cal lightly laughed at the "chickling" comment. "What's so funny?" Klan asked. "Nothing. Just... you called me a 'chickling'," Cal replied. "...And?" "Yeah, I guess I do look like a newbie pilot, don't I?" "What do you mean by that??" "Look at it this way... I actually have been flying for years as a test pilot. I only recently joined the NUNS as a combat pilot. Then, I spent the last few months relearning how to walk after recovering from my injuries. They say you never forget how to fly once you've learned, but it's not so true when you had lost your ability to walk on your own. You have to rebuild those neural pathways so your body does what you want it to again."

Klan thought about Cal's predicament for a moment. "Then you'll be a chickling until you've proven otherwise... sorry!" Klan confidently stated. The pilot's ways were unwritten, but generally understood by all. Cal had to accept his unofficial title, according to the "rules". Those who had proven their skills as pilots shed their condescending titles and earned the right to judge the other new pilots by using the same names they once held themselves.

The two pilots remained silent for a moment. Klan once again reminded herself of her promise. She was curious to know a little more about Cal's flying experience. "Why'd you quit the test piloting business? I heard the money in the private sector is good," she asked. There's that question again... Cal did find it easier to talk about the loss of his fiancee each time someone asked him about it. Cal proceeded to enlighten Klan about his days as a test pilot and how they came to an end. Learning of Cal's loss, Klan was immediately reminded of the moment she lost Michael.

"Let me show you something," Cal said as he reached under his helmet to undo the couplings on his pressure suit. He pulled off his helmet and loosened the neck enough for him to reveal the string tied around his neck that held his and Marie's engagement rings. Cal proudly showed Klan his keepsake. Seeing this, Klan began to focus on the feeling of Michael's frames she still wore under her pressure suit. "This is how I honor her memory." She began to look out the side of her helmet, reminiscing of her lost loved one, and doing a poor job of hiding it. Cal saw the expression on her face and immediately recognized it. He finds himself making that same face when he's thinking about Marie.

The two became silent once more as they thought of their past and searched for something else to say. Before either could say anything, Cal's sensor console began to alert him of incoming craft. He looked down as it showed the IFF signal. Looking back up, he notified Klan, "Looks like our relief is here." Klan didn't answer.

Cal felt like he had to say something to comfort Klan. It looks like she's still hurting from the pain of loss. He slowly approached her Queadluun while he was in battroid form, placed the battroid's hand on the Queadluun's shoulder and spoke in a sincere tone, "The nights are lonely and cold. You seek to bury your feelings deep inside of you, but they reemerge as something more horrible. Wear your scars on the outside and you'll find that they heal faster." Cal wanted to make sure Klan knew that he is going through the same problems.

As the relief ships approached, Cal took it as his queue to leave Klan to her thoughts alone. He straightened up his battroid and saluted. "See you around, Commander," he said. He then transformed into fighter mode and blasted off to his mothership. Klan remained motionless for a minute, trying to deal with the impact of Cal's advice. She slowly accelerated towards the Quarter, still engulfed in her thoughts. Once again, someone has come along who has given her profound words to help her deal with the pain she continues to experience to this day.

In the hangar of the Quarter, Alto had just returned from his patrol runs. He noticed a still-Zentran-ized Klan sitting on the deck in front of her Queadluun, looking off to the distance and holding something near her neck. As he approached her, he saw that it was Michael's frames. "Are you okay?" he asked as he cautiously walked around her foot into her view. She looked at Alto briefly and looked back at the same spot on the wall she was staring at. Alto waited for a response, but thinking that she should be left alone, he started to move away.

"Alto," she said. He turned around and looked at her again. "Do you think I've changed in a bad way since Michael's death?" Alto was scanning her question for any traps. Nope! It's clear. "It's hard for me to say without being blunt, so I will be blunt. The stories I've heard from pilots are becoming stuff of legends. They fear you. The nickname 'Blue-haired Nephilim' has gained popularity amongst the pilots," Alto replied. Klan was initially surprised at the nickname her ferocity had earned her, but then laughed off the cleverness of the title.

"Why the sudden desire to look inwards?" Alto asked. Klan thought about Bobby's and Cal's words, "Sometimes people come along in your life that say or do something to make you rethink who you are. I'm sorry if I've been so intolerable to you guys these last few months," she said. Alto shook his head and answered, "Klan, we loved the part about you that took your job so seriously. Just turn it down a few notches and you'll be back to normal again." Alto headed to the showers and left Klan to think about things on her own again.

On the Azusa, Cal found out that his team was slated to participate in its first simulated battle in 7 hours. He decided to head straight to his quarters to get some sleep before the big showdown. Entering his quarters, he could hear Kyung's display screen on behind the closed curtains. A television show quietly chattered away on it. Cal changed for bed and laid down to be alone with his thoughts. Kyung was still awake and had to ask Cal about his patrol to get any stories from him.

"How was it? Did you get the Nephilim again?" Kyung asked. Cal rolled his eyes and responded, "Yeah. She's not as bad as you think, though." Kyung didn't believe him. He'd heard too many stories from the pilots to change his mind now. "Oh, you'll see..." Kyung taunted Cal. The display screen clicked off and Kyung could be heard rolling over into a sleeping position in his bunk. "Gonna kick some ass tomorrow," Kyung said, referencing their upcoming battle.

Cal remained silent. He couldn't get rid of the feelings of sympathy for Klan's plight, even though he's already managed to deal with his own. Memories of his last two days of encounters with Klan flashed through his mind. Going from dealing with such a despotic attitude, to cracking that defensive shell she formed around herself and revealing the vulnerable insides was quite a change. He fell asleep thinking of Marie once again...

Klan laid in her bed, unable to sleep, as she desperately searched for the answers within herself. How is she going to be able to move on from Michael's death? How can someone who is as strong as she is seem so weak in the presence of a miclone? Why does she find Cal so strangely intriguing, despite her desire to remain separated from any attachment to the chickling pilot? Has she really earned the nickname she's been given by the NUNS pilots? Her thoughts remained focused on Michael's memory as she nodded off to sleep.