Disclaimer: Volition-inc. owns Descent: Freespace, Admiral Shima, and several other things. I own Vincent Schaard, Lt. Risnan, Lorkhena, and Ginmar as well as most of the plot, except where it intertwines with or makes reference to the plot of the game.

Fun Fact: In the future, television is still popular, although there are two main types. Rather than high-definition, HD, and standard definition, SD, there are two-dimensional, 2D, and three-dimensional, 3D. 3D TV is more expensive and requires a different type of television set in the form of a circular ceiling projector, but it projects a three-dimensional image into the room in which it is located, and for 2D shows, it projects a flat image that can be moved around. Naturally there are a lot of shows that can only be seen in 3D but some shows offer both. This same technology is used for long-distance conferences and visual telephone conversations.

Chapter Seven: 3/28/2335 Reprieve

Today, we're all going to be sent back landside, our first break from duty on the Bastion. Three months may seem like a long time on duty, but we're in the middle of a brutal war; we only get three days leave as it is. Some of us are headed back home for our breaks. Lawrence is from Alpha Centauri, Ron from Delta Serpentis, and D and Tinman are from Sirius. Sanford, Tate, Al, and George are from Beta Aquilae. Risnan, Fred, and I are from Sol, and Lorkhena is from Vasuda, but none of us are headed for Earth, as the security checks are tiresome and would take up too much of our precious break; Lorkhena no longer has anywhere to go home to, of course.

Once again, we all find ourselves at our usual table in the cafeteria. We're talking about our oh-so-short vacations.

"Well," says Tate, "It looks like the only safe place left is Beta Aquilae."

"You're wrong there," Sanford cuts in, "Alpha Centauri is still good, and I hear the view from Toliman 2 of the orange and yellow suns passing below the horizon is as brilliant as when an SC Lilith bites the dust."

"Alpha Centauri would be a good choice," says Tate, "but Sirius is quickly becoming a contested system. If we managed to pass through safely, we might not get back. The only other way out, besides Vasuda, is a dead end."

The third node out of Alpha Centauri actually leads to Aldebaran, but from there you could only head to Altair and an unknown system, which is not much better than a dead end.

Now Risnan speaks up, "Either way, the latest report from Command lists our only choices as Sol, Beta Aquilae, and Delta Serpentis," Risnan had returned to his old self after we'd finished our escort of the rescue transports in Altair. He was provoked into conversation by one of the rescued scientists after remaining silent for most of the journey. Risnan seemed to have accepted and put aside his past; he'd even gone so far as to begin calling Lorkhena by her last name, Garamande.

I'm returned to the conversation by an outcry from Ron, "What? We wouldn't get a day on Sol, and no place in Delta Serpentis is even remotely nice!"

"Yeah," ways George, "It's the four stars that do it. Every planet is either too hot or too cold."

"I don't know," says Fred, "I went to Qin 7 once, and it was pretty nice."

"It must have been in the middle of summer," says Ron, "Every other time of the year there is too cold. Yep, double binaries can be pretty tough."

Delta Serpentis is mostly used for combat training and scientific research. Ron knows, better than any of us, that his home system is a very difficult place in which to live. It must be what gave him that strong constitution.

"I guess we're all going to Beta Aquilae, then," I say.

"We'll be able to get some distance from each other," says Tinman, "Alshain 1 through 4 may be nasty, but 5 and 6 are fine."

"I'll still get to visit my grandfather on Alshain 6," says Sanford, "I can't wait to tell him I've downed 42 Shivans already. I can't wait to tell my parents I've downed 42 Shivans already; I can imagine the looks on their ungrateful faces."

"I don't get your parents, Sanford," says Tate, "Your father didn't get any warrior blood from your grandfather? Anyway, mine met as pilots in the GTA. They keep checking in on my progress, so I don't know what I more I can say to them when I get home."

"At least you get to go home," says Fred, "My parents are worried sick about me, and all I can do is send short emails."

"You'll see them again once this war is over," says Tinman, "D and I can't go home either, but we're pretty used to limited contact by now. Our parents are happy enough to get an occasional email."

"I can never go home," says Lorkhena, "My parents both died in meditation on our homeworld, at the hands of the Lucifer. They are now a part of the history of the universe, and I do not morn their absence," I notice that at the phrase "history of the universe" Lorkhena's translator speeds up and she seems to vocalize a single word, a word that can only be translated by such an awkward phrase.

"I have no more family either," says Risnan, "What about you, Vince?"

"Oh," I say, "Well, my father died in an early subspace accident when I was only two years old. My mother continued his research and managed to get me through college and flight school. I'm going to try to get a hold of a Comm booth to talk with her face-to-face while we're landside. Email really doesn't match up to seeing the person you're talking with."

"I agree," says Ron, "Which is why I'm ready to avoid my family and join you all in Beta Aquilae."

This receives some well-earned, and well-needed, laughter. Even Risnan shows a smile.

"GTT Hestia has docked," the intercom buzzes, "All pilots eligible for leave may report to the hangar bay. The Hestia will depart in twenty minutes."

"Guess it's time to take our leave," says Ron.

"Everyone," says Risnan, "Gather any luggage from your quarters and head straight for the hangar. I don't expect to see any of you until the first: April fool's day. Until then, so long."

We all head back to our quarters. Apparently, Risnan is headed for Delta Serpentis for his leave. The rest of us expect to be spread about the planets of Beta Aquilae, but a few of us intend to stay together. We're all close friends, but each a little closer to the other members of our typical wing designations. This is reflected in our groups; Ron, Al, Lorkhena, and I are headed for Alshain 5, Tinman, D, Tate, and Sanford are off to Alshain 8, and George, Fred, and Lawrence are going to Ginmar.

We gather our things and are soon in the hangar bay. The Hestia's destination is a Terran outpost in Beta Aquilae, from which we can each get transports to specific planets. Risnan would have to wait for the GTT Aether, which would come in later today. In the meantime, we all get onboard the Hestia; the Hestia is an Elysium-class transport, and very comfortable to ride in. The Elysium is the same class of transport used to rescue the Vasudan scientists from Altair 4, in fact, it's the GTA's only transport-class, but with a transport like the Elysium, they don't need any other.

The journey is uneventful. We all have some last-minute chitchat with the squad members we won't be seeing for three days, and hardly any time has passed before we begin docking at the outpost. We all say our goodbyes and find our new transports.

"Out of one chair and into another," says Ron, "Least they could do is to show a movie."

"With a military budget?" says Al, sarcastically incredulous, "We're in a war, soldier! Don't make me dock your pay!"

"You've been hoarding my pay for the last three weeks to start your own bank account! Why deprive yourself?"

"Both of you are out of line," says Lorkhena with an evil grin.

"You have our sincerest apologies, Queen Admiral," both Al and Ron bow.

"Grand Master and Bane of all Shivans, to you, maggots!"

"You dare question the power of the Shivans' Bane?" I say, giving Ron and Al an exaggerated evil eye.

Laughing, we get aboard a nameless transport, designated solely by its destination, Alshain 5. We endure another uneventful flight, hilarious group antics saving us from death by boredom. At the spaceport, we choose our hotel from a list of those available in the surrounding city. As soon as we've arrived, and I've unpacked, I find the telecommunications booth for the room, to make a call home.

I sit down in the chair inside the booth, "State the system location of your call, the call type, and the name of whomever you wish to contact."

In response to the metallic, female voice, I say, "Sol system, type three, Wendie Schaard."

There are three types of calls that you can make from a standard Comm booth, the fourth only available on private booths; type one is audio only, type two adds a real-time feed of the person you're calling displayed on a large, flat screen, and type three displays the person you're calling in a three-dimensional, holographic, image. The image is fairly lifelike, but is monochromatic and often a little blurry.

"Your call is being placed, please hold…"

I only wait a few short seconds before hearing the confirmation sound. I can't imagine what it must have been like in the days of the telephone. Calls took much longer to connect, and over a much shorter distance than the one I'm now making; sometimes, if your call didn't go through, they wouldn't even let you know whether the person was simply asleep or busy, or if the connection wasn't working properly.

A blurry shape begins to form in front of me, blue-green in color. It begins to sharpen as I hear a familiar voice.

"Vince? Can you see me?"

The shape resolves itself into that of my mother, also sitting, on her end of the call. She looks no different than I remember. In fact, she probably won't change much for another forty years; due medicine and biological engineering, the average Terran lifespan is now 93 and youth rarely fades before the age of eighty.

"Hello, Mom," I say, the smile on her face lets me know that she can see me at least as well as I see her, "I'm sorry I haven't sent you any messages in a while."

"I understand. Has it been hard on you? Flying at the drop of a hat, through red, yellow, and green crossfire?"

"It isn't that hectic, really. Lately, our missions have been pretty peaceful. The night shift has been having a hard time in our place; the Lucifer keeps pushing forward and seems to pour out an endless supply of ships. But I haven't heard much about you, Mom."

"Oh, I'm still doing research. They really pushed me and my team to get those subspace drives down to size. Unfortunately, I haven't seen the Wostens in a while. My work has been so demanding, what with the war going on, so I haven't even talked with Caitlyn in a week. Nevertheless, I understand what we're up against, the hopelessness of it all, and I know Terran Command won't approve of this, but I have to tell you, if only to raise your spirits.

"Just yesterday, my team discovered a weakness to that superdestroyer, the Lucifer. When it makes an intersystem jump, its shield goes offline just like ours, so if we could get a ship to track it and follow it…"

"The war will be over."

"Right. I don't have any more specifics, but Command informed me and my team that they have one of their destroyers ready to carry out a mission around this idea. They wouldn't tell me which one, but I can only assume that putting you on leave may be to prepare you for such a mission. Honey, after this, you won't have to risk your life every time you fly out of that hangar."

"No. Even if we take out the Lucifer, there is still a large Shivan force to deal with."

"That isn't what I meant. As we are now, with the Lucifer at large, you risk destruction by its power. Vince, I know you're a great pilot, that even their best fighters are no match for you…

There is a long pause.

Even though she's staring downwards, avoiding my glance, I can see it in her face: she's afraid to lose me. Something that has bothered me ever since I was old enough to fully understand it begins to surface from the depths of my subconscious. I have to ask.

"Mom," I say, "What really happened to Dad?" I say it as a demand, not a question.

"Vince," she says, looking up, "there is no more truth to it than what you already know."

I nod in acknowledgement, and then look down, ashamed at bringing up the subject, "It's just that… you said his body was never recovered. It was bothering me so much. I thought maybe you were lying; that he became a pilot, or something. I don't know…"

"Vince," I look up to see her, a kindly face having replaced the sad one, "Ah! These damn holograms. I keep forgetting you're a million light years away; I think we each need a hug."

We stand up, and even though our heads are cut off by the edge of the camera, we pretend to hug: standing where we would if we were in the same room together. I feel a sharp and sudden pang of homesickness, all the more powerful since I haven't felt it since I left home. I can't help getting choked up and shedding a tear.

There isn't anything else to talk about, so we each say goodbye, and the transmission ends. I wait until my mother's form has faded back into a blue-green blur, and then leave the booth to get a good night's rest.

The bed in my room is so much softer than those on the Bastion that I realize how uncomfortable the Bastion's beds were. I'd never noticed before, what with the excitement of battle and enjoyment of new friends always on my mind. I don't get to sleep any quicker than usual, my mind now occupied with home, my mother, and the father I never had. When I do get to sleep, I'm woken up before I know it. I hear an incoherent sound, and the surprisingly worried face of Ron Hughes forms out of the mish-mash of color before my eyes.

"…up! The Lucifer waits for no man!"