5: The Hero of Vargania

The Calsharan people were at war. For the first time in one-thousand years, civil conflict had fractured the seemingly eternal Calsharan Systems Union. For the past six months, the two sides had been whittling away at each other, probing one another's defences and launching strikes against strategic targets. Some of those attacks had failed, some had succeeded. The war itself seemed unlikely to end anytime soon, with at least three of the main colony worlds now part of the newfound Calsharan Alliance of Free Systems. In response to the tyranny of High Protector Tarva Garall and the revelations that he had arranged to have the previous government overthrown, almost half of the entirety of Calsharan civilisation had joined the fight against him. And through it all, Captain Toron Kavellan had found himself in the difficult position of somehow being a rallying point for so much of the rebel force.

Some called him the 'Hero of Vargania'. He hardly thought of himself as much, even if he had been there in the thick of things when the first battle of the civil war had occurred on the colony world of Vargania. Memories of that whole affair were some he tried to avoid, for they almost inevitably found their way back to the woman he had met there and developed affection for, the same woman who he had discovered was a spy for the High Protector's ruthless Union Political Directorate. She had killed many people carrying out the orders of the UPD, and Toron had killed her in turn. He still thought about her, sometimes. He even dreamed of her, in particular her lifeless eyes after he had gunned her down in the backyard of some lavish mansion.

And then there had been his mother, Vikira, who as far as he knew had also fallen victim to the UPD. Part of what made this loss so hard was how uncertain he was, as to whether she was actually dead or not simply locked up somewhere. One day he would find out for certain, he was sure of it. When this war was over, maybe, provided he was still alive by that point.

The war, to Toron, was currently at the back of his mind. A young man in terms of the Calsharan species, his skin was a deep black, slightly green hued colour and his eyes a vibrant yellow. His thoughts were thoroughly taken up with the slightly younger, female Flight Lieutenant lying next to him, and she rolled onto her side to better gaze upon his features.

"You're distracted." She was certainly beautiful, for a female of his species: light green skin, light blue eyes and a smile that lit up her face. She trailed one hand over his bare chest, her voice sounding a little breathless after their most recent and passionate bout. Around them, the lighting was dim, the living quarters small yet comfortable. Toron had put a few touches of his own about the place, thankful to have been granted his own room. A lower-ranked officer such as Flight Lieutenant Kavi Norrok would have had to share a room with one or two others; as a Captain, and a popular figure of the rebel movement, Toron had been gifted a space of his own. It even came with a small porthole window, which to him seemed pointless as oftentimes it was filled with the black, star-specked void of space or with the swirling lights of hyperspace. Not the most enthralling scenery, but it at least helped reduce any sense of claustrophobia.

"The heroic Captain Kavellan, so taken up with his own thoughts." She sidled up against him, leaning her head such that it fell into the crook of his shoulder. Toron, trying to get his thoughts back on track, leaned against her in turn. Kavi Norrok was a young and skilled pilot stationed here on the Lance of Might, a Tornyan-made cruiser.

Tornya was one of the larger colony worlds and an industrial powerhouse, the shipyards it offered responsible for some of the finest of Calsharan star-ship designs. This cruiser was no exception, packed to the brim with the latest in Calsharan advancements. A flagship for the new Alliance, and a suitable home for the 'Hero of Vargania', who had most recently found himself in more of an advisory and diplomatic role than a frontline combat one. As a result, he often had a lot of spare time on his hands, hence this latest foray with the Flight Lieutenant.

For the past two months, she had become a somewhat regular addition to his living quarters. Toron was not sure if he truly loved her or not, although he suspected she might have felt that way about him. He certainly enjoyed her company.

"I feel like I should be doing more," Toron said. He turned his head to look into her eyes, so full of life as they were. "They keep sending me from one end of the Alliance to the other. They ask for advice, but most of what I give is ignored."

"I doubt that, Toron. You're a hero."

"So I'm told."

"And you help give the people out there hope. Someone to take after. A proper role model."

"I'm a trophy and they hold me up to try and get people on their side." Toron lay his head back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. He could feel Kavi's breath at his neck, and she wrapped an arm around him and planted a light kiss on his chest.

"You want to be a soldier again?" She asked him, looking up from where she now lay her head on his chest.

"I want to. It's what I am, Kavi. It's what I was trained for." He glanced to the terminal at the nightstand, upon which was displayed the shipboard time. He would not need to report to the commander for another two hours. The downtime around this ship could be draining, at least in his case. Often, he would try and fill it with reading or even time spent in the simulation chamber trying to touch up on his flight skills.

"I'm a pilot, like you. That's what I joined the fleet for." He gave the woman at his side a wry smile. "I haven't flown in a fighter for more than a year, can you believe that?"

"You don't need to put yourself on the line. Everyone has their part to play and I think you've found yours." Kavi sounded sincere, yet there was a twinge of worry in her voice. Toron knew what it meant, and in response he trailed a hand along her face, feeling her cheekbones and the smooth, scaly skin that covered them. She smiled, although it was not the most reassuring smile.

"I worry about you every time you go out there, Kavi." It was made all the worse by the sense of powerlessness he felt, whenever she was off on a mission. He would listen out for the announcement of her squadron's return, and if he had the chance he would go and greet them in the hangar bay. Every time he did so, he expected to see her missing, or her body on a gurney and covered with a sheet. So far, she had come through her assignments unscathed. With the war going as hard as it was, Toron could only wonder how long her luck might last.

"I don't want you to do the same," Kavi replied. "It's enough that one of us does the soldiering."

"I need to do something, more than what I'm doing now." Toron sighed. He felt so torn, dissatisfied as he was with his current assignment but knowing full well the comfort and safety it offered.

"And you're doing plenty," Kavi remarked, seemingly adamant to keep him out of harm's way. "If I ever need a good wingman, I'll let you know."

"Maybe you and I should fly together when we get the chance?" The comment had given Toron an idea as to their next proper outing. Or rather, the first one they would get as a couple, seeing as how they had spent the entirety of their relationship on this very ship. "We could borrow a shuttle, go sightseeing."

"That's a good idea, although I wonder what sights we might see out there." She sat up and nodded towards the window. Toron smiled, eyes roaming her naked form now cast in the subdued blue light from the room's solitary fitting. "There's not a lot out there, a lot of space, even."

"We'll find something. Next time we're on leave." He noticed that she was moving to climb out of the bed. Toron narrowed his eyes, only to recall that she did indeed have to report to her squadron in about half an hour's time. He had been so caught up in their activities that he had almost forgotten about her more serious duties.

"They sending you out?" He asked her. Kavi slid off of the bed, stood up and took a long, languid stretch. As she bent down to stretch some of the aching muscles at her back, she began to scoop up the discarded clothing on the floor at her feet.

"As far as I know, it's a patrol. Could be more, I don't know yet." She took up the uniform pants, attempted to uncrumple them and then began to squeeze her legs through them. "I'll be back later today."

"Just a patrol?" Toron allowed some of his own concern to seep into his voice. Now with her lower half clothed, she spun about and leaned in close to the worried Captain. She kissed him lightly on the lips before she pulled back and gave him a smirk.

"I'll be fine, Toron." She sounded so confident that Toron was inclined to believe her. She dressed promptly and with the efficiency of an officer, before she once again leaned in and offered Toron a kiss. He rose from the bed and enveloped her in a deep embrace, unwilling to let her go. After a long moment and with a laugh from her, he eventually did release her, and he watched her leave his room with an added swagger in her step. Toron silently pleaded with whatever higher power existed that she come back alive. He was not the kind for prayer, but he was also not above trying on the chance that there was a 'Creator' or 'God' at work behind the scenes.

Commodore Pratis Jorga was a tall, broad Calsharan male with black skin and the stern, grizzled features of someone who had spent their entire adult life in the service. He was well into his fourth decade, and until six months ago he had been in charge of a Calsharan Naval taskforce consisting of several ships, with two cruisers among them. That included the Lance of Might, and when the war had started that taskforce had split in a violent fashion. Calsharan had turned against Calsharan and Commodore Jorga had been lucky enough to get away with his life and his ship mostly intact. Others in that taskforce had not been so fortunate. Now, Commodore Jorga was the de facto leader of a large portion of the Calsharan Alliance's space fleet, with this particular cruiser at its head.

He wore his Systems Union uniform, as did so many others, for lack of anything better. However, the Union emblem had been removed from his, and other officers had done much the same. They were no longer part of that Union, so twisted it had become under the tyranny of an illegitimate High Protector.

Some had argued that the Union's founder, Visala, had anticipated such a thing when she had first drafted the Articles of Federation. It would have explained why the system she had enacted was so layered and complex, that the Calsharan government and laws had been made intentionally complicated to make open tyranny difficult to enact. Some thought that was giving the woman too much credit, suggesting a level of foresight that not even she would have possessed. Even so, the system that was in place that enacted the electing of High Protectors was one no ordinary commoner had a part in. One must have served in the military, for starters, and they must have elevated themselves to a high enough office to have a voice in who would become High Protector. Democracy was a concept the Calsharans employed only in a limited capacity, for such important matters as the choosing of a head of state could not be left in the hands of the unwashed, uninformed and often ignorant masses out there. Visala had put forth a system of 'benevolent dictatorship' and for a time, it had worked. Until, as was so often the case, that system became corrupted and subverted.

Jorga was in the cruiser's conference room, a large space near the centre of the ship a short distance from the command centre. He was joined by four other officers of varying ranks and roles, and they stood about the large rectangular table in the room's centre. Jorga had a holographic map of the Union and its outlying systems as a whole projected above the table, and he motioned to a few points of interest that had been illuminated in red.

"That is where they fielded their new fighters," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. Pale blue eyes regarded the other uniformed officers about him, and he noted a conspicuous absence. "We suspect they are coming from the shipyards of Jur's Anvil, which lies deep within enemy territory."

"You're suggesting a strike?" One of the other officers, a young Commander from one of the fleet's frigates, spoke up then. He appeared sceptical, and Jorga gave him a nod.

"I have already discussed the potential for one…" He trailed off, his attention going towards the conference room's far door. It slid open, revealing a uniformed Toron who hurried into the room. He paused by the other end of the table and saluted.

"Sir, my apologies for being late."

"It's fine, Captain." The Commodore beckoned him over. "This concerns all of us."

Toron adjusted the collar of his black-and-grey uniform and approached the others, all of whom stood around the holographic map. When it came to a war of such scale, taking place over many star systems, the 'frontlines' were often hard to discern. They fluctuated in different directions, with planets becoming fortresses, and then individual regions and cities becoming bastions in themselves. So far, the general shape of the conflict had remained much the same: the home-world and three of the major colonies towards the centre, and the three rebelling colonies further out. And then there were the smaller rebellions taking place on some of those inner colony worlds, most of which were often violently put down by Union forces. A map such as this, laid out as a three-dimensional image over a table, almost seemed to trivialise the complexities of the conflict. For the purposes of the 1st Alliance Fleet, the simplified layout was adequate.

"I was discussing with the others a potential strike against Jur's Anvil." The other officers eyed Toron with a mix of scepticism and simple doubt. To them, he was an outsider, someone who had had the nerve to jump up the chain of command through sheer happenstance. Somehow, somewhere along the line Toron had found himself a role model to the people of the Alliance of Free Systems. His rank was somewhat low, yet the Commodore insisted on getting him involved in every meeting. The Hero of Vargania needed to be in the loop, or so Jorga had said on more than one occasion.

"That's a tricky place to reach, Commodore." Jur's Anvil was a gas giant well inside Union space. It was surrounded by an asteroid field that housed a testing ground for new ships and weapons. To many, it was one of those open secrets: even though what went on there was known only to the highest echelons of the Union government, everybody knew the place existed and had a good idea as to what kind of shady projects they had going on there.

"Indeed it is, Captain. But I have discussed the matter with the Alliance Council. They suggested the 'Skyriders' might be up for the job."

This was another surprise. The 'Skyriders' was the officialised nickname of a certain commando unit who specialised in ship-to-ship combat. That is, they often fought in vacuum, protected by environment suits and shields, launching themselves at enemy ships and installations through single-use pods or with thruster packs attached to their armour. Overall, it was a unit that only the toughest and more unhinged sorts ever volunteered for, and even then only a small percentage of those volunteers made it through. It was a unit based on Tornya, a world that had more or less become the centre of the rebellion. As for their current status since the secession, Toron had no idea.

"They'd need a good plan, sir."

"Indeed they would, Captain. But they're the best of the best, and those testing grounds at Jur's Anvil are putting out new fighters that our own struggle to compete with. We need to do something about them, and quickly."

Toron wanted to say something more then, make a suggestion that had only sprung to mind then and there. It was the kind of suggestion that he knew would be ignored or simply pushed aside, but he felt the need to do it, to make it absolutely clear to the Commodore that his current role here was barely adequate for his skills and experience. He had spent too long in comfort on this ship, floating along from one place to another whilst others did the fighting and dying for him. He was a Captain and he belonged on the battlefield.

"Sir, there is something I would like to discuss with you. In private, if you would allow?" Toron voiced the request gently and the Commodore, eyeing him with some mild curiosity, quirked a brow ridge but otherwise did little else. After a moment, he looked across those standing around the table and motioned for the door.

"Could you give the Captain and I five minutes alone?" The Commodore asked. The other officers nodded, although some quiet mutterings between them suggested that they were a little put out by the Commodore's obvious liking for the young Captain. Nonetheless, they did as they were told, filing out of the room to give the pair their time alone. As soon as the last one was out, the Commodore took a step towards Toron and frowned. It was a firm, unforgiving frown at that, and Toron suddenly felt a spike of anxiety drive through him.

"I know what you're going to say, Captain." The Commodore emitted a sigh, regarding the younger male with a discerning eye. "You want out, you want to fight, you want to get your hands dirty. You feel like you're not doing anything here, not contributing. That you're a trophy we keep around to encourage others to fight."

"Ah, well…" Toron was surprised to hear this all come from the Commodore. He had worried he might have to try and explain his perceptions, and do so in a light, non-offensive way. That would have been tricky, so he was somewhat relieved to hear that the Commodore had worked him out anyway.

"I know all about what you really think of being here, Captain. I'm not blind, just as I'm not oblivious to your relationship with that young Lieutenant." Now the Commodore smirked, if only by the slight bristle Toron gave when he referred to Kavi. "You came to me on request by the Governor of Vargania. He thought it would be good to have you with me on the frontlines of this war. People respect you, Captain, they admire you. Having you here helps morale. People think you're lucky, that this ship is undefeatable with you on it."

"Do you believe that, sir?"

The Commodore gave a light shrug of his broad shoulders.

"I'd like to, but it's superstition. A man in my position has no time for superstition." He narrowed his eyes again, looking straight into Toron's own. "You want a transfer, don't you? Or you want me to put you on a squadron, is that it?"

"Either one of those would be adequate, sir." Toron managed to speak this with as little awkwardness as possible. He felt so exposed, with the way the Commodore had worked him out so thoroughly.

"You want action, but you want it now. You don't want to wait, because you're a hot-blooded young man looking for glory. Is that it?"

"It's not about glory, sir—"

"Nonsense, Captain. It's always about glory. Creator knows I seek it where I can. There is nothing more fulfilling than a battle, and you would know because you were there on the ground on Vargania. You did your part; in fact I'd say you did more than you needed to. You got a thirst for it. Most people would kill for a role like yours, and yet you ask to get back in the meat grinder." The Commodore nodded his head slowly, a grim smile forming at his mouth, revealing his top row of pointed teeth. "Don't tell me otherwise, Captain, because then I know you'd be lying. And you wouldn't lie to a superior officer, would you?"

Toron did not reply, not immediately. The Commodore reached over with one hand and gave the young Captain a firm pat on the shoulder.

"You're needed here, regardless of what you might think. You keep looking for trouble, Captain, and you'll get it. At the end of the day, trouble always finds those who want it."

Toron was about to protest, but the firm look Commodore Jorga gave him was enough to persuade him to keep his mouth shut. Instead, Toron found himself feeling somewhat put out, as if the rug had been swept out from under him. The Commodore wanted him to remain right where he was, a role model and an advisor, which to Toron was the very thing he did not wish to be. It seemed being the 'Hero of Vargania' was not all it was cracked up to be.

The officer's recreation room was mostly empty at this hour. It was a large, furnished space with computer terminals and screens available for the free use of the cruiser's officer staff. A few lower ranked Ensigns and Lieutenants were seated about one table, playing a game involving dice and small, triangular-shaped cards. A large viewport at one end of the room offered a sweeping look at what was outside of the cruiser, and at this point in time there was little to see but stars and the distant purple glow of a nebula. Toron, nonetheless, remained seated in one of the chairs before it, eyes closed as he attempted to relax. It had been several hours since his meeting with the Commodore, and since then he had tended to some of his more administrative duties. As a member of the Commodore's staff, it seemed all he really did was write reports and relay messages from the Commodore to other, lower-ranked individuals aboard the ship. He was a glorified secretary, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves deeply. Yet the Commodore liked him too much to simply send him on his way, no matter how much Toron wanted to be somewhere else.

Of course, if he was transferred then he was unlikely to see Kavi again anytime soon. He sighed, opening his eyes as he did so and glancing at the nearest computer display for the time. What had felt like an hour had in fact only been ten minutes. He waited for the announcement that Kavi's squadron had returned, and it should have been due any minute now, provided the patrol had not met with any problems. He kept an eye on the time, practically counting away the seconds.

Every so often, one of the other officers might walk by and give him a nod, or a salute, or even greet him despite not really knowing him personally. Everybody knew of him, especially on a ship of the Alliance, but as for actual friends? Toron found he had few of them on board; rather, he had colleagues and comrades, superiors and subordinates. Most of his friends were on the home world, and the majority of them would be fighting on the side of the Union. This war had not only broken his family, but it had also put an end to what few remaining friendships he had had.

"Attention, hangar personnel: Incoming fighter, Second Squadron. Medical personnel to Hangar Two." The announcement was preceded by an alert tone and was repeated twice more. Toron, his heart racing, rose to his feet and raced out of the recreation room. Something had gone wrong, so very wrong, for only one fighter from Kavi's squadron had returned and that one was not in good shape at all.

Hangar Three was partway down the length of the ship, facing the portside. As a Captain and officer of the Commodore's staff, Toron had the credentials to get into any part of the ship. The guards outside the hangar did not even try to stop him, knowing who he was like so many others on board. As for the hangar itself, about two dozen standard fighters sat dormant to either side of the wide open, metal-surfaced floor. An atmospheric shield covered the entry far ahead, where beyond lay the void and the vacuum of the space outside. Much of the area towards the hangar's centre had been cleared, and personnel both medical and those of the flight deck contingent hurried around a still smouldering and scorched fighter that had come to a lopsided halt at the heart of the commotion. Toron charged ahead, driven by the intensifying and worrying sense that he knew who had been flying that fighter.

A fire control team was already on the damaged fighter, extinguishers pluming thick, fire-retardant foam. The pilot was being hefted onto a gurney by a pair of medical technicians, and as Toron neared them one of the hangar guards stepped into his path. This one was a heavyset male outfitted in the bulky black armour of an on-board Marine, and he scowled at the Captain through the visor of his helmet.

"Sir, you need to step back. The wreck is still dangerous."

"I know that." He went to step around the guard, but the guard in turn moved in front of him. Toron looked on as the medical technicians began to wheel the wounded pilot for the exit, and they passed by within only a few metres of where Toron was standing. He rushed for the gurney's side, ignoring the protests of the guard and instead setting his attention on the visibly burned female on the gurney itself.

"Kavi?" He kept pace with the rushing medical personnel. One of them was already injecting some form of painkiller into her system, and Kavi Norrok looked up at Toron with a blistered, bloodied face. One eye had been burned shut, and at least half of her head had been hit with the flames. The burns continued down her neck, where parts of her uniform had melded with the flesh in a grotesque mix of her once vibrant green skin, bloody exposed flesh and the black friction-resistant material of her flight suit.

"Sir, you need to step aside." The lead medical technician was a stern-looking female, and she moved alongside the gurney whilst her two subordinates pushed it along. "This woman needs to reach the infirmary right away, or she may very well die."

Toron swallowed, but he kept pace alongside the wheeled gurney. They were out of the hangar then, entering the corridor outside before turning in the direction of one of the elevators. The lead med-tech was now running a scanning device over Kavi's writhing form. The pilot's eyes fixed upon Toron, and through the mangled flesh of her face he sighted a small, if feeble, smile.

"Toron…" She croaked. Toron leaned in, his hand finding her own. He clutched it tight as they neared the elevator doors at the end of the hall.

"I got back, Toron," Kavi added, before she emitted a cluster of coughs. Flecks of blood flew out of her mouth amongst the spittle. "They hit me good, but I got back…" She sounded proud of this, and Toron tried his best to return her smile. Instead, a hollowness had set within him that was now threatening to claim him entirely. He pushed back his roiling emotions, only somewhat aware of the lead med-tech's surprised glance at her scanner.

"By Visala, how did this slip through?" They pushed the gurney into the elevator then, and Toron found himself being pulled back by another of the medical personnel. They needed their space to do their work, and so Toron would allow them that. However, seeing her in that state, her former beauty tarnished by her horrific injuries, set a despair within him that struck deeply at his core.

"This scan says this woman is at least three weeks pregnant," the lead med-tech declared, with some noticeable surprise. "We need to stabilise her, now." Before Toron could step forwards again to join Kavi once more, the elevator doors slid shut and the woman was taken from his view. This latest piece of news, concerning Kavi's overall state, only drove the knife of his anguish in deeper.

Toron stumbled about the corridor then, his mind ablaze with so many different thoughts, so many questions that would likely get no solid answers. He fell against the wall nearby, alone for the time being, and his strong façade gradually gave way as he slumped down to a sitting position. He ran a hand down his face, rubbed his eyes and swallowed hard. He might have wept, were it not for the anger coursing through him amongst everything else he felt.

It was much later that evening when Commodore Jorga found Toron again. The young Captain sat alone in his quarters, back against the bed whilst various odds and ends were strewn about the floor. Jorga had not actually been granted entry, but as Commodore he had override codes that gave him the ability to unlock nearly any door on the ship. It was with one such code that he permitted himself access to Toron's room, and there he found the Captain half-asleep and looking sorry for himself. As for Toron, he only looked up enough to sight the Commodore, before he directed his gaze downwards again and returned to his misery-driven navel-gazing.

"Captain?" The Commodore closed the door behind him, offering the pair some privacy. "No one's seen you out of here for hours."

Toron kept his eyes downcast, the floor before him seemingly the most interesting thing in the room. The Commodore took a few steps inside, the lighting dim, set to its lowest level short of switching them off altogether. Nonetheless, a Calsharan's eyes were well-equipped for the dark, and he locked his gaze firmly upon the Captain as he approached.

"I'd expect better order from you, Captain," the Commodore remarked. "Instead, I see you've left your room a mess."

"It's temporary," Toron remarked. He finally looked up again, and the Commodore sighted a deep sadness in his eyes that he had never seen on the young Captain before. Normally Toron stood tall and confident, an expert at keeping his emotions in check. Apparently, the events of today had broken that exterior, and from what the Commodore had learned he could certainly empathise.

"I'm sorry about the Lieutenant," the Commodore said. It sounded hollow, he knew this full well, but it had to be said. "It was a small miracle she was even able to get her fighter back here. The damage it took…" He trailed off, seeing Toron turn his head away as if to avert his eyes from the images being conjured up in his mind. The Commodore suspected it was more to hide the grief that had taken hold of his features.

"I do know to some extent how you're feeling," the Commodore added, and now Toron fixed him with a cautious, if curious, glare. "I've lost people, we all have. People close to us. My son died in a skirmish with Goa'uld raiders seven years ago. I made it my mission to hunt every one of those snakes down." He paused, his mouth forming into a grim line. "I succeeded, for what little good it did my son. He was gone, and no amount of killing was going to bring him back."

"She was pregnant, sir," Toron interjected, and his voice wavered with the statement. "Her implant was out of date and she didn't tell me, didn't even try to replace it…" Calsharan females, whilst in the service, were strongly encouraged to receive certain contraceptive implants that needed to be replaced every so often. Frontline personnel, pilots in particular, were required by regulation to keep their implants up to date. Of course, not everyone followed the rules, and in the case of Kavi Norrok she had let hers slide for a little too long.

"The medical staff informed me of that," the Commodore replied. "I have to inform her family back on Vargania as to what has happened to their daughter. It might be prudent to leave that detail out, although I'm not too sure." He looked down at Toron, seeing a normally reliable soldier on the verge of breaking. He squatted down then, bringing himself roughly level with the younger male.

"She must have really liked you," he said. "Risking her position like that, it must have meant a lot to her. You must have meant a lot to her."

"I never really thought about being a father," Toron said. He sighed. "Guess I won't know, now."

Commodore Jorga, a leader known for his stern, no-nonsense style of command, did something that even Toron found a little unusual: he gave him as reassuring a smile as he could muster. For a brief moment there, the hard-line Commodore was gone, replaced with a much gentler, amiable older male who had a genuine affinity for the Captain before him. It was a fleeting thing, and before Toron could properly process what he was seeing the reassuring smile was gone. Slowly, the Commodore rose to his feet and took his hand away from Toron. He instead offered the young Captain one hand, an indication that he should get back upon his feet.

Toron took the hint, taking the Commodore's hand and allowing him to help him up. Now the Commodore fixed him with a firm gaze, yet his blue eyes contained something thoughtful.

"I've reconsidered your request from earlier," he said. Toron's gaze lit up just a little. His dour mood seemed interrupted, and the Commodore took that as a positive sign. "You can do good here, certainly. But I do believe you'd do well away from here, given what has happened. A distraction may very well be in order for you, Captain."

"What do you mean, sir?" Toron seemed to have an idea as to where this was leading, but he allowed the Commodore to spell it out, unwilling to risk getting his hopes up too high.

"I'm transferring you," the Commodore said. "But I'm going to offer you a choice. I can send you to just about any posting within the Alliance. Just tell me where and I can make it happen." This was certainly true, as the Commodore was one of the highest-ranked military officials within the new Alliance of Free Systems. Toron knew then that he had a whole world open to him now, and that his future hinged upon the decision he made here. He did not hesitate to deliver his response:

"The Sky Riders, sir. I wish to take part in their mission." That is, the upcoming 'suicide' mission to Jur's Anvil. The Commodore, to his credit, did not appear surprised whatsoever. He had expected such a request, had even gone so far as to draft the transfer documents in anticipation of the decision. When he heard the words, he gave Toron a nod and a wry smile.

"Those Sky Riders are rough sorts, Captain. I think they could do with some proper leadership." His smile faded then, as the more questionable aspects of the choice of transfer came to mind. "They may not take kindly to someone from the home world joining their group."

"I can handle them, sir." Toron's expression had lit up, his grief waylaid for the moment. The Commodore regarded Toron with a discerning eye, looking the young Captain up-and-down before he nodded his head again. Indeed, he believed that if anyone could get the Sky Riders ready for a dangerous mission, then it would be Toron Kavellan. Deep down, he thought he may very well be sending Toron to his death, yet it was what the young officer wanted. Giving him what he wanted seemed the right thing to do, in the wake of his recent loss. And the Commodore knew perfectly well that they needed that proposed mission to succeed, so what harm could there be in sending one of his more reliable subordinates to get involved? If anything, the chances of that mission succeeding would only increase.

"Very well, Captain," the Commodore said. "I'll finalise the transfer. I suspect you will get the action you desire, sooner rather than later."