The United Global Coalition Battle Cruiser Vanguard floated serenely at space dock in preparation for her maiden voyage, belying the buzz of activity still going on inside the cream colored hull. Coupled by two large black cables providing supplemental power until she was ready to power up on her own, the Vanguard gleamed under the lights while final supplies were brought on board in a controlled panic. The lone catwalk still remaining was jam-packed with personnel on the way to their new duty station or those who had completed last minute modifications and were on their way off. Within minutes, as Captain Michael P. Jamison stood alone in the observation deck, all that was left to do was await the mission team arrival and he grabbed his flight bag and headed down off the deck to his new command, nerves tingling.

In many ways, the Vanguard and her sister ship the Remington were a throwback to an earlier era in space flight. The space shuttle of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century was the design inspiration for the Vanguard and the Remington, albeit they were about twenty times larger than their predecessors. The body was expanded and widened, allowing the wings to be brought forward and attached into the mid-body position. There was housed all the sensitive navigational equipment, weaponry, computers, and electronics that tied in to the equipment on the bridge. The wings also housed supplemental external engines for extra maneuvering, but the main engines were located at the rear taking up almost a quarter of the craft’s length. Crew quarters and all crew recreational sections were placed in the main body ahead of the engineering section separated by sixteen feet of insulated blast walls. Instead of the pointed, narrow nose of the original shuttle, the Vanguard’s was almost a perfect half-circle where the bridge was situated. Navigation, communications, and all stations associated with the piloting of the ship were in the forward section, off the bridge but could be operated from engineering in an emergency.

Captain Jamison fell into step behind two ensigns in an attempt to stay somewhat unrecognizable, but failed miserably. Before he’d traversed ten feet on the catwalk everyone that passed him from the other direction, or walked near him addressed him in some manner. After hearing a plethora of salutations and ‘Good luck, Captain’, his frozen smile began to get hot and he felt his facial muscles begin to burn. His earlier enthusiasm had kept him from waiting until he usually did to board on a new assignment as the last person on board and he was beginning to regret the excitement that led him to leave early. Keeping the smile on his face even though it almost brought tears to his eyes, he passed the worst and was now standing on the threshold of entry. All noise stopped as a firm, loud voice called out, ‘Attention, Captain on deck!’

The ensign, wearing a sidearm and dressed in formal attire, stood up smartly and saluted.

The ritual continued on behind him as he made his way to his quarters to stow his bag and make sure all his possessions were there and in place. Once entered, and having suffered the same greetings on the way as he did on the catwalk, he dropped his bag on the bed and took a deep breath. It was now official. Everything was in place and it was time to head for the bridge to take up command. Before he left he took a quick study of his quarters. The bedroom with attached bath, small living room with an alcove off to the side where his computer and operational equipment sat, an even smaller sitting room, and behind all that was his private briefing room. A luxury on most ships, the briefing room exemplified his new posting. Checking his uniform in the door length mirror, he hitched up his pants and straightened out his shirt, took another deep breath and headed to the bridge.

Upon entering the bridge he viewed mostly familiar faces as they all turned to look at him.

The crew stopped what they were doing and jumped to attention. Jamison surveyed the bridge noting the expectant looks of his crew. He waited in silence as the senior officer made his way to the center of the bridge.

“Sir, command of the Vanguard is hereby transferred by your authority,” stated Commander Dunkin in an official manner.

“Thank you, Commander,” the captain said with a small nod as his eyes drank in the essence of the ship.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Mallory. Alert EarthStation One we’re ready to receive mission personnel.”

Jamison sat in the captain’s chair and watched as his crew performed the final measures to get under way. He viewed the bridge noting the symmetrical design of an almost perfect circle and the glint of all the new equipment. The chair he sat in was near the rear of the bridge, surrounded by four other seats, two on each side in a semi-arc. In front of him was a large viewing screen that, for the moment, was off. Around the perimeter were stations for the different functions of the ship and at each position a small console faced the swivel seat attached to its base. In front of the captain the space was empty, a wide-open area that seemed to defy the need for more equipment.

When the activity slowed to a near halt he stood and walked to the center of the bridge. He stood until there was total silence and all eyes were again focused on him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, for those of you that have served with me before, I welcome you back. For those of you that have not, I look forward to sharing space with you.”

With formalities out of the way the bridge erupted into small talk for those that had served with the captain before. And for those that hadn’t, they watched closely. This group was the core of officers who would operate closely together and it was important to get an understanding of their command structure. Watching the ease in which the captain related to his crew, the familiar, yet tenuous feelings that were always associated with a new commander were slowly being dispelled for those watching the interplay between crew and captain.

The captain returned to his chair, scanned his instrument panel and asked, “Lieutenant DeLouise, course plotted to Altair Four?”

Raising his head from the very equipment the captain asked about, Dunkin turned to face the captain. “Yes they did, Captain. One of the sensor chips wasn’t properly seated.”

Commander Dunkin turned back to his console. All consoles on the ship were tan with matte black tops inlaid with touch computer functions. Everything was controlled by the push of a finger and could put on a dazzling display of colors when fully operational. As they now sat, waiting to get under way, a few red and blue lights pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat. The large screen, when not on was black, a void sucking in the light. This was countered by a ring of lights shining down around the outside edge of the bridge that would fade when the screen was operational. In the center of the ceiling a bank of lights added their strength to the illumination of this part of the ship.

The captain’s brow furrowed as he asked the commander, “How bad, Commander?”

“She received a deep laceration when a food module fell while trying to store it.”

“Ensign Theresa Canton, Food Specialist. This is her first assignment.”
“Thank you. I’ll be down to see her as soon as we’re off,” replied Captain Jamison as he glanced at the banks of equipment covering most of the walls on the bridge.

The walls not covered by the gleaming equipment were a slightly darker shade of tan and the floors were covered with sound deadening static-free carpet in yet a darker tan. In the center of the carpet was the acronym U.G.C. in big, bold blue letters with the name Vanguard in red beneath the United Global Coalition designation. All the seats on the bridge were form fitting bio-activated chairs. On the captain’s were override controls for every station and the ability to lock the person sitting on it into a life saving cocoon should the need arise. The seats to either side were similarly designed but without all the various override functions. Captain Jamison had lived for this day, but he was edgy.

“Captain, this is Lieutenant Williams. Mission crew is airborne. ETA, ten minutes.”

Activity on the bridge increased as the crew made their stations inspection ready. The sergeant leading this mission was a stickler for protocol and a real ball-buster when it came to spit and polish, a legend in his own right and the captain was going to be the one to tell this sergeant his days with the fleet were over. The dread gripping his heart made an otherwise exciting maiden launch secondary in his thoughts. What he had to do negated any emotional uplift at the thought of his mission, and his place in history. In all his years in the service this was going to be his toughest task yet and he feared the confrontation.

Ensign Clover started docking procedures and with his usual aplomb the shuttle landed with hardly a nudge. The captain could see in his mind’s eye the procedures unfolding down below in the shuttle hanger. The sergeant would be the first one out and ask permission to come aboard. Permission would be granted, room assignments would be given, and after seeing to his men he would make his way to the bridge. Captain Jamison grimaced inside when he heard the elevator stop on the bridge.

Master Gunnery Sergeant Chester L. O'Brien was from the old school, thirty-six years in the Marines and he took crap from nobody, not even a ship's captain. He was tagging along on this mission with a platoon of highly trained men to try and extricate some fool who had insulted the locals and ended up tanked on some little out-of-the-way orb in a little unsophisticated solar system in the Orion Galaxy. A milk and honey run, as far as the captain was concerned, but the brass were bent out of shape and insisted it be handled at Level 4, hence MGYSgt. O'Brien and his crew.

The captain heard him before seeing him and that brought a quick surge to his heart as it did every time he was around, only this time it hurt. He entered the bridge, actually swept in, and did a brief and thorough inspection seeming to find everything in order. As he was checking out the bridge, Captain Jamison gave him the once over; short and stocky, no taller than 5’7” but looked as big as any big man, grizzled gray hair that might have made a quarter of an inch if you were generous, a five o'clock shadow no matter how many times he shaved and dark blue piercing eyes. His uniform was immaculate, the creases looked capable of cutting bread and his array of medals was definitely impressive. Captain Jamison looked back up at his finely chiseled face and waited for his opening.

“Fine, Captain. Nice flying tub you got here,” he said, baiting the captain with slightly raised eyebrows.

The captain didn’t respond to the dig and Sergeant O’Brien had a momentary sense of discomfort wondering why the captain was so reticent.

Captain Jamison rose from his seat and grabbed O'Brien’s hand, giving it a limp, emotionless pump. Releasing the hand, the moment the captain had dreaded was here. As required by command he was to present Sergeant O’Brien with his retirement orders the moment he was onboard, which the captain thought was asinine. ‘Why the hell couldn’t he do this in private?’

“Master Gunnery Sergeant Chester O’Brien, I have been directed to give to you, at the earliest possible moment, these orders requiring you to turn in your stripes at the end of this mission.” Captain Jamison handed Sergeant O’Brien the orders and continued, “It is with great honor I was chosen to present to you your walking papers and congratulate you on your forthcoming retirement. You have served your country with exemplary conduct, distinguishing yourself as a credit to your service, and a credit to your country. You will be missed.”

Captain Jamison looked at Sergeant O’Brien and saw the anger smoldering in his eyes. He felt about two foot tall passing on this information in so informal a manner when the man who stood in front of him deserved every accolade the service could give him. The hurt and confused look on the man’s face was hard to ignore as he dimly noted the clapping of his bridge crew. What he saw in the man’s eyes would haunt him in his dreams for years to come.

O’Brien didn’t move even when the crew came by to congratulate him, slapping him on the back, or shaking his hand. All he could do was look at the man who did this. It didn’t matter that it came from above; he would never forgive the captain for allowing himself to be used this way. The anger building inside needed to vent and although never in his career had he so willingly cared less about the repercussions, this time it had reached its limits. He could no more stop the upwelling of emotions than he could stop in the middle of a sneeze.

Captain Jamison watched the wide range of emotions passing over O’Brien’s face and wanted to hide. To be anywhere but here, facing the man he so ignobly treated, knowing this man deserved so much more. He cursed the service for its inhumanity at times and wondered if this was a rift that could ever be repaired. He thought not, but wanted to believe it could so he put on his best face and reached out to shake Sergeant O’Brien’s hand.

O’Brien looked at the offered hand and then up at the face behind it, “I didn’t put in for retirement…sir.”

The captain noticed the slow, angry voice, “I am aware of that, Sergeant, but we all have our orders. I would like to congratulate you,” he added, but when the sergeant didn’t extend his hand, the captain dropped his.

The crew on the bridge was silent; they all had noticed the breach of etiquette when Sergeant O’Brien didn’t shake the captain’s hand. They waited uncomfortably while the enveloping saga continued on the bridge.

Again spoken in that slow, angry voice as if it was taking an immeasurable amount of force to keep it under control. Captain Jamison was well aware of the crew around him and knew he had to diffuse this quickly.

“The hell it isn’t! You saw fit to announce it here, now, in front of your crew. You damn well better answer!”

Captain Jamison felt control of the situation slipping. Being who this man was, he was stunned into silence and before he could react Sergeant O’Brien threw down his copies of the orders and stormed off the bridge.

The captain turned and watched the receding back of the sergeant as he exited the bridge. He looked around helplessly and noted the wide-eyed looks of his crew. As he met each set of eyes, they looked down in embarrassment. Very gingerly, Captain Jamison sat back down on his chair.

“No, Commander. Let him go. Who knows how any of us would have reacted under similar circumstances?”

Not one person on the bridge bought it, but none either were in much of a mindset to say anything different. They found work to do and studiously went about looking as busy as they could. The captain sat, oblivious to what was going on around him. He realized he might have lost some of his authority in front of his crew but didn’t know right now if he cared or not. He looked over at his friend, Commander Dunkin, and saw the look of concern in his eyes. He got up and headed to the Assessment Room, nodding for Commander Dunkin to follow.

Commander Dunkin turned to Lieutenant DeLouise, “Lieutenant, you have the bridge.”

When Dunkin entered the Assessment Room he saw the captain sitting with his head in his hands, leaning on the table. He took a chair across from him and sat, waiting.

The captain looked over at his second in command, “I should have, that’s all.”

“Do I need to remind you what the crew will think if you don’t take care of…?”

“I am well aware, Commander. I will handle it,” the captain snapped back, interrupting his friend.

Glenn studied his captain for a minute. “What happened, Mike? Seems there was a lot more going on than what that called for.”

The captain leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and said, “He didn’t deserve this, and me of all people. Why couldn’t they have done this when we got back? How the hell am I ever going to look him in the eyes again?”

Jamison smiled, “Know him personally? I’d say.” He stood up. “C’mon.”

Stopping on the bridge next to his chair, Captain Jamison looked at his crew knowing he needed to give them some sort of explanation. He was tempted to just keep on going save for his sense of professionalism that chose now to crop up and dispel his indecision.

He faced his crew and said, “What happened here on the bridge stays here. I will explain later what it all meant. In the meantime, make sure everything is ready for take-off.”

When he had first walked in he’d run his hand quickly over his console and when finished talking to the ensign, Captain Jamison looked at room assignments and found where Sergeant O’Neil was quartered. He headed off the bridge.

“Ensign, leave it! He’ll explain later. Right now, get ready. Christina, you still have the bridge.”

After the commander left the bridge, Ensign Clover said to no one in particular, “That was strange. A little touchy, weren’t they?”

Captain Jamison waited for Commander Dunkin in the elevator. When he entered, the captain turned and put in the code for their destination. The ride down was silent, neither man knowing just quite what to say.

The two men walked down the corridor until the captain stopped in front of one of the doors in the enlisted men’s quarters’ section of the ship. He rang the door chime and waited.

Commander Dunkin looked at the captain and saw his jaw clench. The underlying currents between these two men screamed for attention and impressed some unspoken knowledge between the two and puzzled him. He waited patiently while the captain rang the chime again.

This time there was no response. The captain turned his head away and looked down at the floor.

“Glenn, don’t,” the captain said as he grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”

Commander Dunkin did a double take and turned to look at the captain with a question forming on his lips. The captain held his hand up signaling him to wait.

The captain looked at Dunkin with the look of utter frustration and failure, and as soon as he moved his eyes away from his friend’s face, he said, “What have I done?”

The commander lost no time trying to figure out what was going on between these two. He wanted this moved inside as quickly as possible. Using command override, he punched in the code to open the sergeant’s door. When the door slid open he looked into a room where uniforms were strewn all over and the sergeant no longer in his. The glare coming from that man’s face was fierce.

The captain stood up tall and took a step into the room. “I won’t. You will listen and I will have my say!”

“Goddammit, son! I won’t listen, and I won’t stay around for this circus. I quit!”

“The hell I can’t, boy. I can and I will. I’ll be off this bird in five minutes; you can find someone else to lead this mission. I’m done.”

The captain grabbed a chair and motioned Commander Dunkin to come in and close the door. He entered and stood uncomfortably behind the captain, at an oblique angle to the sergeant.

The captain turned to Commander Dunkin and with a wry smile said, “Let me introduce you to one of the orneriest turds to ever walk a ship and one of the best to have at your back in case things get exciting...my father.”