The morning had come and with it, coffee. Falcon Llewellyn stood over the Flight Command Station in the Command Control Center, his eyes bleary from the overnight shift. He’d grudgingly accepted working the station and directing his wings on the Zephyr along with Montana’s. There hadn’t been any movement from the Vaadwaur overnight. His tired eyes glanced at the red numbered clock above his station. It was just crossing over to 6 am.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.” The station interim XO, Captain Alexandra Pantuso, walked from her station to his, gripping a long cup of fragrant coffee. “You didn’t take the recommended sleep schedule.”

Falcon grinned sheepishly. “I know, ma’am. I didn’t want to leave our flyers without a good hand to guide them if things went wrong.”

“Well, I think we found someone to hold down this station. Just gotta dry him off.” She pointed back the way to the sleep rooms. “Now it’s an order. Get some rest.” He stood at attention before he jogged off towards the beds.

“Morning.” She turned and greeted her CO, Captain Geronimo Fontana. His eyes were open and focused, yet they had a nervous energy. The reality of their enemy had sunk in overnight. Many calls had been attempted home, only to run into the Blackout. What was happening outside of their corner of the rimward, she wondered. Fontana sipped at his tea, working through the reports from the night shift. He relayed, “Hargraves heard from our guy. He made the call with thirty seconds to spare. Doc Halsey has been working on him since last night.” Another sip and a chuckle. “You think he’s worth the risk?”

Pantuso pursed her lips. “If he gets straight and stays straight, he’s worth it. Every available piece of evaluation paperwork confirms he’s as good as they get. He just stopped caring.” She felt her CO’s eyes on her. “I know…given Hargraves’ report on their interaction…we might have to find some way for him to start caring again. We can only scare him so much before the threat of brig life might start appealing to him.”

The door to the command center opened, revealing Commander Ethan Wilder, who strode to the Flight Command station. He stood at an uncomfortable stance of attention to Fontana and Pantuso, “Commander Ethan Wilder, reporting as requested.”

Fontana gestured him to stand at ease. “Your deputy and wing commander is getting some bunk time. I’d recommend familiarizing yourself with your station and the rosters.” The two of them moved back to their respective stations. Fontana watched the older officer as he sat at his console- the screens were expansive and contained up-to-the-second sensor details from both the station and the starfighters on patrol beyond the station.

Ethan went to work. The pilots were primarily ensigns – a lieutenant here or there helped balance out the wings assigned to Montana. The coffee and treatments from the doc had helped, but his head still felt heavy. The words from Hargraves and the bartender were still ringing in his head as he worked to understand what he had between the station and the Zephyr.

The world of starfighting had come a long way in the five years since 2397. The technical improvements alone were staggering, but so was the engineering work. He made a note to look up the Engineering Director at some point. Her team had worked a few miracles in improvement work. He took a long drink from his cup, feeling the hot coffee sliding down his throat, filling his stomach with some comfort. Wilder looked around the large command center. Everyone was focused, working on the task. A few runners were moving in and out of the center with PADDs. He could see the fear in the glances, but something else was behind the eyes.

Courage.

He watched as each of them stood at their stations, resolved. They weren’t running. If anything, he saw a few extra officers looking to help but were turned away, their tired faces ordered back to the racks for some needed rest.

He dimly remembered those moments in his previous commands before he fell into a sour soup of apathy. His retirement had been a choice. He knew they would have asked him to step down if he had stayed another year. For once in his life, he chose to walk away. Those five years since – a blur of parties, bars, trips around the quadrants. He hadn’t figured out what he’d been chasing and wondered if he ever would. Was this place and this position his chance to finally understand what broke inside him five years ago? Or would he just repeat the same indifference once things got hard? His head was clearing, and his mind pushed the cobwebs of distraction out of the far corners.

Captain Leopold Halsey had spent time talking to him as he’d worked to detox and recover. He kept asking, ‘What do you want to do with the rest of your life?’. The answer had eluded Ethan much of the night into the morning as the wet fog of influence slowly dried. His mind had rarely had time to think, he realized. Five years of driving himself to every distraction possible had addled him. The first day, without reaching for something to dull his senses, felt odd, as if someone else had replaced his eyes, as if someone else was driving his shuttle. He fought the urge to panic and resolved to stay seated. What if this was the right thing? What if this was it?

Maybe what he had been looking for had been something as simple as a place to sit and do something useful. The distractions had only lasted as long as the people around him put up with him. He’d been thrown out of so many places. Ethan realized he’d drifted into Montana after the regular haunts had refused to accept him. He turned in the chair, thinking back through the muddled memories. The trail that had followed him here began to clarify. The muffled words he’d shouted. The fights he’d lost more than he’d won.

Perhaps today was the day. Maybe this was the place. He was brought out of his reverie and reflection. Klaxons began to ring across the room as reports were called out, “New contacts on tactical screens – twenty fighters approaching with escorts!”

He sat up in the chair, hands moving to the console.

Perhaps today was a good day.

To live.