Commander Gev Braxal stormed into the office and slammed the datapad onto Rear Admiral Bolchak's desk. "What's the meaning of this?", she demanded. He knew immediately what she was referring to. Earlier that day, he had regretfully signed orders reducing the allotment of atomic fuel pellets for her fighter squadron. Atomic fuel pellets were 10 cm. diameter cylinders of enriched uranium used to power atomic drives. Each pellet only lasts for around ten solar days with the drives running at full power. Replacing these fuel pellets costs a minimum of 10,000 credits each, but with a high demand, the cost could be up to twice that. Instead of authorizing five pellets per month, he had reduced the allotment to a mere two. That meant a significant reduction in the number of flight hours she could distribute among her pilots to keep them proficient.

He had held off for as long as possible in issuing these orders, not because he feared a confrontation with Commander Braxal, but because he agreed that it was wrong. His hand had been forced by Elda Wilbanks. As the civilian Governor of Fortress Pale, she had an equal say in the distribution of resources during periods of relative peace. She had argued that the fuel pellets could be much better used by atomic powered freighters. Bolchak had hoped that if he backed down and compromised with her on this issue, she would be more reasonable in future negotiations.

He turned away from the report he was reading to face his angry subordinate. "The meaning of the report is clear enough isn't it, commander?" He deliberately stressed her rank when he replied, hoping she would get in control of her notoriously volatile temper.

Gev Braxal was a Yazirian. This race was the fourth to join the United Planetary Federation, and was the most technologically primitive at that time. They are very intelligent though, and most IQ tests placed them above the average of the four races. In appearance, they look like a combination of a large monkey and a flying squirrel. A thin membrane of skin attached to their forearms, torso, and ankles stretches taught when they raise their arms, forming a crude wing. This allows them to glide for short distances when leaping from heights. Socially, they are the most warlike race in the Federation, and are quick to take offense. Some Yazirians have learned to control their temper, but Gev was definitely not like these Yazirians. When she was having a bad day, everyone on the Station knew it, and steered clear of her. She was old for her rank, and her file had implied that it was these outbreaks of temper which had led to her being passed over for promotion to Strategic Fighter Command. It is a sad fact in Spacefleet that you have to be a politician in order to be promoted to the upper ranks. Gev Braxal's military career had reached it's zenith.

She did have her strong points though. Gev had a natural piloting skill the likes of which few in Spacefleet have seen before. She was qualified to fly any ship in the UPF Spacefleet inventory as well as all civilian starships and small craft. When she flew, it was as though she became one with her ship. Although she had been offered command of a Frigate, she turned it down in order to stay with her fighter squadron. She was an exceptional combat leader and her squadron members were almost fanatically loyal to her. She, in turn, treated them like family. Bolchak had no doubt that concern for them is what lead her to his office to discuss the fuel situation.

"Admiral Bolchak, you can't possibly be serious about this! In fifteen years of flying fighters, this is the lowest number of flight hours for a seven fighter squadron that I've ever seen. How are we supposed to maintain operational readiness with so few hours?"

Her eyes dared him to disagree with her. He paused to get his anger in check. Although nearly the same age as commander Braxal, Admiral Bolchak hated to be lectured by a subordinate. "I know damn well that the flight hours that amount of fuel allows won't be as much as you're used to commander, but Phoenix squadron has had it much better than any other squadron in Spacefleet. Hell, you've run more flight hours in the past month than any other squadron has for two!"

"Sir, with all due respect, Phoenix squadron is a training squadron. I get all the fresh fighter jocks from Gollwin Academy and it's my job to see that they're trained well enough to stay alive! If you cut those hours, we'll be in a world of hurt when the war resumes."

Bolchak knew there was a large element of truth to what she said, but he had to keep his eye on the big picture. He knew that until the assault carrier Vengeance was finished being overhauled, there wasn't much chance that Phoenix squadron would see action.

"Commander Braxal, the fuel allotment will have to do. I have limited resources to deal with a large number of problems, and right now, your squadron is the least help in dealing with them. I've authorized an increase in simulator hours to help make up for the reduction in flight hours."

"But sir, you know that simulator hours are a poor substitute for actual flight hours, particularly when it comes to learning combat maneuvers."

"Take a look at this, commander." Admiral Bolchak walked around his desk and gestured to the strategic system display. "These are just a few of the difficulties I'm dealing with right now.

"The pirate vessel Avatar is believed to be in system, but the last sighting came two solar days ago by the Pale Militia Assault Scout Raven. They lost the Avatar when it entered the tail of Smorg's comet, which hid the ship from radar. It probably slipped out when the comet passed through the Conundrum asteroid belt. I've got the UPFS frigate Stormwind searching for it now, as well as our two assault scouts, but I don't think they'll have much luck. Until we chase off or destroy the Avatar, I've got to assign an armed escort to each freighter or mining vessel that enters the system.

"On top of that, Volturnus colony in the Zebulon system reports that it's deep space radar tracked a small ship that jumped in-system just four hours ago. As it failed to identify itself, it's either Sathar or another pirate ship. I'll have to dispatch a ship to back up the Zebulon provisionary task force as soon as possible.

"In short commander, I'm up to my neck in problems and dealing with them as best as I can, so I'm in no mood to here how your squadron is getting the short end of the stick. You're dismissed."

Gev opened her mouth to reply, but seeing the look he shot her, thought better of it. Instead she replied, "yes sir." grabbed her datapad and strode out of his office.

After she'd left he resumed reading the system status report. It showed nothing out of the ordinary for the Pale system, and did little to distract him from worrying about the overdue cruiser UPFS Challenger. As spacefleet force commander for the Truane's star and Zebulon systems, he was responsible for the security of three populated worlds and eight warships. The lives most in jeopardy were those eighty-nine crew members of the heavy cruiser he had sent to an unexplored star system.

The Challenger project had been his personal brainchild when he had first been promoted to Rear Admiral. At that time, he had been assigned to a think tank tasked with determining the whereabouts of Sathar worlds and production centers, as well as military bases. The whole purpose of the spacefleet is to provide security for the Federation against spaceborne threats, and the biggest threat yet encountered was undoubtably the Sathar.

When they'd first appeared in their warships, they overwhelmed what few planetary defenses and armed ships that had defended the new colonies. They then destroyed those colonies and proceeded toward the core worlds of the Frontier. A human named Vincent Morgain had called for a cooperative alliance between all four races to use their combined might to beat back this new threat. The four races reluctantly agreed, and the defense of the Frontier had been successful.

Saved from annihilation by this alliance, the four races entered negotiations to make the alliance permanent. After two years of negotiation, the United Planetary Federation was formed. It provided for raising a united spacefleet, a system of fortified space stations, and an interstellar law enforcement agency. The formalized relations between the four races, Humans, Vrusk, Dralasites, and Yazirians, led to an economic boon and a greater sense of security. However, it was not without problems. Getting four diverse sets of attitudes and cultural values to agree on anything greater than the basics was quite difficult.

One-hundred fifty-six years after the formation of the Federation, the fights over distribution of resources, funding, and levels of autonomy of the various worlds continued unabated. One thing they had all agreed on was that the war should be brought to the Sathar. The problem was, no one in the UPF knows where the Sathar homeworlds are. An idea of where the Sathar would strike from would be most helpful in prosecuting the war. To that end, exploration ships were sent out to systems surrounding the Frontier worlds. Few of those ships returned.

That was when Rear Admiral Bolchak had recommended that one of the old decommissioned heavy cruisers be modernized with the latest in advanced astrogations equipment, engines, and exploration equipment. In the event that it encountered a Sathar outpost, it would have far more firepower than the other ships that had been sent out. The wisdom of this had proven itself on two previous missions, but after Admiral Bolchak had sent it to system F.S. 37, the Challenger had failed to return as scheduled. Although the ship was only two days overdue, Admiral Bolchak feared the worst for the Challenger's eighty-nine crew members.

Regretfully, there was little he could do about that now. Even if his forces weren't stretched dangerously thin, none of his remaining ships had the Challenger's advanced astrogations equipment. Without that, any rescue ship would likely misjump and be lost in an unintended destination. He sighed in frustration and reluctantly returned to the report.

"Hey, wait up!"

Gev slowed her pace when she recognized the voice as belonging to her executive officer, Fleet Lieutenant Samantha Rand. Though human, Samantha was about the same height as Gev, with curly red hair that she kept trimmed to shoulder length. She had a friendly enthusiasm that was evident in whatever she was doing. It was said that she could charm a Vrusk into giving up company secrets, which Gev thought unlikely given the average Vrusk's devotion to his employer.

Her charms were particularly devastating when employed against human males, who apparently found her irresistibly attractive. Ever since she was promoted to Phoenix squadron executive officer almost a year ago, she had more than proven her worth in the administration and logistic tasks that kept the atomic powered fighters operational and combat ready. Her ease in dealing with people and skilled negotiation of the complex bureaucracy that was a part of all military forces tended to make up for Gev's impatience and unfortunate penchant for stepping on toes along the way. They had developed a close friendship in spite of their cultural differences, and hardly a day went by when Gev didn't thank the powers that be that she had been assigned to her squadron.

As she caught up with Gev, the playful gleam in her eye told Gev she already knew the answer to the question she asked. "How'd things go with ol' Bolchak?"

"Take a good guess", Gev replied dejectedly.

"Whoa, that bad huh? So I guess we need to revise the training roster again".

"Well, we would if I were to take this lying down, but you know me better than that. Are you up for a trip to Belcore City?"

Samantha smiled mischievously, "So, you plan to pick up fuel pellets on the black market again eh? Count me in. I think I still have some connections on the seamier side of the spaceport."

"I was counting on that." Gev's voice shifted to a more businesslike tone as she continued, "Any word on our newest squadron member?"

"He should be coming in on the Starliner Golden Dawn in about an hour. I've checked into his academy records, and his scores aren't bad. He's a Dralasite from the Dramune system, and a fair pilot. I was going to assign him to the number five ship, and shift Che'kek to number three. The techs still haven't isolated the cause of that intermittent radar glitch, and I think Che'kek would handle it much better than any newbie." Newbie was the somewhat derogatory name for a recent graduate of Gollwin Academy. As the premiere military academy in the Federation, ninety percent of the UPF spacefleet officers are trained there. The school has a deservedly excellent reputation, but conventional wisdom held that experience is still the best teacher.

"I agree, I'll tell Che'kek he's got the jinxed ship. He'll love that." Gev glanced at her chronometer, "We have time for lunch before the Golden Dawn arrives. Do you feel like checking out that new Vrusk restaurant in the civilian ring?"

Samantha's nose wrinkled up in distaste, but she said, "Might as well, I wanted to lose a little weight anyway, and eating at a Vrusk restaurant might just do the trick!"

An hour later they were waiting at the docking collar where the starliner Golden Dawn had arrived. As the passengers continued to file off the ship through the airlock in front of them, Gev noticed her friend looking a little ill. "Your color is not right Samantha. Is something wrong?"

"You should know you sadist. 'Oh, go ahead and order the K'banks'la,' you said, but you forgot to mention that Vrusk serve it while it's still moving!"

"It doesn't keep well after you kill it. You mean you'd never had it before?"

Samantha glared daggers in her direction. The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Gev noticed a green Dralasite step through the airlock. Gev had seen many Dralasites, but never a green one. While Humans and Yazirians came in a variety of skin tones, all Dralasites were dull gray in color. Then she noticed that he was in a Spacefleet uniform.

The Dralasite was still out of earshot and Gev muttered, "Please don't tell me that's our replacement pilot."

Samantha was about to reply, when the blob shaped alien ambled over to them. The shape-changing alien currently had three legs, making his gait somewhat peculiar, but he stopped about two meters in front of them and gave them a proper salute with his third arm.

"Junior Lieutenant Gorlma reporting for duty, Commander."

Gev recovered quickly, returned his salute, and replied, "Welcome to Phoenix Squadron Lieutenant. I'm Commander Gev Braxal, and this is my executive officer, Lieutenant Rand. We'll introduce you to the rest of the squadron a little later."

Samantha jumped in when Gev paused and said, "Forgive me for asking, but why are you green?"

The Dralasite looked over at her and said, "Didn't my file show I was from Inner Reach?"

Samantha still looked puzzled and had undoubtedly not heard of the customs among Dralasites on that world. Gev explained, "On Inner Reach, Dralasites dye their skin each day to convey their general mood. If I remember correctly, green was... envy?"

"Very good commander, I take it you've visited my world before?"

"No, but I travelled through the system once, while I was a Lieutenant assigned to Strike Force Nova. That was ten years ago though. Tell me, why are you envious today?"

Gorlma hesitated as though weighing how much his new commanding officer would be offended by the truth. He apparently decided on honesty, and replied, "I got a subspace message from my old roommate at Gollwin Academy, and he said he'd been assigned to the battleship Admiral Clinton. Here I am assigned to fly a fighter."

Seeing the flash of anger on Gev's face, Samantha headed off her commander's reply, saying, "Don't be too harsh in judging the value of fighters, this squadron has fought a lot more Sathar than the Admiral Clinton has even seen. You'd better go get settled into your quarters. It's in section A-3 in the military ring. Report to the squadron briefing room at 15:00 in that same section. Dismissed Lieutenant."

The anger was still evident in Gev's eyes, so Samantha grabbed Gev by the elbow and pulled her down the corridor in the opposite direction. After they'd traveled twenty meters or so, Gev said testily, "The nerve of that little blob! He hasn't been in the Squadron five minutes and he's already looking to transfer out!"

"Now, Gev, you know his head is just filled with that garbage they teach at the academy about the ineffectiveness of fighters compared to assault scouts and capital ships. Give the little newbie a break."

Having been in fighters from the beginning of her military career, Gev had an attachment to them that bordered on obsession. Ineffective? Hell, she'd seen Sathar heavy cruisers ripped apart by fighters in minutes. Just because the battles they took part in weren't as famous as other fleet engagements didn't diminish their worth. Besides, she took any slighting of her squadron very personally.

A few minutes passed. "Assign Gorlma to clean the hanger all next week." Her initial reaction had dimished somewhat, but hell, being commander still has it's advantages. Someday, she vowed silently, she would prove the worth of her fighter squadron.

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