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Captain Falinx groaned as he stood up, stretching out his sore muscles as he prepared for the jog over to the academy where he was currently teaching Ironguard recruits. Garsha was a nice enough world, but spending all of one's time within a military compound would severely dampen their opinion of it.

He was an impressive specimen of a Dalynther, with massive muscles, glittering deep-blue scales, dark green hair and eyes, and a manner of speaking that commanded respect, a voice used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

He left soon enough, and, after dressing in black pants, black shirt, and combat boots large enough to fit his clawed feet, jogged down the sidewalks of Fort Ylanin, towards the training school, which was a good few miles from his neat, precise room in the neat, precise barracks, in the neat, precise environment of the fort.

After a few blocks of running, he paused to let a few hover-cars pass by. One of them, a big black six-seater, slid smoothly to a halt directly in front of him. Just as he was about to bang on their side and yell at them to get out of the way and stop holding him up, the door slid open, and a human in a black business man's suit stepped out, his eyes hidden by dark sunshades. He crossed his arms over his chest, seeming to size Falinx up before speaking in a deep monotone.

"Captain Falinx?" he inquired, speaking the title in a way that suggested a superior talking down to a recruit rather than a man addressing one of the most successful Ironguard commanders around.

"Senior Captain Falinx, I'll have you know," Falinx said with a scowl that dared the fancily-dressed man to argue.

Unfortunately, the man did no such thing. "Please step into the vehicle, Captain." His tone was polite, but brooked no argument whatsoever. Neither did the high-tech pistol that, seemingly magically having appeared in his hand, he had pressed against Falinx's throat, and it was nowhere near as courteous.

Cautiously, Falinx stepped into the waiting black hover-car, not knowing quite what to expect. Was he being taken for ransom, or what?

Once his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting within the vehicle, he noticed that there were two more men dressed like the first in the front seats. In the back, there was a single figure, face hidden by the shadowy recesses of a hood. As Falinx sat down, the first man sitting down across from him, the dim figure spoke.

"Ah, you are here, Captain. We have an assignment for you," said the cracked, aged voice of High Councilor Martin, one of the human representatives in both the Grimnach Alliance Council and the Galaxy Council, hence his title.

"...Which is?" Even in the presence of one of the supposedly greatest humans of the times (which wasn't saying much, in Falinx's humble opinion), he was still brazenly disrespectful.

"I will discuss the details with you when we get back to Section Headquarters." Again, the tone held no give.

Falinx fell silent for some time, waiting patiently on the ten-minute drive to the Section Headquarters, in the heart of the fort. Once there, he was hustled inside by the three elite guards, taken past all of the checkpoints without a backwards glance, and taken through a winding maze of corridors, and into a battered, plain steel room with only two chairs and a desk. The High Councilor took one chair, and Falinx took the other only cautiously, the wood creaking but holding under his rather solid frame.

"Have you heard about the recent loss of comm-traffic with some of our nation's outlying worlds, Captain?"

"Aye, sir. I guess you want me to go check it all out?"

"Indeed." The councilor's weathered, leathery face betrayed no emotions, almost like a Saleeth.

"Why me, sir? There's plenty of better officers that can be assigned to this, aren't there?"

"Let me speak bluntly, Captain. You are expendable, it is that simple." He was still cool and calm, even as he spoke those brutal words.

"I figured as much, actually." Falinx snorted, annoyed.

"You are hereby promoted to the rank of Commander. You will be placed upon the ship we have built specifically for this purpose, the Revenant. Your crew will, for now, be three companies of the One-Hundred and Twenty-Fourth Kaligan Shock-Troops regiment."

He was surprised - the 124thwas a solid regiment of men. He had served beside them before, back during the Gathlan Campaign, and had heard of the bloody Daelan Crusade, which had ended altogether poorly for them. He spoke up: "What companies will I be serving alongside, sir?"

"Fourth, sixth, and eighth, Commander. Those are the men whom will serve under you." Now, for some reason he seemed uncomfortable and soon explained why. "In addition, the Council is giving you permission to recruit any soldier you feel is necessary into the operation. Rogues, mercenaries, soldiers, anyone who will prove useful will be able to join up."

"Good idea, sir!" He grinned ferociously at that. In command of not only three companies of professional soldiers, but any rogues and mercenaries he cared to hire as well? Oh, yes, this was going to be very fun indeed! Of course, the fact that it made the High Councilor uncomfortable was just another added bonus.

"Get going, then, Commander. You have a mission."

"Yes, sir."

* * * *

After he had escaped Section Headquarters and gotten back to his barracks, he packed up all of his gear and personal affects, shoving them eagerly into a bag and hurrying out to hitch a transport to the spaceport where he would then be transferred to his new ship.

A half-hour later, he was aboard the shuttle, Endurance, that would take him to his new ship. He looked out the port window, admiring the peaceful, serene view of the planet below him, not noticing the time flying by as the shuttle picked up speed.

He noticed soon that they weren't even going towards any of the ships that were in orbit above the mostly militaristic world. Instead, they were headed to one of the massive orbital stations, ones that monitored the flow of traffic around the world, and warned of any impeding ships that did not use the proper ID numbers.

He clicked a button on the intercom and spoke to the pilot through it. "Where are we going?"

The reply was hazy with static, but the answer got through plainly enough. "To your new ship, Commander."

"My new ship is a damned space station?! Those things can barely move!"

The pilot laughed. "No, no, sir. It's in the space station."

"In the space station?" He was astounded. He had never heard of large docking bays in any orbital station.

"Yes, sir." The pilot sounded particularly calm.

"How?" That was all Falinx could say.

"You'll see soon enough, don't your worry your scaled head one little bit about that, Commander." Again, the pilot of this little shuttle chuckled, and then the intercom shut off.

"Arrogant bastard..." Falinx muttered to himself, looking out the window at the station again. He tried to remember the name of this one... Saint Algard's or something? It didn't matter anyway, he supposed. As the pilot had said, he'd no doubt see for himself soon enough.

Once they had pulled in, he got directions on where to go from the pilot, who pulled out as soon as Falinx was out of his shuttle.

He moved swiftly through the station, headed towards the waiting room to which he had been directed, past checkpoints operated by security bots and past rows of people from many different races, mingling, waiting in lines, and other normal activities. Even so, he kept a wary eye out, noticing some of the odd looks he, dressed in the massive and bulky grey armour of an Ironguard, attracted.

Eventually, he arrived at his destination, a simple room, unadorned but for a handful of benches and a window spanning one entire wall. Wait, that couldn't be right. A window? But he was in the middle of the station! Carefully drawing his pistol, he edged towards the window, looking out. He was shocked by what he saw.

It was a massive pit, in the centre of the station of all places! He barely saw the bottom, which appeared to be a set of great hatches. But it wasn't even that that amazed him. It was the ship.

The ship was a giant, looking as though it were almost seven-hundred feet long, sleek and deadly-looking. It was almost like a nearly featureless crescent shape, filled out and rounded, the tips cut off, and structures that looked like a plane's wings or perhaps the pieces on ancient planes that kept them afloat if they crashed in water. However, they were only attached at the back, and were rounded off about midway through. There were only a few visible hatches on the smooth black surface of the main crescent, and a few curved windows on the front where the ship's bridge no doubt was. It was armed with about six turrets set into alcoves on the sides, three per side, with the long barrel of a massive cannon built into the bow of the ship, appearing directly under the helm. The only other armaments were a pair of dorsal and ventral turrets, but it also appeared to have a landing bay for shuttles and other small craft set flush into the top. Was it a fighter-carrier? Either way, it was certainly an impressive ship. He had never seen the like of it before, and on one side, painted in letters as tall as he was, was the word Revenant. The name of the ship, or so he had been told. It was beautiful, and he grinned in anticipation as the ship rose up to be level with the window he was standing at and stopping, hovering there patiently.

He looked around and noticed a button to one side of the room. He jogged towards it and slapped it with a plated hand. When he did so, the large window slid up into the ceiling, allowing him to hear the noise of the Revenant's engines. One of the hatches on the ship opened, and a bridge emerged from it, traversing the not-so-great distance between it and himself. He jogged across the bridge, maintaining perfect balance despite his heavy armour, and made it across in only a few seconds.

Once inside the sterile metal corridors of the ship, he was immediately greeted by three men and a woman in the uniforms of the Alliance's Navy - black suits with bright red piping. Their uniforms in particular had high, stiff collars, which indicated that they were officers.

Indeed, as one of the men, a tall, aristocratic-looking fellow with tousled black hair and a glowing red monocle, no doubt a replacement for his actual eye, stepped forward, offering his hand. "Captain Jakob Steinfeldz, at your service, Commander. I will be your advisor in matters of naval operation. Allow me to introduce you to my companions, Chief Warrant Officer Tanya Alan, who is in charge of the gun crews, Lieutenant Chester Hunt, who is the Master of Arms, and Ensign Marcus Smith, who is head of the damage control department." The warrant officer was a slim woman, with graying hair and stern eyes and sculpted features. The master of arms, the lieutenant, was a serious-looking, middle-aged man, with brown hair and a goatee. And finally, the ensign was a small, younger man with a knowing smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you all," Falinx said, shaking hands with each of them in turn. They all seemed to study him in return, and then nodded in apparent approval.

"Come, Commander, I will take you to the helm," said Steinfeldz, walking off down one of the corridors as the bridge receded and the hatch sealed itself shut. Dimly, he heard the sound of an artificial voice outside saying something about depressurising.

He followed the captain through a maze of corridors and walkways, not passing through any rooms on this seemingly roundabout way to the bridge.

Once they got to the bridge, however, he was astounded. It was a relatively large room, perhaps ten feet across and twenty long. In the centre was a command throne, set up on top of a tall platform, with other tiers of stations moving down from it, and more tiers ringed the walls. Most of these stations were filled with ratings, dressed in similar uniforms to the four officers but not quite as fancy. As soon as they were inside, the warrant officer spoke up in a loud, firm voice. "Officers on deck!" she called, glaring at the ratings that had gone to attention - only the ones who were standing up, of course, the ones at their stations continued their work.

"As you were, as you were." Steinfeldz waved a hand idly, and ascended the tiers to the command throne and sat in it, calling out to one of the ratings towards the front of the room, set into an alcove apart from the rest of the stations, no doubt the pilot. "How's she doing, Karl?"

"Well enough, Captain. Engines look fine, weapons can be cycled up at any moment... Yeah, she looks great. Permission to get the hell out of here, sir?"

"Granted, take us out."

"Aye-aye, Captain." At these words, he began working immediately, and the ship moved downwards, and through the great hatches in the bottom of the hangar, and out into open space.

"Get us to the nearest jump-lane, Karl."

"Gamma three?"

"Yes, if that's the closest."

"Headed there now, Captain."

The ship sped up almost imperceptibly, no doubt headed towards this jump-lane, though where they were headed after was still unknown to him. He brought this up to Steinfeldz, who replied promptly. "We are headed to the planet Gaelana, to pick up the Shock-Troops."

"Ah."

So they were headed to pick up the 124th, then. Well, that made sense. Bringing another ship here and unloading them to just send them off in another ship was just a waste of resources. "Where is Gaelana, and what kind of world is it?"

"It's located in the Janii System, and it's a... vacation world. That and a residential world. It's quite a paradise."

"Oh? And why is the one-twenty-fourth there, exactly?"

"Well, they're there to recover from the losses in the Daelan campaign. A few thousand men died there, Commander."

"I see, Captain. So we're going to pick up fourth, sixth, and eighth companies, yes?"

"Yes, Commander. Talon, Fire, and Shadow Companies. The best of the regiment."

"Right. I'll be exploring the rest of the ship. Does anyone care to be my guide?"

"I'll take you around, sir." That was Hunt, the Master of Arms.

"Good."

"Let's head out, then, Commander," Hunt said, leading Falinx out through the door.

"Yes, let's."