Memory transcription subject: First Lieutenant James Holiday, United States Space Force

Date [standardized human time]: July 15th, 2136.

Sunlight crept over the Florida coast as day began to break. Waves crashed against the early morning beach while a soft sea breeze rustled the grasses sprouting from the sand dunes. Days like these were commonplace at Patrick Space Force Base, but I wasn’t complaining.

My lungs burned with the exertion of my daily jog up and down the thin strip of barrier island. Sweat ran down my face and into the short brown scruff I had been neglecting to shave off my jawline. I considered stopping to empty the egregious collection of sand I had been kicking up into my sneakers, but I was determined to beat my personal best for my three mile route.

It was easy to let my mind wander; in fact, I often used this time to think and prepare for the day ahead. Things had been slow around the base the last couple of days; we were at the end of a long training cycle and had been granted a week of leave to rest and recuperate now that we were back planetside. As much as I enjoyed space, the feeling of solid ground underfoot was nothing short of bliss- I imagined the rest of my team shared the sentiment. Despite what should have made for a perfect morning, I couldn’t shake the thoughts about what happened to Captain Finch.

Captain Finch was the commanding officer of my unit, Interstellar Response Team Four. He was my mentor, and the reason IRT-4 was the best in the service. Finch came up with the last of the veterans of the Satellite Wars and helped found the fledgling special operations tasked with space station, ship, and stellar assault. He represented the best among us and I was proud to serve alongside him. However, just days into our most recent training sortie, the worst case scenario unfolded.

The Captain was demonstrating what we called a “lock jump”; a maneuver designed to retrieve a man stuck in vacuum around a space station. Under normal circumstances the operator tethers themself to the anchor points inside the airlock and then cycles the system. They can then push out and recover the adrift personnel and reseal the lock.

Midway through the demo the airlock underwent an unexpected outer door breach. The contents of the airlock, Captain Finch included, were sucked out into the void. Luckily he was already tethered, but his helmet wasn’t locked in and was torn off his head. It took us close to ten minutes to retrieve him via a secondary airlock.

I bounded down the last stretch of beach with a burst of energy brought on by the sight of my finish line. My feet crossed the threshold separating sand from the sidewalk and I quickly stopped the timer on my watch. I breathed in controlled puffs, trying to bring my heart rate and rushing blood back to their usual baseline. I pushed the worry over my commander aside and glanced at my watch, finding my three mile time just under twenty minutes. A half smile crossed my lips, not a bad time after two months in high orbit.

My slightly recovered spirit was snuffed out as a message scrawled itself out over top of my run time. An urgent recall request, summoning myself and the rest of the Delta back to service. I swore aloud at the remaining three days of my leave being snatched out from under me and kicked a swath of sand up into the air. What could possibly be important enough that they would call us back up during a mandatory leave? The embittered part of my brain told me the command was screwing with us for fun. Meanwhile, the pragmatist in me was terrified the message was the first sign that we were back at war.

I made my way up the lawn and through the doors of Patrick SFB. I walked with a brisk pace, considering what I could get done with my hour of recall time. Each passing step took me further into the base toward the high-end barracks reserved for Officers. Every wall of the Officer’s common quarters were covered in accolades and recognitions from over the years.

Patrick Space Force Base was renowned for developing the United States’ assortment of space-faring tactical teams and programs. In the years following the Satellite Wars, efforts were redoubled to ensure we were ready for the next one. Everything from cyberwarfare to boots on the space station dynamic entry had been formed and perfected, including the coveted Interstellar Response Team Four.

Autopilot kicked in as I showered and shaved. Our unit was given relaxed grooming standards on account of our specialized tasking, but I still preferred the professional look of a fresh shave. I plucked a clean uniform off the hanger and dressed quickly before heading down the hall toward the team rooms assigned to the IRTs. I nearly crashed into Samuel Ransom, who was hurriedly buttoning his field jacket while briskly jogging the same direction as me. Sergeant Ransom shot me a surprised look and skidded to a halt.

“Lieutenant.” he said with a short nod, “Seen the rest of the guys yet?”

“Nope. I was hoping they’d be in the bay. I take it you haven’t seen them either.”

“Hell no, it was hard enough getting back here myself. I ain’t looked for nobody.”

“What would I ever do without your unshakeable accountability for the men, Ransom?”

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“Figure you’d have to guess where they are yourself.”

Ransom pushed open the door for me and I stepped inside. Sitting in one of the chairs in the communal area was an extremely hungover looking Richard Tiller. He had one foot upon the coffee table and his forehead was buried in his left hand, propping up his head. A set of dark sunglasses covered his surely bloodshot eyes.

“You look like shit.” Ransom commented.

“Fuck off.” groaned Specialist Tiller in response.

Tiller was our designated Team pilot. I took over the role of copilot, but I was barely necessary when Tiller was behind the sticks. The kid could fly a school bus if it had a set of ion thrusters duct taped to it and I had more than one time seen him pull off maneuvers that would make other pilots shit their pants. For all his flight skills, his close combat couldn’t be discounted either; he could hold his own against men twice his size. He let out a sick grumble of disgust and lazily rolled his head up out of his hand.

“Just my luck I’d drink myself half to death and then the Space Force would recall us. You got any idea what we’re doing here, Lt?”

I shrugged my shoulders as casually as I could, “Maybe they’re going to give us all a raise.”

“Fat fucking chance.” came a deep voice from the doorway.

I turned in time to see the last member of the team arrive. John Lewiston was carefully stepping through the door of the bay. He had to duck just slightly to make it through a normal door, the behemoth of a man was the heart and soul of our dynamic breaching methods. Wherever there was a locked door or a solid wall you could trust John to create a convenient opening. I thanked the Lord every day that Lewiston was on my IRT; my heart sank at the prospect of going toe to toe with him even on a simulated battlefield.

Lewiston nodded at the three of us, “Gang’s all here, huh?”

“Seems so. Collect frat boy here and we’ll head down to the assembly.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

Lewiston closed the gap on Tiller with speed unexpected of such a large man. Before Tiller could react, Lewiston had grabbed him by the uniform collar with one hand and lifted him out of his chair. Tiller flailed with indignation while Ransom suppressed an amused chuckle.

“Dammit, John! Put me down!”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please put me the fuck down, John.”

He shrugged and dropped Tiller onto his feet. The smaller man huffed and jerked his uniform back into place, smoothing the folds back where they belonged. He took off his sunglasses and stowed them in his pocket, wincing at the bright light pouring through the windows of the bay.

“Let’s go, I guess.” he said while leading the way out of our Team quarters.

As we strolled toward the assembly hall the rest of Patrick SFB began to turn up and rumors started to fly. The majority consensus was that someone earned a promotion during training and the brass wanted it pushed through before it was time to return to normal duty. A smaller subset agreed with my own angle, that we were recalled in an effort to antagonize us. Still, the unease that something horrific had happened, and all of our lives were about to change, caused a palpable tension in the air.

The members of the Fourth Interstellar Response Team fell into formation with the other regiments and units in the assembly hall. I faced my men and tried to put on my best military bearing, despite the unknown situation and our lack of a Captain, hoping my own anxiety wasn’t evident to the people who entrusted me with their lives and who I fought side by side with.

“Delta! ‘Ten-hut!”

Every man and woman snapped to attention at the order as Colonel West strode out onto the stage at the front of the assembly hall. He approached the podium, placing his hands on the surface and taking up a dignified posture. His eyes scanned the room, examining his people with respect.

“At ease.” he announced into the microphone before him, allowing the Delta to relax. He allowed a short pause, and then continued, “I can not express enough my gratitude and my pride at what this Delta represents, and what you have achieved. It pains me to cut short your much needed and well-earned rest and recovery, but there is an urgent matter that must be attended to.”

A breath hitched in my chest and I found myself unable to exhale. Anxious thoughts swirled in my mind at the possibilities and I felt my heart rate climbing in anticipation. A clammy sweat wetted my interlocked hands and I clenched a fist in an effort to steel my nerves.

“I have been advised by the Secretary-General of the United Nations that a development of the utmost severity and importance has emerged. A development signaling change for all of humankind, that will have far-reaching and permanent effects.”

Here it is. This is the part where we find out we are at war again.

Colonel West allowed another pause, nodding his head in preparation for what he was about to tell us. He inhaled slowly, and made the statement that would change everything, “Guardians, the UN has confirmed, without question, we are not alone in the universe.”