The quietness of space travel was infecting. Whatever activity the Dreadnought, Concordia GG, had before its departure had quieted down significantly. The Marines, the battleship’s crew, and any passengers settled down to a routine. A routine that would last for a long time, almost 365 standard days of travel to reach the distant Milky Way galaxy.

And as the battleship traveled the void, Concordia GG was a speck of metal, alone for thousands of astronomical units of open space before the next battleship followed in its wake. The hyperway was vacant of traffic.

Nevertheless, the shield emitters on the battleship’s bow were on. A shimmering blue light covered the tip, protecting the bridge from debris and a head-on collision that could very well wipe out the control room in a single hit.

From the inside, Amon could see none of this, only if he stared out of the reinforced viewing windows at the front of the battleship, but he wasn’t even close to being there and what was the point of staring into the unending void anyway? There was nothing to see but darkness.

He was on his way back to the cabin, thoughtfully disturbed, after the discussion with the Company Commander. Yes, all right, the Captain might have to go, and Amon dreadfully suspected who Commander Jin had in mind to do the dirty work. He hadn’t said so straightforwardly yet, and it wouldn’t be an easy task. Surveillance and security personnel wouldn't let him anywhere near the Captain.

With that thought, Amon fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes the next day, he realized that the idea was still there, bothering him at the back of his mind.

Another day started with him groggily getting up from his bunk. Tommy was still asleep above him despite the automatic ceiling lights gradually brightening the cabin. If not for them, the standard daily cycle of 24 hours would be difficult to guess without looking at a chronometer.

Yet most days Amon didn’t even need an alarm to wake up. He more often than not opened his eyes in sync with the increasing brightness and as he stood unsteadily, he started his day just right.

By waking Tommy up.

“Argh, stop that,” Tommy groaned, trying to hit the offending hand away.

“Good morning Toms, it's time for you to wake up. Let’s start the day with a smile.”

“...”

“If you don’t, you won’t have time to wash up before training,” Amon warned him.

“Uh, five more minutes,” Tommy said turning the other way and hogging the blanket.

At that moment, Tommy’s bedside alarm rang, defeating his efforts to fall back asleep. With a grumpy glare at the world around him, Tommy woke up.

Amon watched his friend’s struggle with a wide grin. There were some unexpected benefits to bunking together. It was rather amusing to watch. Where it only took him a few moments to shake the sleepiness from his system, his friend, Tommy, required a significantly lengthier amount of time, and effort.

That done, it took them only a few minutes to prepare themselves for the day. ‘Training’ was the word of the morning, so they dressed appropriately for the occasion, in training shorts and T’s numbering their A300 company in highlighted letters.

Moving out of the cabin, a splash of recycled water to the face in the shared bathrooms was all that was left to do before the training started.

It was no time for breakfast of course, since no one was hungry yet. They would eat their daily mealbars after the training finished. With the slow-digesting nutrients inside them, they were both sated until the next mealtime came about.

So they followed after other Marines moving through the battleship corridors in messy lines. The way to the closest hold where the A300 company would train was jammed with foot traffic. It was rush hour and everyone was rushing to make it there on time.

An unexpected hindrance to bunking with Tommy was that every action slowed them down a tiny bit, thieving seconds out of their morning routine and now commute.

“Excuse us. Sorry. Passing through,” Amon repeated while Tommy, walking behind him, ripped the benefits of his larger frame.

At some point, Gardenia and Ella joined them when they passed by a junction with another corridor. Ella chirped her good mornings with a smile while Gardenia waved timidly.

“Hey girls, slept well?” Tommy asked as they put themselves behind him.

“Well enough Toms, and you?”

“Not bad, Ella, not bad. The wake-up was a little…rough.” Tommy said accusingly, and Amon turned over his shoulder to look back at him with sheepy eyes.

Everyone was in a good mood, one that Amon didn’t exactly share. He needed time to think and training would somewhat help with that.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

When their little group entered the hold, it was already half full with Marines loitering in the open space set up to accommodate their daily training. Cargo containers were cleared from the center of the hold and stacked near the walls leaving an open area where everyone now waited.

Amon noted the different companies, the bright lettering spelling which was which, and the unwillingness of the wearers to mingle. Each company huddled together despite the casual atmosphere.

It was as if the Marines mirrored their Commanders. Jin Karf was there, accompanied by two other officers next to him. He stood impatiently with his hands on his back, overlooking the training area, while the other two chatted vividly.

It only took a few more minutes for the last Marines to show up, three full companies were present, and before the lot became impatient, one of the two cheerful officers came forth.

“Companies, line-up. D200 and B100 over here, A300 there. We are starting with strength training to warm up, give me 100 push-ups to start with.”

Before he realized it Amon was pumping against the hold’s floor. It wasn’t hard to keep up a steady rhythm and he was halfway done before he noticed his nearby Marines slow down. But that was expected. Amon continued without a pause and when he finished he stood up.

Commander Jin inspecting from the front looked pleased when he spotted him, giving a slight nod of approval. Amon was the first to finish and not only from the A300 company.

There were no other Genomes present in the training apart from the commanding officers and even then they were all at least second-generation Genomes. Neither was as tall or as imposing as Amon himself in that regard. He was certain he could beat them all in physical conditioning.

When the two officers of D200 and B100 noticed him, they didn’t react visibly but remained impassive. When several other Marines finished their set, the same officer called out.

“An easy warm-up. 100 squats into 50 burpees and make it fast, Marines. The company finishing last will clean the hold after training.”

As Amon started his squats, more than a few Marines still strained with the push-ups. With a similar number from each company lagging, struggling to finish an exercise to start the next, a lingering urgency in the air pushed at them. No one wanted to finish last if not for the workload of cleaning and rearranging the hold, then for the pride of it.

Marines pushed, huffed, groaned, and repeated the exercises, straining muscles and turning faces bright red. Their limbs trembled and lungs expanded to fill with adequate oxygen.

Amon finished a bit winded and felt his muscles pumping with blood at his heart’s quick rhythm. He stood silently. He was the first to finish once again.

This time Commander Jin grinned, leaving his emotions plastered on his face. The rest of the A300 with veins popping and sweat starting to form on each Marine was still pushing hard.

It seemed to Amon that it would be a close race and if there was a bet he wouldn’t know where to place it.

The officers of D200 and B100 were not smiling anymore but observed with keen interest the progress of their troops, counting. Their good cheer had gone cold. One was mindlessly tapping his foot to the floor in anticipation.

It was close. Marines stood still where they finished, and less and less moved vigorously through the exercises. Grunts and loud exhales echoed from the last few mouths.

Four left, three, five in the other companies. Then two finished at the same time. Amon counted with his optics, able to track progress without needing to do so consciously.

One left.

“D200 DONE!”

“B100”

“A3–”

Commander Jin almost called out when the last Marine from A300 stood. It was a millisecond too late. The Marine looked embarrassed and shook her head lowering her eyes.

With obvious pleasure, the officer from D200 came forth and patted Commander Jin on the shoulder.

“Next time, Commander,” he called loudly, satisfied, before facing the heaving companies, “Marines well done, endurance training! 50 laps start now!”

Amon didn’t care much for the apparent competition between the officers, losing a meaningless race did little to deter his mood. He eagerly set a comfortable pace to run around the hold.

Would he have to kill Captain Gilmorian? Was that what Commander Jin wanted him to do? Were these officers the Captain’s lackeys?

Commander Jin certainly didn’t enjoy their company. He was keeping some distance between them. And he still was unsure of the angle Jin Karf wanted him to take. He was an Andromedian, born in the heart of the House Arthas dominion, and schooled in the arts of politics and subterfuge.

Whatever was the case, he couldn’t just believe the Commander outright. It could be anything spurring the detest between the two. Rival families, economic interests, or even simply coveting the Captain’s position.

Amon wasn’t one to fall for simple words. He always did his own intelligence gathering. Thankfully now he also had the means to do so. The chip on the battleship’s mainframe would give him access to servers filled with zettabytes of stored data.

After all, during especially long voyages, one could only find so many ways to entertain oneself. The Spacenet servers had offline storage capabilities and were ready for him to dig through them. Not for entertainment, but for information, and not the public kind.

Amon finished another lap and looked behind him, only to see pain. Or more accurately pained faces trying to keep up with the pace he set. Some had chosen to follow it despite this time the endurance training not being a ‘race’. Other Marines were sprinkled around the hold running at their chosen speeds.

He caught up to Ella in the next round. It wasn’t the first time.

“On your right,” Amon called passing her with ease.

“Oh, damn you!” She shouted between breaths. “Hey Gardenia, trip him for me will you?” Ella called out to the woman in front of her.

“On your right.”

“Heard you, Sergeant. No need to rub it in,” Gardenia huffed and rolled her eyes. Her cheeks were puffy and red from the strain. “How many more laps do we have?”

“8 for me left, I believe it's less than 20 for you,” Amon told her. He had pushed himself quite hard on the last laps.

“Oh, t-that’s terrible.”

“See you in a couple of laps,” Amon teased her and was off.

—-

Captain Gilmorian Rhen had his legs comfortably set up on a table. The military boots displayed to his audience of four were pristine, and a little comfort to the table’s owner who would surely clean the table's surface after the meeting.

“So how are the SFC Marines fairing? Any up to Dominion standards?” Captain Gilmorian asked the three officers standing at rest before him.

“They are well trained, Captain, Sir. I would not dare suggest they are equal, but close enough.” One of the Commanding officers offered.

And it was true. The SFC for all its remote operating location was well equipped and had well-trained troops never mind their origins. How else could it be able to raid Helion Syndicate vessels?

The Captain nodded at that but turned to his right, waiting. The woman sitting beside him was no SFC officer. It was obvious from the clothes she wore she was nothing but a civilian.

Or was she? A blaster hung from the belt of her durable working pants, and a sleeveless top revealed an outline of leather straps around her shoulders.

“They will do just fine, Captain. I believe Concordia GG will be enough to serve our objectives. Have her reenter realspace further out than the rendezvous point. We don’t want to be caught up with the warm welcome awaiting the rest of the fleet.” She spoke with an emotionless conviction that had the three officers restlessly avoiding direct eye contact.

“Fine, fine, I know that,” Gilmorian Rhen replied annoyed.

The woman paused narrowing her eyes. “You have your legs up, haven’t you? You better straighten up when you are talking with me, Captain. You are not my only option.”

“Hah, don’t mind my manners when you are so far away, Lady Lorenna,” Gilmorian replied swiping at her form. His hand passed through Lorenna’s body, wabbling her projected image.

“Stop the childish behavior, Captain,” Lady Lorenna retorted in a serious tone, “You have your orders, now act the part.”

“Aye, aye Captain, will do just so,” Gilmorian said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We will all do our part.”