As the shuttle came in for the final approach, Manon got up and walked to a spot just behind the pilots. She could see on the screen their new home, Korban Station. It was the closest point in Terran space to the Scretta, the people that were responsible for their arrival. Korban Station was a deep-space station. It didn’t orbit anything, it was simply adrift out in the void. The entire thing was dedicated to the Fleet, a giant military base out in the stars. She had fought with Fletcher about whether they would all go. She had been against it, wanting her child to be raised on Earth. Fletcher had fought otherwise, wanting Sara to be close to her mother in this vulnerable stage of her life. In the end, Manon didn’t have the heart to resist and had relented. Even now, Fletcher was rocking Sara gently in his arms at the back of the shuttle. The trip had been as difficult for her as it was for Manon.

When they had arrived at the landing pad, everything had seemed fine. It wasn’t until her feet first clicked on the ramp that she had frozen. She had stood like that for a while, one foot on the ramp. When Fletcher checked on her, he took in her face, the way her eyes were seeing something other than the boxy ship before them. With his spare arm, he had begun rubbing small circles on Manon’s back. This eventually brought her back. Once she was onboard, she hadn’t had another issue. The shuttle was too different from what she was used to, a thing of leisure and travel, not of war. Sara had protested with each of the rips, the violent shuddering of the craft alarming her and waking her from her slumber.

Now, the thing that they would call home loomed on the screen, displaying the flight path for the shuttle as it approached the landing bay. Manon could see two of the new Unity Class Fast Response Frigates charting lazy circles around the station. They were the culmination of a combined effort from all three members of the Unified Core, representing the peak of Terran, Xen’wa, and Corinthian design philosophies. The entire thing, produced in the Terran shipyards, favored the overall boxy form of Terran design, but had little flairs added to it from the other races. There was a lot more curvature to it, great channels running down its length where it housed the atomics. Along its edge, Manon could see a great frill that was lined with fighters, ready to go, housed in transparent domes. Large coilguns were mounted down the blunted corners of the long shaft. As it turned, she could see that the center of the ship had a massive railgun set in a spinal mount. There was a deadly elegance to it. Manon heard Fletcher step up behind her.

“Rumor has it that two of those could take out a ship like Destiny.” Manon did not welcome the thought. For a moment, her mind slipped back to how the ship had died, but a comforting hand on her shoulder stopped her from spiraling.

“Sorry.” She didn’t turn to him, opting to instead lean slightly into his side, sharing in him for a moment. He understood what she meant by that.

Korban station itself was abuzz with smaller ships. The station consisted of a large disk set in the center of a long shaft. At each end of the shaft, two gantries were nestled side by side. Terran military doctrine dictated their presence. Any and all stations should be able to autonomously support any of the ships stationed there, including critical repairs and manufacturing of damaged components. The disk itself was adorned with tiny lighting shining out of the viewports, highlighting its shape in the darkness.

“Switching to local gravity,” intoned one of the pilots. “I suggest you take your seats.” The family quickly complied, sitting down and strapping themselves in. Fletcher took the time to carefully buckle Sara into the special carrier that was strapped to the seat. A moment later, their stomachs upheaved as the pilots switched off the drive that was maintaining gravity. It didn’t last long, as they were suddenly jerked back into their seats as Korban Station’s artificial well took over. The motion was enough to cause Sara to start wailing again. Manon reached her arm over and into the carrier, letting her grab onto and play with her fingers. She always made a point to sit on the left side of her, so that whenever she did something like this, it would be her natural hand that Sara grabbed. She felt it important that she knew her mother’s actual touch, not some metallic facsimile.

When the shuttle finally touched down with a gentle thump, they waited for the small hanger to pressurize, then disembarked. As they walked across the hangar, she took in the uniforms that were around her, the crew at work. There was a comfort to it, something which part of her embraced. She was home in a way that she had never truly accepted back on Earth. As she walked, those same crew took her in. Watched her gait, took in her clothes. Unlike Fletcher, she hadn’t opted for civilian clothes. She also hadn’t quite felt right putting on her old uniform, so she had settled on a neutral gray jumpsuit. Down the sleeve, she had adorned it with her patches, those remembrances of her long service. There weren’t many, but there was one that definitely caught attention, the one that rested all the way at the top. TSS Destiny’s Spear.

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They all knew what it meant. She was a survivor. She had been there for the attack. It was a badge of honor. It was a scarlet letter. It had been an intentional choice. She didn’t want anyone to think that she was some civilian come to play games. No, she was military, through and through. She may not be Fleet anymore, but she still had her edge. She saw it in their eyes as she walked past.

They knew she was one of them.

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“Interesting choice,” came the Terrarch’s voice.

After they had disembarked, they had gone their separate ways. Fletcher went to ensure that their quarters were adequate and to begin setting them up. Manon had to report for duty. She hadn’t expected that to be in a small office with the Terrarch. She now found herself standing across a small metal desk in a room that had been converted to her purposes. The Terrarch took in her attire once more, then motioned her to sit.

As Manon did so, she took in the spare few decorations around the room. The walls were mostly barren and empty, but behind her desk, the Terrarch had two framed objects. The first Manon instantly understood, a small seashell. She assumed that the Terrarch had taken it from Corinth, a remembrance of her time there. The other was a mystery, a small white feather, tiny against the expanse of red in which it was framed. She wondered what the point of it was. Maybe it was just symbolic of the relationship between the species, the great unification that she had accomplished.

Manon sat in silence as the Terrarch flicked through a few sheets. Satisfied, she closed the folder, then handed it over to Manon. She would review it later. Before the Terrarch released it, she stared at Manon over their outstretched arms. Her eyes were deep things. Manon felt them tugging her into them, a swirl of emotions running through her body. She half expected the Terrarch to say something, but she stayed silent, just peering into her soul like that. Eventually, satisfied, the Terrarch released the folder and set it into her lap.

“I am also ordering you to visit Dr. Chalk,” she said simply. “His contact information is in the folder.” Manon raised a single eyebrow in question, but didn’t speak. Sensing the unspoken question, the Terrarch added “Your palantírs are to be reinstalled.”

The Terrarch turned down to the papers on her desk. Manon was conflicted about the news. On the one hand, it spoke volumes about the importance of the task. Unless the Terrarch had more made, there were only six sets in the galaxy, one of which rested in the Terrarch’s own head. The fact that she was having her reinstall hers signified to Manon that the mission would be of critical importance, enough so that the Terrarch was making it so that no matter where she was within the wider Terran network, she could dial in and monitor it. This caused a second thought to enter into her mind. Maybe this didn’t signify importance. Maybe this was just her way of unobtrusively keeping her eye on Manon. It wasn’t clear to her which it was.The Terrarch must have sensed the confliction in her.

“Manon, you were the first person I offered this position to. I trust you’ll be able to see it through.” Manon nodded at her. “Dismissed. Let me know if you need anything.”

The Terrarch turned back down to her papers. As far as she was concerned, Manon wasn’t even in the room anymore. She found it somewhat unnerving how completely she had dismissed her with such simple actions. Manon stood up, and walked out of the room.

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When Manon entered into the small apartment that would be their new home, Sara was kicking up a storm, screaming her displeasure with her new surroundings. Fletcher was doing what he could to calm her, but she was being a little hellion. Manon understood that. She dropped the file on top of all the boxes and walked over to gently take her. The moment Sara’s head hit the curve where her shoulder started to bend upwards to her neck, Sara started to quiet. A few moments later, the tension left the little one’s body as she started to drift her way to sleep.

Manon just turned her head towards her and took in her scent.