“All right, where do we stand?”

Remi glanced around the table, locking eyes first with Xuilan. Suddenly on the spot, she took a moment before answering. “We’re about three and a half light years out from New Terra,” she reported. “With a hard burn, we can be there in a few hours.”

“Any sign of the Troika?” Isi asked her.

“Not yet,” she answered, shaking her head, “but if they’re waiting for us near the system itself, we’re still too far out to spot them.”

“How close do we need to be, given our current status?” Remi inquired.

“A million kilometers? Maybe?” she shrugged. “A lot depends on how hard they’re trying to hide, and how stealthy their ships are. If they’re equipped anything like Heuristic Fealty is, then a million k is a good median.”

Satisfied, he turned his attention to his engineer. “What’s our ship status?” he quizzed her.

“She’s seen better days,” Mairead admitted. “I’ve repaired the worst of it, but the engines still aren’t running anywhere near peak efficiency. We’ve lost a good twenty-five percent of our maximum velocity, and our endurance numbers at that speed are even worse. But I figure she’ll get us to where we’re going.”

“And the simulacrum Samara left us?” he pressed.

“I’ve done everything I can to stabilize the coding,” she sighed, “but I won’t lie, it’s still buggy as hell. I assume it was a rush job, cause frankly, I expected better from her and her… friends.” Her face twisted into a grimace as she spat out the word. “It might get us through, or it might crash. We won’t know for sure until we run the program.”

“Wonderful,” Slavko grumbled, drawing the captain’s attention.

“Weapon’s status,” he snapped, briefly jolting the gunner out of his discontent.

“We lost one of the missile launchers in that last fight,” he disclosed. “We still have the others, but the damage is going to degrade our initial throw weight. If we go toe to toe with another Troika vessel, our best bet is to immediately overwhelm their defenses, assuming that’s possible. Losing the launcher makes pulling it off that much harder. And I’m afraid it gets worse,” he said unhappily.

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Remi prodded him. “Out with it.”

“It ties into what Mairead was talking about,” he explained. “If the engines are less efficient, they’ll have to draw in extra power just to keep pace. And if more energy is being allocated to propulsion, that means less is now available for weapons, especially the pulse cannon batteries. Every salvo we throw at them will pack a lot less punch.”

“How much less?” Xuilan asked apprehensively.

“It’s not an exact one-for-one ratio, but it’ll be roughly the same as the engines,” he pointed out. “The engines and weapons batteries are the two of the biggest energy hogs on the ship.”

“That’s a problem,” the captain said darkly. “If the shit hits the fan… and I think we have to accept the fact that it probably will… then we’ll need all the bang for our buck we can get.” He looked over at the Tinker. “I assume we can’t increase our energy output to compensate?”

“You assume correctly,” she agreed. “If I had the power to spare, you’d already have it.”

“That’s what I figured,” he nodded. “Which means if we can’t boost our energy output, we have to lessen the demand.” He folded his arms across his chest. “After going over the ship’s systems, I’ve decided there are two, in particular, we can do without.”

“Which systems?” Mairead demanded, looking askance.

“Whatever happens, it’ll likely happen fast,” he carefully pointed out. “Because of that, I want us suited up and ready for action before we get anywhere near New Terra. And with us in suits, that means we can take life support offline.”

The crew glanced at one another at the news. It was obvious the idea didn’t thrill them, but with them in suits, it was no more hazardous than working in vacuum. Less even, as there’d still be some residual atmosphere in the compartments, enough for emergencies at least.

Well, if they don’t like the first option, they’ll absolutely hate the second, Remi thought wryly.

“And what else?” his engineer probed.

“... Grav plating,” he told them, as the other shoe dropped.

“You want to fight this ship in Zero-G?” Slavko exclaimed. “If we get holed…”

“... and we will,” Mairead snarled. “Do you have any idea how difficult that makes repairs?”

“I believe I have some inkling,” he answered, his expression now cold and unyielding. “We only get one chance at this, which means we have to make sacrifices. The bridge crew will be strapped into their seats, which means tethers for you and Isi,” Remi revealed, giving the purser a nod before returning his attention to the engineer. “I trust that won’t be a problem?”

“No, sir,” she growled, sounding like she was chewing on broken glass.

“Excellent,” he smiled with false bonhomie. “With grav plating and life support both offline, does that give us the power we need?”

Mairead pulled out a tablet and ran the numbers. “Not a hundred percent, but it’ll get us close,” she admitted.

“Then we’ll consider the matter closed,” he announced, “though if you can squeeze a few more Megajoules from the system elsewhere, we can certainly use them.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she sighed.

“Which brings us finally to Isi,” he continued, wrapping things up. “Any issues on your end?”

“Nothing really to report,” the big man smiled. “Supply situation is good. What cargo we do have has all been secured, medical supplies are prepped, all the hatches battened down.” There were chuckles all around at that one. “Can’t think of anything else to add.”

“In that case, I’m assigned you to Mairead,” he ordered. “I have no doubt she’ll find ways to keep you busy when it all goes down.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” he acknowledged, giving the Tinker a wink. Mairead could use the help if things went sideways. “When does the party kick off?”

Remi glanced at the chronometer. “Let’s say 1500,” he decided, “six hours from now.”

“In that case, I have a request,” Isi grinned. “If between now and then, you could all go check your cabins?”

“Check our cabins for what?” Slavko asked, puzzled by the petition.

His grin grew wider. “It’s a surprise,” he told them. “Just something I’ve been working on.”

Curious looks were now being passed around the table as Xuilan glanced up at her captain. “Anything else, sir?”

“No, that’s it,” he informed them. “Meeting adjourned.”

The crew didn’t exactly bolt out of the compartment, but they were moving faster than usual, each of them heading to their quarters except for Isi. Remi had to admit he was a little curious himself. “You’re not going to tell me what the surprise is, are you?” he said in resignation.

“And ruin it?” the purser chuckled, refusing to say any more.

Shaking his head, Remi exited the compartment as well, though at a more sedate pace. He had an image to uphold, despite wondering as much as the others what Isi had cooked up for them. Arriving at his quarters, he spotted a flat rectangular box sitting on his bunk, his name and rank printed neatly on the label.

For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what it might be.

Lifting off the lid and setting it aside, he found a layer of tissue. Pulling that out as well, Remi froze as he recognized what their purser had presented them. It was suddenly difficult for him to remain standing, his knees going weak as he sat down hard beside the package.

His hands trembled as he pulled out a Terran naval uniform in black and gold, the four broad stripes of a captain embossed on its epaulets.

Isi must have liberated it from the old battleship’s stores, he realized, and as he inspected it, something caught his eye. The uniform’s shoulder patch had been altered, and now, beneath the ancient TERSPACE emblem, it read, “UES Gyrfalcon”.

UES. United Earth Ship.

Remi’s eyes misted as he crushed the ancient cloth to his chest, grateful Isi had respected their privacy as his emotions overwhelmed him. For a moment, he imagined what that life might have been, were it not for the Yīqún. Did he still command a ship in that other reality, or had fortunes of change whisked him away to take a different path?

There was no way to answer that question and wondering “What might have been?” was a fool’s errand. Besides, they had a far more important task ahead of them, one that could change the course of humanity forever. Remi stared at the uniform in his hands once more and understood its true meaning, and why Isi had chosen this moment to present them to the crew. What they were about to undertake was not merely for this crew or the Corsair clan as a whole, but for all Terrans. After everything they’d lost, all they had suffered, mankind was taking back what was rightfully theirs.

When they finally set foot on Terra Nova, it would be the children of Earth who claimed it, not a gaggle of ragged and threadbare clans… starting with representatives from the Terran Navy.

Remi honestly didn’t know what to expect as he strode down the corridor, tugging at the unfamiliar uniform. He’d spent more time than he wanted adjusting and readjusting the jacket and trousers, before spending more time fiddling with the beret that went with it. As he looked into the mirror, a stranger stared back at him; someone more experienced, more battle-hardened, more comfortable in their own skin. As odd as it was wearing the ancient attire, it also felt strangely right, here, in this moment.

As if, somehow, it was meant to be. Maybe that was a good sign.

What if I’m the only one wearing the uniform? he thought in sudden panic. He wasn’t one to concern himself with social blunders, and by long tradition, the captain was never out of fashion. If there was a conflict between his attire and the crew’s, then obviously the crew was in error, not him. He chuckled at that, finding the thought strangely comforting.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried.

“Ship’s Company, atten-shun!” Isi barked, while the others slammed their bootheels together more or less in unison. Remi came skidding to a halt, staring in amazement as the purser… bearing the stripes of a Chief Petty Officer… raised a small object to his lips and blew into it. A piercing three-tone whistle call assaulted his ears as he came to a halt, gazing in wonder at his crew.

Xuilan and Slavko both bore the rank of full lieutenant, while he’d decked Mairead out in the uniform of a lieutenant commander. It was obvious the Tinker was profoundly uncomfortable wearing the monkey suit; even as he observed them with a practiced eye, she nervously reached up and tugged at the high collar.

As the last notes of the Bosun’s pipe drifted away, Isi turned and saluted. “Captain… ship’s complement is standing by for your inspection,” he informed him.

“Very good, Chief,” he responded, the ancient forms coming back to him despite long years of disuse. Taking three steps forward, he came to a halt directly in front of Mairead, as Isi fell in at his side. Scrutinizing the engineer from head to toe, he could find no fault, not that he was actually looking for any. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn the others had rehearsed this moment for weeks, if not for their surprise at Isi’s announcement. Satisfied with the Tinker’s appearance, he did a sharp right face, took one step forward, and then performed a left face as he now confronted Xuilan.

Mirroring his movements, Isi now stood before Mairead, while he inspected his pilot. As before, there was nothing out of place, and he could only hope his own appearance reflected the effort they themselves had shown. The ancient drill was more for form than to actually find fault, and as he watched, Xuilan somehow stood a little straighter.

He turned and performed the same steps as before, arriving in front of Slavko. The gunner often appeared almost overly casual in appearance and even occasionally unkempt, but not today. He was clean-shaven, his hair neatly trimmed, his uniform immaculate. Isi’s attention to detail continued to impress and amaze him as he recognized the badges each of them wore, crossed cannons for the gunner, an old-style ship’s wheel for the pilot, and crossed missiles with the radiation symbol for the engineer. Isi himself wore the crossed docking clamps of a Bosun, while his own breast bore the gold star of command.

Damn, they looked good.

The inspection complete, he returned to his original position, while Isi took station on pace behind and to his left. “At ease,” he ordered, as the crew went to Parade Rest. Glancing over his shoulder, a small smile graced his features. “Chief Pasternak… you have outdone yourself,” he commended the purser.

“Thank you, sir,” Isi replied solemnly.

Part of him wanted to simply enjoy this moment, fearing that any words of his would only spoil something as perfect as this. But the expectant look in the crew’s eyes was more than eloquent, and a rousing speech on the eve of battle was a tradition ancient among Terrans, from long before the days of a unified Earth, Mars, and Luna.

“The Chief’s gift to all of us is especially fitting on this day,” he apprised them, “for it is on this day that we fulfill the hopes and dreams of all those who have gone before. Every Terran that prayed for a better future for their children, rides with us. Every Terran that died choking in vacuum, aboard ships pushed to their limits and beyond, they also ride with us.” His eyes grew dark and dangerous. “And every Terran who suffered at the hands of stronger, more powerful races, they too, ride with us.”

As he gazed at his crew, he watched them swell with pride, but he wasn’t finished with them yet. “Every year, at Rendezvous, as we say our farewells, we repeat the vow, ‘Next year, on New Terra’.” He paused as those words hit them hard, while Xuilan appeared to be on the verge of tears. “Not this year,” he continued, “for I give you a pledge of my own.” He took a deep breath before exclaiming, “Tomorrow… tomorrow on New Terra!”

The crew roared their approval, shouting and whistling and clapping with unabashed enthusiasm.

“All hands… to your stations!”