Remembrance
Omicron System
13:12 SET
2214

Even after 8 years of being in commission, the Stealthlon III class USS Stealthlon-C was still a marvel to those who experienced it for their first time or for their hundredth.

The same could not be said for its commander, however.  Admiral Darryl Mansel Jr. stood in his quarters with his hands clasped behind his back.  He watched impassively as the stars streaked by; a familiar pattern he’d seen too many times in his last thirty-one years of service.

“Stars seem oddly familiar,” a voice behind him said.  Mansel turned to regard his best friend, General James Brungess Jr., whom he’d known since his days at UNSF Academy.  He and Brungess had been through thick and thin for thirty-three years; an Imperial invasion force on Gara IV; a wrecked honeymoon; a voyage to the ends of known space; the rescue of Mansel’s wife, Ontavia…the adventures scrolled on and on.

“The stars should seem familiar enough to you Brungess,” Colonel Eric Meelan said, standing on the other side of Mansel.  “The number of times we’ve passed through the Omicron System is incalculable.”

Meelan made up the third member of their group, now more brothers than friends.  Bother Brungess and Meelan were soldiers of the Earth Defense Force; they constantly ribbed Mansel for “choosing the wrong line of work,” meaning the United Nations Space Force, the galaxy’s leading space military and defensive arm of the United Nations Global Government.

Mansel was fifty-two now; Brungess and Meelan were both fifty-four with Brungess coming on fifty-five.  It was an unspoken agreement between the three of them that their time in the service was rapidly coming to a close.  None of them wanted to admit they were getting old; they were way too proud to admit that there were flaws in their grand characters.  Still, though, they knew that it was time to leave the star chasing and diving and rolling around to the young.  All three waited patiently for the other to speak.

After a time, Brungess finally sighed and turned from the passing stars that he always looked to for comfort.  “We’ve been doing this for the last thirty-one years,” he announced to no one particular.  “When does it end?”

After a brief pause, Meelan turned from the window as well, leaving only Mansel to watch the stars pass without fail.  “It never ends, James,” he said, taking a seat at the small table in the corner of Mansel’s quarters.  “As soon as we leave, there will  be more to take our place.”

“I understand that,” the EDF General replied, sitting down in a chair across the table from Meelan.  “But when?  When do we let them take our place?”

Much to everyone’s surprise, Mansel responded: “they already have.”

“So it’s as I feared,” Brungess said in a solemn tone.  “The younger generation is taking over.  We’re becoming artifacts.”

“Time for us to either take desk jobs, teaching positions, or retire,” Meelan said, looking over at Mansel.
“Some of us have already retired once.”  The Admiral only shrugged and joined them at the table.  After a few seconds he picked up the deck of cards and began shuffling.

Mansel found that he was spending less and less time on the bridge of the Stealthlon-C; there was no place for him.  Hayes had been a captain for eight years now and had been under the wing of Admiral Blackbird for countless years prior.  When it came to commanding a starship, Mansel was confident in Hayes’s abilities, sometimes even more so than Vaughn’s back when they were a team.

The same could be said for Stephen DaNastie.  He was an excellent Executive Officer and it seemed that he’d be content in doing that job until he retired.  It was blindingly apparent that the UNSF’s most revered and respected ship fell in good hands.  And it was with that knowledge he knew he could retire…again.  Thirty-one years was long enough.

Glancing over at his two best friends, he knew they were just two good reasons to stay in the service.  That’s how they viewed it-- it was all about the man beside you.  But now Brungess and Mansel had families to protect, and sometimes the cost of protecting them meant the loss of lives.

The three of them had killed before, unfortunately, and most likely would kill again before they retired.  The weight of it all sometimes taxed the three legends; the willful destruction of another human being was sometime that neither of them could bear much longer.

It was the loss of one such life that caused Mansel, Brungess, and Meelan to go back to Earth every year.  No matter what went on in the universe, time was taken out to honor the death of Admiral Beckerd A. Benson, the UNSF legend who died saving the service from a madman.  Since, Mansel had more or less taken his position as 4TH Fleet commander, with shoes to fill.

Meelan, being the closest to Mansel’s wall unit, contacted the bridge and asked from the ETA.  “Twenty-one minutes,” came the voice of Captain Hayes, commander of the elegant vessel whose name was already in the history  books.

“No sense in sitting around here waiting,” Brungess commented, getting up and smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform.  “Might as well spend some time on the bridge.”