Welcome to the Journal of Now and Forever. This Journal is a collection of my Star Control and Star Control 2 fiction. Note: Some of this material is, by necessity, extrapolation from the slim information provided by canon sources.

New fiction is posted first at My Livejournal before it appears here. This story is in response to 15 Minute Ficlets' Challenge #59.

Otto knew what they thought; he would never replace their previous pilot. And it is true.

The Revanche is long gone now. His old crew were respectfully buried in Eta Vulpeculae 2's soil, near Skyhook, the only ground community most of them ever saw, by choice. It was a quiet ceremony, no less because he was the only survivor there, and the Revanche crew were close-knit, nearly a family unit, although not a standard one by Earthling standards, Otto supposed.

It was still hard to think of them as gone. That he wouldn't see them again. He knew he hadn't really grieved yet. It would come, the doctors had assured him. Losing an entire crew around one naturally resulted in trauma of some kind.

But once his physical wounds had healed, he was assigned to a new ship. He had to be. The Ur-Quan Masters did not tolerate disobedience, and the Androsynth must do their part in the war against the Alliance of Free Stars. Otto was, by some hearsay, the best pilot the Androsynth had – unless there was a good reason to keep him groundbound, he had to return to the stars.

He wanted to return, anyway. It felt too strange on the surface now, after twenty years in space. He was the exception, he knew – most spacers spent some time on EV2 every year, for reasons ranging from wanting a holiday to fulfilling other requirements. Otto never had. Space was his home now; EV2 was simply where the orders and supplies came from. At least the ships had had artificial gravity from the earliest days; the planners knew they had to keep long-term spacers able to return to the planet if need be, without gravity crushing them after years of weightlessness.

Still, Otto's steps felt heavy as he walked down the docking arm to the station for his new assignment, a heaviness in no way associated with the half-empty duffel over his shoulder, filled with his worldly possessions. A new crew, another family unit, so to speak, and he was the interloper, replacing their pilot. He knew how the Revanche crew would feel if someone new came into their midst. No overt hostility – pilots are valued, good pilots treasured – but they'd be aloof, waiting for the new one to prove himself.

Nichevo. It can't be helped.

Otto didn't know who might be in the new crew, if he would know any of them; it wasn't as important as returning to the controls and showing his competency. He reached the appropriate docking station, and through the airlock, cycled himself into the ship.

This crew had named their ship Partisan.

Comments? Email me: laridian at aol dot com