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The steady, clean sound of the engine, the static of chatter on the comm system, the constant blips of the sensors. Sounds that let Eddy Looper, one of the most deadly lawmen in Liberty, know it was patrol-time, sounds that made his body produce extra adrenaline, as well as other hormones, to put him on edge. His senses were heightened, each bead of sweat on his face felt as they made tracks downward.

However, despite all this, it was a rather droll and ordinary day in New York. The pirates were holed up, nursing their various wounds over drinks or counting their loot with wild eyes, the ne'er-do-wells were keeping clean, and even the Junkers were stepping lightly. Something in the air - or vacuum - smelled of events soon to come, almost seeming to precipitate a major event.

Formed on the wing of his Guardian was Joyce Gordon, Lieutenant in the Liberty Navy. Looper himself was a Lieutenant Commander, though his lack of respect for rank and discipline all but barred him from the higher ranks. He was content, at forty years of age, to be where he was. He knew of no other place that could bring him more happiness than on the front lines, protecting the liberty of Liberty and her people.

Flying along the lane from Fort Bush to Planet Manhattan, Looper and Gordon chatted amiably. The age difference, nor the fact that one day Gordon would probably outrank Looper, was no impediment to conversation. After awhile, a bond formed between wing mates, a bond forged in battle and nurtured off-duty in the bar. The words were of no importance, it was mainly to pass the time by hearing themselves talk. What would've taken minutes by trade lane took about an hour on cruise. The first topic of discussion was obviously griping, and reminiscing on what space travel must've been like before trade lanes or cruise.

As they came up to Manhattan, they both marveled at a rather new- and expensive-looking Luxury Liner idling in space just outside of orbit. Looper wondered out loud what it was, and unexpectedly he got a reply.

"That's the Volente Deo," Gordon said, matter-of-factly, "the newest Liner Orbital Spa and Cruise produced. They said it went through 8 months of upgrades and retrofitting before it actually undocked for it's maiden flight."

Looper chuckled to himself, muttering, "What fool would shell out that kinda money just for a nice cruise..." His thinking was that a fighter was good enough for flying, and any transport could be converted to the tastes of the 'refined' gentlemen. Once again, not expecting an answer, he got one.

"I heard something about someone called the 'Duke of Montgomery', or Mark Teagle, some bigwig CEO of... umm... Blackrock Holdings."

Looper almost laughed; of course Joyce would know this stuff, she was a trivia-whiz. He turned his ship, and by extension hers, and moved down the lane to West Point.

Both Guardians slowly sidled up to the docking bay of West Point, red lights, signifying their landing status, blinking. The rest of the way to West Point had been uneventful bordering on tedious, with no hostile - or friendly - contacts evident. As his ship settled into place, Looper jumped up and over, landing with both feet on the ground. Joyce dismounted her ship a tad more conservatively, opting for the ladder that allowed her to alight gracefully.

She meandered over to Looper, swaying side to side as if drunk, or as if the enjoyment of simply walking and taking in the sights of the docking bay had overloaded her sensory nerves. They both knew it was just a show, though. She pulled off her flight helmet, and a wave of silky auburn hair cascaded down her face. Looper, who had already taken his helmet off, had graying-brown hair, and a face with more than a few "fine lines".

"Hey Chief, I gotta go take care of a few things. I'll meet you at the bar, save a seat at the card game for me!" she said amiably, then swaggered off to who-knows-where.

Looper just smiled and shook his head, striking off for the bar and a frosty drink to lose the patrol in.

It was late - 2 AM Manhattan Standard Time. As such, the lights were dimmed to a semblance of night. Being a spacer was no easy job, and especially was it hard on sleeping patterns. Jet lag is nothing compared to what some pilots and crew go through, so to help things out almost everyone space-side has settled on MST (the GMT of Manhattan) to attempt to reduce this. When going planet-side it's still rough, but on stations and ships everything is the same.

All this is a roundabout way of saying the halls were darkened and for the most part empty. Which is setting up the background so you can understand what Looper saw - a man furtively hunched over a wall-mounted computer panel, trying to melt into the wall as he accessed it. At first glance, his clothes marked him as a Navy Ensign, but closer examination by Looper's trained eye caught discrepancies that amounted to full-blown suspicion.

Looper walked up behind him and said, "Whatcha doin'?" The man practically jumped out of his skin and bolted.

"Hey, stop!" shouted Looper after the receding form. He was immediately in pursuit at a dead-run. The man that was running steadily made his way to the perimeter of the station, and at the first airlock he passed he ran in. He must be insane... Looper thought.

This was reaffirmed in his mind when the light outside the thick door started flashing red, signaling the start of decompression. Looper tried to override it from the console outside, but was too slow. Soon, the light turned yellow and everything shook slightly as the air - and man - rushed out of the airlock.

What the hell...