It was raining, and a tent was positioned over an open hole, in which a casket was being lowered down into.
Musical instruments played a sad melody. Alone, stood one man. Staring at the casket. The one man that survived. George Jameson, Lieutenant George Jameson of the Bretonian Armed Forces, to be exact. He was the navigations officer to the cruiser known simply as the Invictus. A battle hardened crew of men and women who fought countless of battles, and won nearly all of them, while still limping away intact.
Jameson sighed heavily, looking around the cemetery. Here another fallen hero joins the others for his final rest. There was no open casket ceremony for this particular casket. He let out another sigh, and dropped to his knees as the rain picked up, in remembrance of that fateful day.
Morning. Everything always happened during the morning, and he couldn't get any damn sleep the night before. He was in fact writing a story, so far the story and the plot was going quite well, many sleepless nights on the Bridge of the Invictus made his imagination run wild. Last night, he was working on the fifteenth chapter, and he was nearly done when he decided it was time to go to bed. He didn't even realize how late he stayed up. Six O'clock the time said.
He passed out in his bed, leaving the lights and everything else on. That was when the call came, the fateful call that changed his life forever. He was lucky this day, as he never woke up.
The call came, and went, and came again, and went again constantly for at least two or three hours. Finally he woke up. Then the call came once more. "Damn." He muttered out loud, rushing to get dressed in his uniform. "Come on, damn it I can't be late." He continued, scrambling to get his uniform on. The Invictus wasn't going to wait for much longer. By the time he got there they would've already had a Navigations officer present and they would leave.
That's how Commander Hans worked. You got replaced if you didn't make it for some unknown reason, and Jameson wasn't about to let someone else take his place. He loved the witty comments the Commander told, and he loved hearing the crew cheered when the battle was finished. He wanted to hear it again. The call came once more, and he grabbed his keys. Rushing out of his apartment.
Planet New London London Space Port, Four Days Earlier, 1100 Hours
The door slammed open, a few people quickly moved out of the way as Jameson stormed inside. "Watch it bloody moron!" Someone shouted, however; Jameson didn't hear it and stumbling over to a nearby counter. "Did...did.." Jameson was attempting to say something, but due to him running almost half the time, he was literally out of breath. When he finally reached the counter, he leaned on it, waiting until he caught his breath to continue.
"Did what?" the man said, causally leaning forwards, eying the soldier curiously.
"Did, the Invictus leave port?" Jameson finally managed to spit out. The man glanced down at the registry hologram that was scrolling across the desk. "Aye, the Invictus left two hours or so ago." the man replied back, looking up at Jameson once more.
"Damn it!" Jameson attempted to shout, but found himself short of breath still, so instead he slammed his hands down on the counter. "W-who was the navigations officer they assigned?"
The man looked down once more and leaned back. Apparently he was typing in something, or pulling up some data regarding the Invictus. "Howard Regis." The man said, looking up to see Jameson nodding and giving a sigh. Alright, they're in good hands, that's for sure. He thought, pushing away from the counter. "Lieutenant George Jameson, is my name. Is my Templar still docked here?"
The man sighed lightly, and glanced down once more, typing in the name. "Aye, it is Lieutenant. Feel free to proceed to dock Delta-One." The man pointed towards stairs heading up. "You can't miss it."
Jameson nodded and smiled. Soon after he was sprinting off towards the stairs shouting over his shoulder a thank you.
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