<div>Captain Varner had gone rogue. He might beat a treason charge on a technicality, but there was no doubt that his withholding of information had cost many lives. They'd gone to the raider scrapyard under the belief that one of their command staff had defected. If Varner had been working with them this whole time, that now seemed dubious at best. Had it been a trap? Was Varner trying to kill off the defector before they could reveal more? Or, perhaps, was it something else entirely? No one knew the answer, and Varner wasn't telling. Then, as if that weren't enough, he'd turned around and tried to murder one of the pilots under his command to keep the secret. Task Force 27 was in uproar. All the higher-ups save Varner had disappeared onto the <span class="italic">Harewood</span> to hammer out a plan. On <span class="italic">Wayfarer Station</span> and her accompanying ships, rumor and speculation spread like wildfire. Officers and enlisted personnel alike chatted amongst themselves whenever they had a spare moment (or even when they didn't). Everyone was desperate for news, theories, or even speculation that would make any sense of it.</div><br/>

<div>Well, <span class="italic">almost</span> everyone. Sublieutenant Kathlie "Pholos" Kinson had been trying to eat her lunch in peace, but a team of hydroponics specialists the next table over kept catching her attention with bizarre conspiracy theories. "See, every government's got agents, right?", said the most senior - and most gregarious - of the bunch. "If the LNA built these ships - I'm not saying they <span class="italic">did,</span> just that they could have - then Varner could be theirs. It's just a theory, but <span class="italic">I</span> think it makes a ton of sense. I mean..."</div><br/>

<div>Pholos did her best to tune it out, but they were so close, and their speculation so wild, that she couldn't. Among pilots in the same squadron, the realities of high-intensity close-quarters combat meant that rank had become largely ceremonial; no one wanted anyone holding off on a threat call because they weren't sure they had the proper authority. Within the broader military, things were decidedly different. As a commissioned officer, Pholos had every right to tell them to knock it off if she so chose, and they'd have to listen. But she didn't. She wasn't that kind of person, and it would leave her in a bad mood all day. Instead, she finished off her grilled cheese sandwich and followed it with the last of the not-quite-tomato soup to take care of the chemical aftertaste, and got ready to leave.</div><br/>

<div class="hr"></div>

<div><span class="italic">Wayfarer</span>'s fighterbay was better. Off-limits to most of the station's company, it couldn't ever be crowded; right now, with no flight operations scheduled until much later, it was staffed by a single CPO - Winson, a computer systems specialist whose career Pholos had taken something of an interest in. As she approached, he stopped what he was doing to salute.</div><br/>

<div>This part would never feel normal. Pholos' job was to monitor her squadmate's fighters in battle, respond to technical issues and deliver fresh ordnance, and, occasionally, code up simple bits of automation to help with situational awareness. While she often assisted and sought the assistance of the squad's ground crews, she wasn't part of them, and she certainly hadn't done anything to deserve their respect. Why was she magically entitled to it? She knew what the Navy would say about that, of course, about duty and tradition and the chain of command; she still found the whole thing a bit silly.</div><br/>

<div>"As you were," Pholos said. That was the silliest part of all, really, the magic words that let someone stop being a statue and start being a person again. "How're our new friends?"</div><br/>

<div>Captain Varner's trip to <span class="italic">Patmos Station</span> had brought back more than reports of treason and a thousand rumors; some of the station's fighters were still in working condition, and the order had come down to integrate them into <span class="italic">Wayfarer</span>'s air wing. Before that could be done, though, they had to be scrubbed for malware, hence Winson's presence.</div><br/>

<div>"Oh, nothing to exciting," Winson said. <span class="italic">This</span> felt right - a conversation between colleagues, no formal bullshit. "Doesn't look like <span class="italic">Patmos'</span> crew was trying anything new with their computers. I should have it done by end of watch." He paused, then, and pointed at the Ulysses fighter behind him, held on a storage rack and with its cockpit ajar. "Already did that one if you want to take a look."</div><br/>

<div>"Thank you, chief." Pholos <span class="italic">did</span> want to take a look, and she scurried up the ladder with practiced ease. The Ulysses was gorgeous as fighters went, with its sweeping curves and batlike wings. The Vasudan design influence was clear, both on the outside and the inside; the reactor, while temperamental, was powerful and clean. Pholos spent some time admiring it before her gaze happened to land on the serial number, which shook her out of it. It was one of the earliest production runs, before they'd quite sorted out a feed issue in the missile pod; the upgrade to fix it was possible in the field, but getting <span class="italic">at</span> the feed meant removing the entire sensor module. She'd have to check the ship's logs to see if <span class="italic">Patmos'</span> crew had done it already; if not, the hangar crew was in for an unpleasant surprise.</div><br/>

<div>Inside the cockpit, as Pholos waited for the computer to come online, she noticed something unusual attached to the dashboard. Closer inspection revealed it to be a paper crane; it was taped in place so it wouldn't come loose during maneuvers, but it was easy enough to pop off. Unfolded, it bore a handwritten message in what looked like Korean. Pholos couldn't read it, but she didn't need to. She could so easily imagine a running joke between this ship's pilot and a comrade who happened to share a language. <span class="italic">Patmos</span> was a GTI station, and they may have been insurrectionists; even so, Pholos felt a sort of quiet affinity for them.</div><br/>

<div class="hr"></div>

<div>Several days later, as a flight to take LNA civilians to a safe zone was prepping for launch, Maverick climbed inside his Hercules for a final status check. What he saw was enough to elicit a frustrated "what the hell?"; but he was alone in the cockpit, where no one else could see, so he left the little paper decoration alone. Maybe some company would be nice.</div><br/>
