The clock set in the wall read 07:00. Julian didn't believe it.

Lack of belief didn't stop the alarm from going off, however. It likwise couldn't stop the tinny, electronic "beep" from somehow piercing the thick memory-foam pillow that he had clamped tightly over his head to stifle the noise even at the risk of smothering himself. Still, Julian did his best to pretend that the noise didn't exist, at least until he felt sharp fingernails dig into his back.

"All right, Goddammit, I'll turn it off." With a groan he heaved himself out of bed and staggered through the darkness, guided by the ghostly green light of the clock numerals. He hit the "alarm off" button with enough force to make the bulkhead rattle, and was instantly blinded as the cabin lights automatically turned on.

Cursing, Julian rubbed at his eyes. He'd heard on newer ships the cabin lights were set to resemble the spectrum of sunrise, but the Gordan P. Thomas was anything but a new ship. Hell, he ought to be glad the lights turned on at all. The filaments had to be older than he was.

"Don't just stand there," said an irritated female voice. "Turn the lights off."

Julian took his hands from his eyes to see a pair of large brown eyes peeking out from the blankets and staring accusingly at him. "All right, Christ, I'm doing it." He slid a finger down a touch bar on the cabin control and the light dimmed, but didn't turn off. It wouldn't either, until the ship's computers decided it was nighttime again.

That done, he made his way back to the bunk, cursing softly as he tripped over a discarded shoe, and slipped back under the covers.

"Hey, quit hogging all the blankets!" The brown eyes were staring at him again, their long lashes visible this close up.

Julian closed his eyes and let his head sink slowly back into the foam pillow. "I am not. Quit whining, or I'll-" His eyes snapped open. "Holy shit, Oh my God your feet are cold! Christ, get away from me!" He rolled over, ceding most of the cover. "All right, jeez, take them!"

The brown eyes moved out from under the covers, becoming part of a sharply pretty face framed by a chaotic mess of black curls. "I win," said Karen, sticking her tongue out.

"Good for you," Julian replied, swinging himself up into a sitting position, his legs dangling off the edge of the bunk. He'd been up less than five minutes and Karen was already annoying him. He'd met her back on Doria, where he'd joined up with the Gordan P. Thomas. Spending the next two hundred and eighty days trapped in space aboard a rusty piece of floating space trash had seemed a fair approximation of a living hell to him, and so in a kind of desperate insanity he'd offered Karen, who'd been tending a bar in the base officer's club, a berth and a paycheck if she came with. According to the ship's records she was a civilian contractor on board to update software, but in the twenty days since they'd shipped out she'd yet to touch a computer and Julian was already wondering if he'd made a mistake.

He felt warm arms wrap themselves around his waist and pull him back onto the bed. "Where you going, huh?" Karen asked.

"I got watch in forty minutes," he explained, "I gotta take a shower, shave, get dressed, brew myself some coffee, and then grab some breakfast at the galley. I can't just lie in bed all day." He paused, waiting to see Karen's reaction. She had a fiery temper, and it took next to nothing to set her off. Sometimes he thought she all their time arguing or fucking.

Instead, Karen smiled, running her hand down his chest. "It's not going to take that long for you to do all that. You got time."

Julian let his hand rest on her hip. "And what do you think we got time to do?"

Her smile was positively predatory. "I think you know."

And he did. There were definitely worse ways to wake up.

While the rest of the NRS Courageous' crew scurried about, showering, dressing, and trooping down to their assigned messes, Widowmaker Squadron slumbered on in their private quarters, located one floor up and directly above the hangar that housed their planes. In a pinch, they could be suited up and in their planes inside ten minutes. The 7:00 alarm and automatic lights that greeted every other one of their shipmates, failed to reach them. An enterprising Widowmaker had spliced the wires, so that while the electric signaled traveled into their quarters, it never reached the alarm or the lights. Still, Flak Murray knew it was time to get up: they were coming out of the wormhole, which meant the three flights would begin alternating eight-hour patrol shifts in their F212 fighters, screening the fleet.

Flak stumbled out of bed, hungover and bleary-eyed from the hooch he had slammed down the night before. His bladder was swollen up like a two-ton rail gun projectile. He flicked his flashlight on and started for the head. His wingman, lying in the floor, cursed him for turning the light on. Flak, never in a very good mood until after he'd been to the head, kicked him none-too-gently in the ribs and continued on.

He grunted and smiled. Hope the old man doesn't come down here, he thought, his grin widening. The fighter jocks loved to piss off the Navy hardassesThe dormitory looked like hell. In fact, it looked like it could have been some artist's modern-art impression of hell. They had really tied it on the night before, and it showed. Men (the squadron was primarily male; most women were too sane to volunteer for the fighter corps) were stretched out in their bunks, sprawled in the floor where they had dropped, and the third flight leader was collapsed in the bathroom, his head resting on the rim of the toilet. If you were a Widowmaker, this was par for the course.

During the long days spent in the wormholes, the fighter jocks really had nothing to do. They rose late, skipped line in the galley, ate obscene amounts, worked out, ran flight sims for a few hours, then started to drink and harrass the ship's female crewmembers. It was a good life, one any naval crewman would have given his left nut for, except for that little matter of, if the fleet ran into anything nasty, having to suit up in a pressurized flightsuit, get in a soft-skinned, unshielded fighter lacking the most minimal life support, and put your ass in between the bad guys and your ships. Thankfully, the 7th Fleet rarely ran into much trouble, and Widowmaker squadron was spared the 60% casualties that most fighter squadrons suffered after each engagement.

Flak stepped past his snoring flight leader, up to a urinal, and emptied the poison from his bladder. He washed his hands, stepped back into the doorway, and threw a Talrasian Firecracker into the dormitory. The noisy little firework went off with a loud pop and a painfully bright flash of light, followed quickly by shouted curses and implications of physical deformity, sexual deviance and homosexuality directed at the thrower, his mother, his father, and any or all sisters.

"Good," Flak said with a grin. "You're awake. Now hit the showers, get dressed, police up the quarters, and head up to the galley most ricky-tick. We're out of the wormhole, and it's back to earning our pay."

Captain Racskigam of the octagonal heavy cruiser Indominable cursed his outdated warp drive when he exited to see the two larger ships already there, then recieved an order from the Commandant to report in. Why was he up so early? He was a regulation person who only loosened up when off the ship or after he'd had a few drinks. He immediately reported in that he was in position and deploying fighters, and that his weapons were primed and ready for any eventuality. He recieved a report from Engineering that the engine was malfunctioning and had to run minimum. "Dammit." He cursed under his breath. He gave the bridge to his First Mate to go to the engine room, knowing his sprecialist course in Engineering would help speed up the repairs.

((Phidius, please remember to read over the posts in the IC and whats going on in the OOC before posting. And please create a character and post it in the OOC for acceptance prior to joining an RP- the exception to this is the Multi-verse. Thank you.))

Alexis had downright screamed when the firecracker went off, but since she was in the back of the dorm, as far away from the men as she could get after one of their drinking binges, and since the firecracker was still going off, her startled cry went rather unnoticed, and she covered her ears with her hands, the question of why she was here running through her head.

Not that she didn't know or anything- she worked here after all. And there wasn't really much other place for her to work. But the people she worked with made her want to curl up in a small ball of being-downright-insane and cry.

She didn't though. She got up and made her way to the womans showers, located halfway across the ship- mostly to follow orders than to get clean, since ten minutes wasn't long enough to get clean, and dressed, and ready, offering time only really to wash the dead skin cells off her body, and not even enough time to wash her hair.

So she'd just be taking a shower after her shift was over, she'd decided, and that had an added bonus of keeping her clear of the rowdy bunch she called "comrades" out in the sky.

((Since Mikri's not here, she won't be entering for a while. <-<))

Jack had already been up for about two ours and happy slapped his mate a few times before setting off to keep this piece of shit ship together. It took about half an hour for the systems to load up so he had to find some way t become amused, so he started to pad around the engineering deck finding something to do. The engines were fine, the weapons were fine everything was fine but his stomach and left hand, he had been ill while going through the wormhole. And his hand had started to crack every time he pressured it to much. He couldn't even pick up his coffee or tea mug with a loud "CRACK!" A minute of pain and cursing and jogging all the fucking way to the med bay. It had started to feel better after he started to take pills but he still felt like shite.

Jack clicked a few buttons on the console and a small video link would appear on the captains console. "Everything checks out, nothing wrong with engines or systems but I reckon you should slow down a bit, every four hours the engines will go into overheat and we'll have to go even slower to charge them. just a suggestion captain but take no notice, with me on board it'll be fixed in no time. I just need a few more spare parts though.....Right, Petty Officer Reid report finished, cutting the comm. See you later when I have a full diagnose on everything, out." Jack clicked a button and sat back in his comfy leather chair. "Depends if this piece of shit doesen't fall apart before I can..."
Jack muttered to himself picking up his coffee being careful not to pressure his left hand.


(Right, I know you'll say how come you don't use your right hand. It's because he can't. He normally drops things in his right so uses his left for holding things and uses his right or sometimes both hands to write out his report or personal logs.)

Across the cheap laminate table of the wardroom Julian and Karen sat glaring at each other. It'd been something stupid that had set them off arguing, but these days it was always something stupid. She'd left her towel and her pajama bottoms lying on the floor outside the shower stall, he'd said something about her hanging them up this time, and maybe next time she'd also try not to drip water all over the floor, please? Things had gone downhill from there.

Julian was the first to speak. "Coffee?" he asked.

Karen stared daggers at him, but with a finger nudged her empty mug closer to him. Julian filled it from a steel thermos and then filled his own, careful not to spill a drop. He'd manage to procure a shiny new coffee machine and grinder on Doria, as well as a heavy sack of prime roasted beans. He'd be damned if he had to put up with the instant crystals the galley brewed their java out of.

The pair sipped their coffee in silence, their gazes locked coldly on one another. Julian was in khaki ODs; Karen in brown slacks and a white blouse whose short sleeves failed to cover the floral tattoos that ran down both her arms. Julian was the first to drop his gaze, down to the plate of scrambled eggs and hash browns before him. He experimentally prodded the eggs with his fork. This early into the cruise, they still had fresh eggs, but after a month or so there'd only be the powdered kind.

He chanced a glance upward, to find Karen still staring at him. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he said with a sigh. As usual, his resistance was the first to crumble. Now he could only hope she was also ready to let the whole thing go.

She wasn't. "You're sorry, huh?" Karen replied, her eyes flashing. "Sorry for going fucking crazy over nothing? That kind of sorry?"

"Christ, what the hell do you want me to say?" Julian said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "I'm sorry for getting mad when you left your shit on the floor and when you dripped water everywhere. There, I said it. Sorry!"

Karen stared at him. "You don't get it, do you? You need to lighten up, and stop freaking out over a little water, or whatever! You're like my mom, jeez!"

Julian's epxression darkened. "Hey, if you don't like being with me, find someplace to live then!" he shot back.

There was flicker of surprise in Karen's eyes, surprise and pain, before her cheeks flushed and she rose to her feet. "Maybe I will," she said, grabbing her tray.

"Shit, honey, Karen, I didn't mean it!" She ignored him as she dumped her tray by the door before leaving, brown hair bouncing.

Julian too, rose to his feet. He hoped she hadn't really meant what she just said. If there was only one prospect worse than living with Karen for another two hundred and eighty days, it was not living with her. "What're you laughing at?" he snarled at two j.g.'s sitting at the next table over. The smiles vanished from the young men's faces, and they returned to their meal. It didn't pay to mess with the X.O., not if you wanted good booze or coffee any of those other niceties Julian had for sale in a vacant cabin kept shut with a padlock.

He looked around to see if anyone else was having fun at his expense, but the wardroom was empty. It was a small blessing of the ship's shorthandedness: instead of a full complement of 32 officers and 348 enlisted men, the Gordan P. Thomas had only 143 men and 12 officers, including the captain.

Julian's watch beeped once, and he looked down to see it read 07:50. He had to be on the bridge in ten minutes. With a sigh, he picked up his tray and headed for the door.

When the day lights came on throughout the ship David had already been up for a few hours. He started his day early at 0430 ship time. An hour at the gym followed up by showering, hygene and a stop in at the hanger. Within the crew quarters David did his best to keep from bothering anyone. David watched as the firecracker was tossed into the bay and everyone began getting up. He leaned against the wall watching. He reached over and flipped on the day lights to finalize the wake up. David was new to the crew with only a month on board as a widowmaker.

The squadron headed down to the mess deck as a slaggard group. Everyone was hung over and seemed to eager to just go back to their bunks. David on the other hand was excited and slightly giddy. Although he was only flying a patrol he was excited to fly. It would only be his third flight without an instructor on board. He stepped up next to Flak. "I've checked with the crew chiefs and maintenance officer, sir." David turned to allow other sailors pass. "They got five birds ready for the flight and a spare just in case."

As the squadron entered the mess hall they saw the line for chow. They all just by passed it stepping in to get what they wanted and passing everyone standing in line. No one spoke out but there were some dirty looks. Most got returned by a condescending glance from the pilots. David sat down across from the Lieutenant Commander. "The flight path is still good. I checked with navigation they assured me that our route is clear." David looked down at his plate of french toast, eggs, and bacon. He began consuming the food listening to the stories of party.

It was about 8:20 and Jack had everything he needed and was ready to place his report to the captain. But being unable to leave the systems deck in case the whole place went to hell, once more he had to use video comms.
"Sir this is Reid again, everythings fine. I've checked life support and air it's all good. Food can last us for about two years but hoepfully we're not out here that long. Engines are fine, stabilisers are fine, the lights are fine, core power and weapon systems are fine. Everything checks out, we'll be able to drop out of the wormhole in about an hour with no repercussions and side effects. Petty officer Reid out." He clicked the off button and lay back once more in his chair. Sam Reddin approached him "You want a coffee?" Reddin asked in his Scottish accent. "Yeah go on then, I'll have a cup of tea four sugars and milk, cheers mate." Reddin smiled and walked down over to the drinks dispenser and slid in a capsule a cup of tea came out then the sugar and milk was added and he did the same again. H ewas handed a nice cuppa. "Cheers." He smiled and returned to work.

"Right on time as always, Karpov," said Harry Cho when Julian made it to the bridge, eyes flickering up to the clock above the hatchway which read 08:12.

Julian knew he was late -- he'd been caught in the shuffle as the starboard watch came on duty -- and was in no mood for the other LT's sarcasm. But he decided for the sake of harmony to ignore it. He might hate this ship and everyone on it, but he had to live with them and he had no interest in making more enemies than he had to. "That's me," he replied, "Always on the dot."

Cho chuckled. "Sure, whatever you say."

"Okay, okay, what's the news?" Julian asked, trying to get off the topic of his punctuality.

The other LT shrugged. "Nothing much. The comm and systems logs have been pretty empty. We came out of wormhole about an hour ago, but since then- hey, you got any coffee left?" Cho, who'd been on duty since 0400, stared at the thermos with tired eyes.

A moment's pause while Julian wrangled over his usual pay-to-play attitude versus maintaining harmony. Harmony won. "Sure, help yourself." He handed over the thermos,then took the clipboard with the comm and systems summaries and flipped through it. "An hour ago? Nothing from the Commodore?"

Cho shook his head. "Not a whisper." He shrugged. "Everyone's as shorthanded as we are. Sooner or later it'll-"

"Sir," called a petty officer with a headset, "Triumph's calling. It's the Commodore, sir."

Julian and Cho looked at each other. "The wheel is yours," said the other LT, saluting. Actually, the 'wheel' was the possession of a large and expensive bank of computers, but the meaning was the same.

"Right," said Julian, taking a deep breath. "Tell the Commodore the [i]Gordan P. Thomas is reported manned and ready."

"Jack, doctor, now!" Shouted one of the engineering crew waking him up from his ten minute long sleep. "Sorry, this ship is so boring...I dosed off...what about the doctor?' He asked him. "Well duh, injection. Hurry up!" He shouted back. "Oh shit!" Jack shouted sprinting across the room floor to the elevator. He quickly pressed and pressed until it opened, he climbed in and frantically pressed med bay. He arrived a few minutes later and walked into the Doc's office. "mornin' Doc." He said sitting onto the bed. "Morning, ready?" He replied. "Yup." Jack unwrapped his hand and it showed an extremely bony hand, you could see all the bone in the hand, it looked horrible, thats why he wore the bandage. The doctor insterted the needle and a green fluid flowed into his hand. He quickly wrapped it up with bandages before anybody could look at his ugly hand. The only people who had seen it unwrapped were the captain and the doctor, if anybody else saw it they would throw up.

(It's really that bad looking.)

Flak polished off his oatmeal and eggs, still considering his XO. He didn't understand the boy. Didn't drink, didn't sleep late. Still had the young man's enthusiasm. Flak had started out that way, young and full of piss and vinegar. Well, a few years in 7th Fleet solved that. Nobody made admiral, out with the Suckin' Seventh, devourer of dreams, crusher of careers, the land of mediocrity. Any fighter pilot sent out there was either too dumb for the front-line fleets, or had screwed up in some huge way. Finishing almost-last in his class had done it for him. But you didn't get dead, either, unless you screwed up, and then it was your own fault, and most everybody left you alone, which was very important to Flak. He had his own way of doing things, and didn't need any sailors interfering.

Flak glanced at his watch, knew the captain would be losing his mind over his failure to check in. Well, he'd have a patrol going out in fifteen, and then he'd go kiss some ass to keep the peace. He had a man to see on the bridge about a case of Etrus Sourmash anyway. He racked his mind, going over his mental roster of personnel. 1st Flight, his own little sub-unit, was the most experienced in the unit, as far as time-in-service went, though none of them had seen much combat, but they had gotten drunk off their asses the night before, and, judging by the wine-red eyes and staggering, were not yet over it. 3rd flight was two fliers understrength, and also drunk, so they were out too. 2nd flight, on the other hand, had two near-teetotalers in it, his XO, and Lieutenant Alexis Ferandis. They might be able to fly a straight line.

"Alright, why don't you take 2nd Flight? 5, 6, and 8? And listen, Shaw, don't be a hero, okay? I mean, you ain't gonna run into anything out there, but if you do, remember, these are thirty-year-old starfighters, not the stuff you trained on. They won't take as much stress before the wings start to warp and the fusilage cracks. Don't push them too hard, and rely on your veterans out there. Okay?"

Captain Racskigam wiped his brow of sweat after helping the engineers for awhile when his communicator started beeping. He tooked out of his pocket, saw it was the bridge, and answered it saying, "Yeah, what is it?" The weapons officer was the one who called he said, "Sir, it seems our lasers aren't operational." Bill was dumbfounded. "Repeat that, please." The weapons officer repeated his report. "Send the engineer teams to the lasers to see if they can't do anything about it, on the double."

The fleet had passed through the wormhole about ten minutes before the Shinobu made its appearance. The dull steel colored ship just kind of appearing in space 300m away from the rest of the ships in the 7th Fleet. It held it's course for a moment before the aft of the ship arched upwards sending the ship in downward turn before the blue glow of gravitic drive topsails filled the darkness of space. The ship right of righted itself, before stopping. And, For the moment thats where the Shinobu stayed. This is what anyone would have saw if awake at the moment the Shinobu dropped out of the wormhole.

On board the ship. Lieutenant Commander Hotaru Itsuki was already awake, And on the bridge. His XO waking him a half hour before hand. Everything seem to be going fine, They were still in the wormhole as Hotaru entered into the small bridge. Yet, in five minutes is when they dropped out of it, And all hell broke loose.

As soon as the Shinobu dropped out of the wormhole everything seem to be fine. Hotaru voice filled the Bridge ” I want reports on everything people, Weapons, Engi.... Ahhhh!” It was about that time when the navigation computer blew up, sending sparks into the small room. Also sending the helms man to the floor holding his arms to his face. The whole ship jerked knocking many people from their seats. Along with Hotaru himself, Yet as the CO he quickly grabbed the armrest to his chair, And pulled himself back into it. That's when he started yelling out orders again. “ Open a com to the engine rooms, Tell them all stop!” In the background he could here people moving about again trying to put out small fires, And opening the com to the engine room. That when the ship came to the stop. ”Alright people yet's, Start fixing the helm, and I still want those reports now. This ship better up, And running by 900 hundred hours.'

Hotaru stood up from his chair, and walked to the door of the bridge, The door opened slowly with a hiss. ” And, Someone see about this damn door!” He then started his walk down to the messhall. All in all the ship wasn't that bad, It was old... Older then Hotaru himself yet everything worked when you didn't turn the power on to it. At lest the few days in the wormhole had allowed the crew to do smaller things. There was new paint in 65% of the halls... That was something. A full crew of coarse would have been 150 enlisted with 20 officers, I guess things were going ok with only 85 enlisted, and 6 officers.

Entering into his office he moved to sit behind the desk... Soon his com would be flood with things to do. And, they would all hurry up to do nothing. But, intill his helm was working he couldn't move the ship. So right now all he could do was rest. Which was he was going to do till people start calling him.

"A'right try 'er now boy," the grating voice of Chief Petty Officer Dexter Griggins wafted up to a young Ensign situated in the gunner seat of one of the fore rail guns of the NRS Courageous.

"Aye sir," the Ensign replied dutifully.

"Hey I told you not ta call me sir boy! You call me that again, I'll twist off your head and switch it with your ass, now fire that gun."

"Uhh yes sir, I mean uhh Dexter."

The Ensign blanched whiter then a sheet and hurried to flick a series of switches to fire the massive rail gun. Dexter chuckled to himself, he loved to scare the young recruits, and better yet hassle his superior officers. The Ensign flicked the last switch to fire the gun, the massive turret having been facing out into space swung around wildly sending a massive charged ballistic screaming towards the NRS Triumph narrowly missing the allied ships bridge.

"TURNIPS AND HORSERADISH!! You piece of shit I'm gonna tear you to pieces!" Dexter roared slamming his torque wrench to the ground, giving the rail gun a fierce kick. The Ensign sure the Dexter was going to switch his ass with his head bolted from his seat running for the safety of his quarters. Dexter grumbling under his breath slid back under the turret to the organs of the gun. "A'right need to reverse the charge turbine and re-calibrate the piston drive...," Dexter's mumbling trailed off as he pulled himself deeper into the heart of the gun trying to find the problem.

With his orders Shaw turned to look down the table. Next to him was Lt. Gary Oldman, Widowmaker 8, of second flight. Oldman was already getting up with a disturbed look on his face. Shaw spoke up to the others. "Let's go second flight we got a patrol to run." Shaw stood up and grabbed his tray. The other four were doing the same with grunts of dissapproval.

As they dumped their wasted meals Shaw gave them their orders. "The crew chiefs have already prepped the birds and loaded our waypoint coordinates. Get up top and conduct your preflights." David had went through his preflight. He'd forgotten his helment on his bunk and headed back to the quarters.

As the elevator opened Lt. Shaw headed down the hall. Turning the corner he noticed the CO leaning angrily against the bulkhead. Rollcall, Fuck. It went through his mind immediatly. "Shi.." Shaw began to turn around when he noticed the CO's eyes fall upon him. It was too late to get away unscathed now. So instead of turning to make a run for it David daftly approached Captain Fletcher. "Morning, sir. I take it your looking for Commander Murray for morning report." Unable to let his flight commander fry he made up a bold face lie. "Well sir our comm system failed to transmit. I was sent to find you but I must've missed you when you came down this way." It was an obvious lie but Shaw hoped that the Captain wouldn't call him on it infront of enlisted personnel.

"If you'll excuse me sir I need to grab my flight helmet. We got five birds ready to take up a patrol. They're just waiting on me."

"This shud do 'er," Dexter crowed to himself pulling his now grease begrimed self out from under the gun. Limping over to the gunner's seat he flicked the a couple switches and the massive rail gun pivoted back around towards empty space away from the NRS Triumph and fired. "HAHA! You little bitch fixed ya now!" Dexter cackled and picking up the thrown torque wrench limped back towards the mess hall for some chow. Passing through the hallway where the Widowmakers were stationed Dexter passed the captain leaning against the wall obviously perturbed, "Howdy Captain, dog bite your ass? I got that fore rail gun ta work, although for how long lord only knows."