The phaserfire streams out of the utter darkness like brilliant yet deadly rays of sunlight. Screams erupt in their wake.

"Commander, under fire, under fire!" "They've got us pinned down!" "Can you see them?" "They're coming from the west, no, north!" "Aaaigh!" "Return fire, shoot to kill!" "We're sitting ducks out here!"

The leader of the squad stands up, raises a rifle, and calmly fires burst after burst of plasma at the unseen enemies in the darkness. What effect his efforts have are unseen, as the enemy attacks continue, until every member of his squad lies scattered around him. The leader glances down to his fallen comrades, and a brief irritation shows on his face. Then he looks up, to the black heavens, and speaks one word.

"Quickload."

Instantly his squadmates are alive again, on their feet, standing at the ready, as if nothing had happened. The leader stares intently into the darkness, anticipating. He does not have long to wait, for again the phaserfire begins, lighting the tiny hilltop base with destructive radiation. The screams come again, as soldier after soldier is felled by the enemies in the darkness. The leader returns fire, but again his comrades lie dead at his feet.

"Quickload." the leader says.

The situation resets, and again the leader peers off into the darkness, waiting for signs of enemy movement.

And then the woman steps out of the darkness. The squadmates take no note at her, but the leader instantly pivots to face her, barely taking a moment to aim before unleashing plasma blast after plasma blast at her. She is taken off guard, raising her hands in a helplessly brief gesture, but the weapon bursts have no effect, merely passing through her. The leader stands, puzzled.

The woman grits her teeth, and strides forward with dim purpose. "Commander Jackson Tacoman." It is a statement, not a question.

The leader, for his part, merely stares. "That's never happened before."

The woman, boots crunching on the sandy surface of the hilltop, strides up to the small lighted patch where the leader and his squadmates crouch. "Commander Tacoman. It is an honor." she says without tone or inflection.

"You're not a bot then. All right." Tacoman says, suddenly forgetting his visitor and peering off into the darkness.

"Commander Tacoman, I'm a representative of the Department of Superheroics. As we have not been able to establish communications with you, I've been sent to request--" The woman is cut off, as phaser beams once again erupt out of the night. "What now?" she asks, irritated.

Tacoman does not answer, raising his plasma rifle to his shoulder and taking aim at the unseen enemies. With a great sigh, the woman raises her hand toward the source of the simulated attacks. A bluish-white light suddenly surrounds her hand, and with a tossing motion, she sends a burst of energy rocketing away. A brilliant flash suddenly illuminates the simulated enemies in the distance, and the light winks out just as the sandy hilltop is rocked by a concussive force. There is no more fire from the attackers. The woman crosses her arms, now staring at Tacoman.

Tacoman, for his part, can only stare. "Hmm, cool." he says. And then he laughs out loud.

"Commander Tacoman, I have been sent by the Department of Superheroics to request your attention to an urgent matter." The woman gets out in one breath, while she has his attention.

Tacoman nods gravely, and speaks, again to something above his head. "Quicksave. Pause." he says. And then he seats himself at the ground, and beckons his visitor to do the same. She does, gingerly, after a glance at his now frozen simulated squadmates around them. "What's up?" Tacoman asks.

"Commander Tacoman, you were the chief design engineer on DoS project 23557, were you not?" she asks.

He nods. "Yes, the Spidermobile. That was fun for a while. I got bored with it, though."

"What?" she asks, perplexed.

"It was mostly a hobby," he says. "Um, nights and weekends. I would bang something out, and I guess the fabrication teams kept track of my notes because they would build the modules. I didn't really think they would put them into the ship, I was just trying out new stuff. Really experimental designs. I was kind of angry, because they went ahead and--"

"Commander, the Spidermobile was a top-priority project for the Department. We've been trying to reach you before the shakedown cruise, because you never submitted a final report. Are you saying that you submitted only rough designs for fabrication?" the woman asks, a growing shock showing on her face.

"Well, no, not exactly, none of them were rough." Tacoman insists, brushing particles of sand off his trousers. "They were all really good systems, I just didn't plan to integrate them into the ship. They were new development work. I was really going to submit an entire design for the ship, but the teams went ahead and took my--"

The woman rocks back on her heels, stunned. "A 74.7 million credit project," she breathes.

Tacoman lies a comforting hand on her arm. "You know what? I'm confident in the Spidermobile. I'm just positive all the systems will work, maybe with just a little shakeup work."

The visitor shakes her head, shaking his hand away as well. "My visit here is apparently entirely justified. Commander, I'm going to need you to return with me to Terra immediately. If there's going to be any problems before the shakedown cruise, you--"

Tacoman frowns. "Oh, sorry, no. I'm awfully busy here, I paid for an entire month of simulations. Maybe in May I'll take a shuttle back and see how things have gone, but I just can't get away before that."

Determined now, the visitor grates out every word. "Commander Tacoman, you are ordered to return to Earth with me. If you do not, I will have you taken into custody."

Tacoman laughs. "I don't think I'd fit."

The visitor simply stares, uncomphrehending. Tacoman stands, dropping his holographic rifle to the ground. "Come on, let's take a walk." he says, taking a small control from his pocket. A crack of light suddenly appears on the horizon, blindingly bright to the two human's night-sensitive eyes. The light continues to pour in as the dome covering the simulation room lifts itself, leaving just a patch of sand not much larger than the area where Tacoman's squad had stood, sitting amongst dozens of similar closed domes in a massive werehouse-like structure. Tacoman points at the small protrusions covering the inner surface of the dome as it moves aside, allowing the humans to depart. "Hologram emitters. State of the art. We've come real far in the last thirty years."

Out in the corridor, the visitor steers Tacoman towards the colony's docking bays with a not-so-gentle tug to the arm. The commander good-naturedly complies.

"Commander," the visitor said, "The DoS has indicated we have very little time to lose in compiling this team. The existing powered groups are being stretched very thin, since the DoS's mandate was expanded to include territory outside the Terran-colonized systems."

Tacoman shrugs. "I don't know why I'd need to be part of this new team. I'm a design engineer, not a superhero."

"You are a powered, Commander, and your service to the DoS includes..."The visitor is interrupted.

"I don't really consider myself a powered, you know." Tacoman says.

The visitor lets her exasperation touch her voice. "You do have abilities, and experience, do you not?"

"A bit... mostly covering inter-colony shipments, food supplies and things," Tacoman replies, "'Tacoman, Protector of Food' I was called." He laughs out loud, again.

"I expect you'll have had quite a lot of combat practice here, though..."

"This isn't practise," Tacoman says, "It's just some fun. Visitors use the facilities to reenact famous scenarios, battles. They can fight each other, match wits and skills."

"Yes...you were on the one-player version."

Tacoman thinks for a while. "Come to think of it, I believe I will accompany you to Earth. Unfinished business there."

The visitor is taken a little aback. This Tacoman seems to be incredibly stubborn, among other things, and she had already begun to prepare for a long period of persuasion. His sudden, almost non-sequiteurish acceptance surprised her. She was seriously beginning to rethink her coming duty as his commanding officer. No matter. She knows she must take advantage of the situation.

The shuttle is cramped but adequate to their needs. The visitor climbs into the command chair, relieved at being able to divert her attention away from her charge for a while. As she enters in the power-up sequences, she idly mutters what she had been thinking. "You're going to need to get out into the real galaxy anyway. Simulations are dangerous to your health. They make you go crazy."

Tacoman smiles. "That's what they say, but do you believe them?" He laughs. "I've spent hours in there, and I'm still sane. I think. And I spent all the time designing the Spidermobile on one of those fabrication programs. That way I could see what it was going to look like. Clever, eh? I can never get the hang of pencil-and-paper diagrams."

At the unfamiliar term, Frangelica looks over her shoulder at Tacoman. Pencil and paper...?

"You must be joking!" Steven Milkshake, Commander, Terran Marine
Corps, rocked back in his seat, shocked.

General Moore just looked flatly at him. "Those are your orders,
Commander. You are to report to Dock 48, New Atlantis Shipyards at
precisely 1830. Is that clear?" The general's tone made it apparent
that it had better be.

The general's door hissed open and Milkshake stormed out, fuming. All
his hopes, dashed in an instant. Here he was, 72 hours after returning
from one of the most daring, dangerous, costly and yet successful Black
Ops missions in Marine Corps history, fully expecting at least a minor
medal and command of another heavy intrusion team, and he was being
shipped out to the depths of space, light-years away from the
O'kakian front, to baby-sit a bunch of pompous...arrogant...POWEREDS!

As he passed by a viewport, he glanced out at the bright noon sky over
Anchorage. Somewhere out there, High Warlord O'kak's mobile command
base was in smoking, molten ruins. Most likely Navy gun ships were
carefully scanning every inch of the hemisphere on which
the HQ was based, looking for survivors and stragglers, ready to frag
anything with a hint of green skin. Because Milkshake had led a team
way, way, way beyond enemy lines to set a trap that had been eighteen
months in the making. And because of that mission, three men and
two women were not now back on Earth, enjoying a well-deserved leave
with their families, but lying dead amongst the ruins of O'kakian
military structures.

---

The transporter beam faded, and Milkshake stepped out into the main
observation deck of New Atlantis Shipyards. He had guessed his
new posting would be at a berth far removed from the
heavily-trafficked areas, but one glance at a gleaming white hulk
right in the center of the bay proved him wrong.

T.S.V. Spidermobile, it said. Registration LFT-4247. Bar none, the
stupidest name for a starship he had ever heard. It was rumored
that the name had come from the ship's designer, an eccentric powered
with a penchant for whimsy. Once again, Milkshake's expression and
disposition turned black with the remembrance of whom he would be
serving with.

Powereds had long been the butt of jokes in the Terran Military. By
definition, any human or colonial human who exhibited superhuman
abilities past a certain point and who wished to serve were not
allowed to serve in the Terran armed forces, but instead routed to
a paramilitary group overseen by the Department of Superheroics. The
upper brass of the military and the desk-bound high muckety-mucks in
the DoS had a perverse friendship that was most certainly not shared
by many of lower rank in the military. When a particularly difficult
situation came up, more often than not a team of powereds was sent
in, with a detachment of regular Navy, Army or Marines standing by
in case of 'unforeseen resistance'. Their actual use happened so
little as to be beneath discussion. And so it was, that the beloved
poweredsof the DoS were so often the ones to beat the alien resistance
cell, to get on the evening news, and to sign endorsement deals, which
was of course forbidden to military personnel. And the military was
saved for cleanup duty and mucking out latrines in Sirius and Vega
while 'keeping vigilant for unknown threats'. The night before Mission
Hour Zero, Milkshake and his comrades had huddled over a small
fusion-lantern in a dank O'kakian cave, singing all the old songs
and telling all the old jokes, most about powereds, and relishing
the fact that they were going to prove themselves. Normal humans,
taking on one of the most dangerous jobs of all. Milkshake had played
a very large part in that. Politics had not left the military
untouched, and Milkshake found himself to be an adept player of the
games. Favors called in here, pressure applied there, and a purely
human Marine Team was assigned to take out one of the most dangerous
threats to Earth that existed.

Well, Milkshake thought, they had done it. And now the sole survivor
of that team is now Military Attaché to DoS Group 22. Code name
LICC. Milkshake didn't know what the acronym stood for.

There was one thing he couldn't fault his new assignment for, he
discovered. The ship was beautiful. Top of the line, the most advanced
systems ever put in a star-faring vehicle. The shields were well nigh
impenetrable and the weapons would give a Navy Heavy Cruiser a run
for its money. There was even a combination shuttle/fighter bay, but
for the moment that was unoccupied. Something about the fighters not
arriving from Guadalcanal Base until Tues--

"You like her? Made her myself." A slightly nasal voice piped up
behind Milkshake. He slowly turned on his heel, and found an extremely
average looking man, dressed in a yellow jumpsuit. Various shipyard
patches were thrown haphazardly on his outfit, and a handlebar
mustache jutted most distractingly from his upper lip. Milkshake
decided at first sight he didn't like this fellow.

"Hey, you're Commander Milkshake. I'm Jackson Tacoman." Tacoman
stuck out his hand, which Milkshake took. Tacoman's grip wouldn't
have crushed a goose feather.

"Pleased to meet ya." Milkshake replied, although his face hadn't
changed from the dark expression he had worn for the last hour. Careful,
he reminded himself, this guy is a powered, and even a Marine knew you
had to be a little cautious what came out of one's mouth when
conversing with a powered.

"I saw you looking at the nacelles. I'm pretty proud of those nacelles
myself. When we started fabrication of the propulsion systems, I
suddenly found out that a higher-grade plasma emitter just became
available, better than the one we were using, you know. Well,
I wouldn't stand for anything less than perfection, so I stopped all
the work until the new emitters could be ordered. Well, there were
some folks steamed over THAT, let me tell you, and when we got the
new emitters we found they wouldn't fit in the proper equipment
bays. So then I went looking--"

Milkshake forced a grin on his face as the oblivious Tacoman prattled on
about absolutely nothing for minute after endless minute. Good
god, Milkshake thought, how long can this man go on? After a while,
Milkshake started feeling a perverse sort of curiosity, wondering
if the engineer would give him the entire history of the ship's design
and construction. It was only after Tacoman began repeating a story he
had told Milkshake only minutes before, which wasn't even interesting
the first time, that Milkshake began to urgently seek escape.
Before he could flee, speak up, or clock the chattering engineer on the
jaw, powered or not, a small yet very firm hand dropped onto his
shoulder.

"MY goodness, Jackson, this is where you've been hiding our new
shipmate." A lilting female voice broke out of the constant buzz of
conversation on the observation deck. Milkshake craned his head to
take in the new arrival. A woman, in an oddly casual form of a standard
DoS costume, pure white, with a black pleather jacket portraying a
sort of rebellious appearance. She had shoulder length auburn hair,
delicate features, really quite attractive in a not-pretty but striking
sort of way. Silver eyes peered out behind dark ovoid sunglasses.
Milkshake had his hand out before the woman could.

"Captain Frangelica." He said, actually smiling.

The woman beamed back at him as she took his hand. "Commander
Milkshake. An honor. Jackson, tell me that you haven't heard
what this stout fellow's done?"

Jackson shrugged in puzzlement.

Frangelica clapped Milkshake on one armored forearm. "You're looking at
the hero of Rigel IV. Our new military attaché is responsible for
recently handing Warlord O'kak a defeat that will take years to recover
from. Milkshake here is one of the bravest soldiers our planet has
produced."

Milkshake bowed his head in an aw-shucks sort of way, mumbling humble
denials of Frangelica's glowing compliments. Jackson stared
on with wide eyes.

"As a matter of fact, Commander," Frangelica said, giving Milkshake a
sly dig in the ribs, "I think it's a crime they haven't given you the
Silver Star for that gig. And here you are, assigned to a bunch of lousy
glowboys." she continued, actually using the derogatory Marine
term for powered humans. "That changed the deal, Commander. That
mission proved how effective human teams can be at high-risk situations.
You should be back out there, on the front, or at the least in a forward
command position, not chained to a group of powereds that'll probably
now be sent to hunt stray dust particles on the edge of known space."

Milkshake could only stare at his new captain. She slyly winked at him. Jackson laughed.

If Milkshake thought the new ship was beautiful on the outside, a great
surprise lay in store for him yet. It wasn't just that the interior was
brand-new, clean and polished, but that everything from the corridors to
the lighting was perfectly and functionally designed. More than that, it
was almost luxurious. It reminded Milkshake of a ship he had toured as a
child, the Olympic, one of the old superliners that used to cruise the
Earth-Mars run. That ship had been perfectly restored to its original
elite furnishings, and the clean, retro lines of the Spidermobile was
clearly referring to the superliner, and the old days of ship design.
There were a few odd touches, however. Transmogrifier stations resided
in the middle of unused corridors, far from the high traffic areas. The
commpanels were at waist- rather than eye-level, even more poorly
placed for the unusually tall Milkshake. Power taps under transparent
shields were placed every few feet along every corridor, but on the
overhead, rather than the bulkheads where they might possibly be used.
And in the residential corridors...the deck surfacing was, instead of
the nearly flat neutrally colored functional carpeting present in most
of the ship, an extremely thick surface of very soft material that
seemed most like artificial grass. He questioned Tacoman about it,
and Tacoman had replied that it was called "shag", and he had once
seen it in some archival visuals somewhere.

"It would be difficult to clean, wouldn't it?" said Milkshake, still
staring at the very odd carpeting, which seemed to stretch out like an
African prairie down the deck.

"Well, I'd think the comfort benefits would outweigh any--" Tacoman was
interrupted by a signal from a nearby commpanel.

"Bridge to Captain," said a voice emanating from the wall-mounted
speaker. Frangelica raised a hand to Jackson and Milkshake, and pushed
the button next to the speaker.

"Frangelica here."

"Spacedock is requesting we prepare to leave as soon as the last
shuttle docks. You'd better head up here to start the procedures."

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant. On my way."

"Insane," explained Tacoman, assuming Milkshake would understand.
Milkshake didn't, but before he could ask for a satisfactory
explanation Frangelica turned to them.

"You'll be needed up on the bridge," she said, and advanced down the
corridor at a quick pace. Jackson nodded in a cavalier fashion
towards Milkshake, and they both followed.

The bridge offered no surprises other than the obvious...it was
actually normal, much like the command rooms on most starships. What
was noticeable about it, though, was how understaffed it was. Only at
the forward-facing helm at the front of the bridge, and the tactical
station above and behind the Captain's chair, were occupied: the former
by a dark-haired young man in his early twenties, the latter by a
slight, dusky-skinned fellow.

"Commander," Frangelica said, beckoning to the lad in the forward chair
just turning to face them, "Lieutenant Peter Dionysus Insane."

The boy raised a hand. "Excuse me, that's ‘Insahgn’."

"What?" Frangelica asked.

"It's spelled ‘Insane’, pronounced ‘Insaghn’." Insane explained. "It's
Scotch-Romanian."

"That's quite a combination." Milkshake remarked.

"So were my parents. Nice to meet you, Commander." And without another word, Insane turned back to his console.

"And this," said Frangelica, indicating the officer at Tactical, "is
Lieutenant Noonan, one of our tactical officers."

"Pleasure to meet you, Commander," said Noonan.

"Is this everyone?" asked Milkshake.

"We're still waiting on two more," said Frangelica, "our science and data
officers. They should be arriving soon." She turned to the helm. "Time,
Mr. ‘Insaghn’?"

"Just leaving 1710, Captain," said Insane.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Frangelica opened a channel to address the
crew. "Crew, this is Captain Frangelica. Begin departure preparations,
we leave at 1800 unless I give further notice. Captain out." She
then spoke to Milkshake. "Commander, I'll need to inspect the ship
and crew, and Tacoman, I'll need you with me, you're the only one who
seems to understand how it works. That makes you the duty officer,
Commander Milkshake. Remember, the Quartermaster is on Deck 2, we
leave at 1800. Thank you."

She and Tacoman left the bridge, giving Milkshake some time to get
acquainted with it, and think over his situation. The Captain seemed
to know what she was doing. Far more colloquial than the commanding
officers he was used to in the Marines, but that was the real trick,
wasn't it? To be confident enough in one’s command abilities not to
sound like some distant machine. That Tacoman person was just strange.
Had he been in a different situation he might have found the guy
entertaining, but entertainment was hardly what he wanted out of his
crewmates in a dangerous job. He just hoped the other two bridge
crewmembers would balance him out a bit, and bring some sanity to
the proceedings.

Milkshake slowly took the command chair, settling into it. It felt
somehow right and proper that he was here, in the hot seat, but he
shook such thoughts from his mind. Second Officer, he reminded himself.
Why the Marines would punish him like this was beyond his
comprehension. And he drifted back into his dark mood, the quiet
bridge fading from his attention.

"Digital conveyers." Frangelica shook her head as she and Tacoman left
the transportation room. "You're right, Commander, we've come awfully
far in the last thirty years."

Tacoman nodded. "They're not really rated for human travel. Something
about an odd sort of psychosis that can develop, it can do bad things
to the brain chemistry. I don't know. I've sent myself through a couple
of times, never noticed anything bad."

Frangelica stared back, apprehensively. "If you say so..."

They reached the next stop on their tour, the Medical quarters. It,
like the rest of the ship, was clean, mostly efficient looking, and
totally empty. No particularly odd design touches were apparent. "I
didn't really work too much on the Medical quarters, I used a standard
design." Tacoman admitted. Still, it seemed to Frangelica something was
missing.

"Our medical officers, I thought they'd be on board already," she
said.

Tacoman smiled. "'They' are. Computer, medical assistance." And to
Frangelica's surprise, a mechanized figure unfolded itself from the
far bulkhead. A really odd-looking robotic creature, matte black and
almost elephantine-appearing. It spoke in a toneless electronic voice.

"Ready for diagnostic." it said.

At Frangelica's odd look, Tacoman explained. "This is 3-2c.
State-of-the-art medical facilitation construct. Can perform any
procedure human doctors can with perfection, and it never sleeps."

"A Robodoc?" Frangelica asked incredulously.

Lieutenant Noonan looked up from his console and spoke, breaking
Milkshake's reverie. "Commander, the last personnel shuttle
has docked, and two officers are on their way to the bridge."

Milkshake cleared his throat, turning the chair towards the lift
doors. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said.

With that, the two newest arrivals stepped out of the lift onto
the bridge. A man and a woman, both looking in their mid-twenties,
and both in standard DoS uniform. The girl stepped forward to greet
Milkshake, her hair (and eyes, Milkshake belatedly noticed)
interestingly shimmering from bone-white to glittering gold.

"Commander Steven Milkshake. You must be our Data Officer."
Milkshake said.

"A pleasure, Commander. I'm Artsy," she said, smiling and extending
a small hand.

Milkshake took the offered hand and shakes it lightly. "Just Artsy...?"

Artsy's hair flushed orange-purple, as at the same time she appeared
embarrassed. "I don't usually go by my surname. In Terran Standard
it resembles a slightly crass word."

"Ah." Milkshake nodded. "Welcome aboard. And this..." he looked to the
newly arrived fellow who lingered not too far from the turbolift
doors. "...must be our Science Officer. Keiran Morgan, right?"

Morgan, for his part, did not even seem to meet Milkshake's eyes,
simply shyly nodding, nervously darting forward, and giving Milkshake
a handshake that would shame a dead fish. "Pleasure." he muttered.
Milkshake took in Morgan for a minute.

The man was exceptionally young for his level of expertise. Three
full doctorates, in exobiology, astrophysics, and Terran history. A
full tour on the science vessel Hawking, scraping the very edge of the
massive, turbulent Spican Abyss, collecting data that shattered all
conceived notions of quantum physics. And yet Milkshake expected more
than this nervous, almost shrinking fellow. No matter.

Milkshake cleared his throat, again. "Well, yes, then. This seems to
complete our complement. See the Quartermaster on Deck 2 for your
quarter assignments. Departure is at," Milkshake checked his chronometer,
"1800, about half an hour. Again, welcome aboard."

Artsy nodded, and left the bridge. After a moment's hesitation, Morgan
also darted into the turbolift. Milkshake glanced over at Noonan, who
merely had an amused smile on his face.

"And...the shuttle bay." Tacoman said as they entered the huge
space, the bulkheads of the hangar honeycombed with berths for
utility and fighter craft. As it was, barely any were filled. A few
shuttles rested on the deck in larger docking stations. A lanky figure
by one of the shuttles noticed their approach and jogged to meet them.

Frangelica smiled as she recognized the figure. "Cadet Rikard. Oh, I'm
sorry, Pilot Officer *Lieutenant* Rikard," she said as she extended
her hand.

The brown-haired young fellow shook it jovially. "Captain, it's fine
to see you again. I tell you, I got the shock of my life when I found
you had recommended me for this assignment."

"It's nothing you didn't deserve. Oh, this is our Chief Engineer, Commander
Tacoman," she introduced the two, who also greeted each other. "This young
fellow I found at the Naval Academy three years ago, when I was
coordinating a series of guest lectures for DoS staff. He was majoring
in actual oceanic combat tactics, if you believe that, and was on his way
to a posting on one of the few Navy sea cutters left when somebody thought
to test his space piloting. His scores were incredible, the highest anyone
had ever seen, and it turns out he's a demon when it comes to on-the-fly 3D
navigation."

Rikard hung his head, genuinely modest. "No, I tell you, I still never beat
a certain fellow in large-ship maneuvering."

Frangelica laughed. "And that fellow's now sitting up at Conn. No, Rikard
here is the best small-craft pilot on Terra, I daresay, and I brooked no
attempt to send him anywhere than to my ship."

Tacoman smiled. "You've got a pretty good assignment. How's it looking?"

The young pilot gestured over his shoulder. "Those new Z-100 shuttles
are awful nice, real top-of-the-line equipment. I can't speak as for the
small tugs and maintenance scooters, because I haven't checked them out
yet, but on the offensive side...Captain, are we expecting any more fighters
on this flight deck?"

Frangelica nodded. "We're assigned a full squadron. There's been some
problems with the delivery, though. The requisition got badly lost in network
traffic, we were supposed to receive the rest on Tuesday, but we're not sure
how far that's been pushed back."

"Well, I'll tell ya," Rikard chuckled, "When we get the rest in, I'll be a
happy man. Right over there's sitting a factory-new Matsumori F-1338
Tiger Moth. It may be a little light in the weapons department, but there
isn't a spacecraft built it can't out-fly or out-maneuver. I'm itching to
hop in there myself."

Frangelica smiled. "You'll get your chance soon enough, Lieutenant."

1757. The turbolift doors hissed open, returning Tacoman and the Captain to the bridge. All properly took their stations.

"The bridge complement is complete, I see. Welcome aboard." Frangelica said, taking the Captain's chair,
hurriedly vacated by Milkshake. "Prepare for launch."

Milkshake took a few steps to his console, which along with Artsy's data station, flank the Captain's chair on either side. Tacoman
retreats to the engineering station on the port side of the bridge, Keiran stepped to the sensor station at starboard, and Insane seated
himself at the center fore Conn station. Noonan stood at Tactical. A slight thrill ran through Milkshake as he watched the N.A.S.
workers clear the moorings and docking latches from the ship. He had never taken part in a launching before, and wondered if the
others (your new crewmates, he corrected himself) felt the same. If so, they hardly showed it, going about their duties with diligence.
Only Tacoman, he noted, watched the viewscreen as he did, an excited expression on his face.

"All moorings cleared, Captain." Artsy reported, watching status reports fill the holographic Heads-Up Display just in front of her
eyes. "We're receiving a transmission from DoS HQ."

"Patch it through." Frangelica ordered.

Milkshake had never seen the head of the Department of Superheroics, Admiral Conneston, before. A singularly stern-looking man,
his long hawkish face seemed to dominate the screen.

"Captain Frangelica," the Admiral said, "All here wish you and your crew the best of luck. Mission orders will be transmitted once
your shakedown tests are complete."

"Thank you sir." Frangelica replied.

"Conneston out." The viewscreen now displayed the huge metal-and-plastishield framework of the shipyard doors slowly opening,
revealing bright bright blue sky over New Atlantis. Milkshake realized the ship must have been repositioned to face upwards, but had
felt no sensation of movement. Suddenly he realized he had duties to fulfill in this procedure. He looked quickly down to his console.

"Power systems at one-zero-zero, Captain. No errors to report."

Insane chimed in. "Helm responding, Captain. Thrusters charged and ready."

Frangelica turned to starboard. "Engines, Mr. Tacoman?"

Tacoman was lost in his own wonderland of thought, and was jolted back to reality. "Er, warp and im-...status....all good, Captain." he
finished lamely, still trying to recognize the situation.

Frangelica shook her head imperceptibly, before issuing her first order as commander of a starship. "Mr. Insane. Thrusters at one-forth."

The gleaming starship rose effortlessly from the huge shipyards complex in the highlands of New Atlantis. Within literally seconds, they
had left the troposphere and began their climb into orbit. Milkshake quickly opened a sensor window on his console and set it for rear
view. The green subcontinent in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean was now wholly visible, and dwindled with every passing second. As
he looked forward again, the sky faded from deep blue to black, and they were in the endless night of space. A small ship came in to view
from the starboard side, the tug that had launched with them and would accompany them until the end of their shakedown tests.

Frangelica permitted herself a small smile. "Well done. Mr. Insane, sublight engines if you please. Set course for Testing Point Alpha.
Point-zero-five-cee."

".05c, aye, sir." Insane replied, typing the commands into his console. "Course laid in for Testing Point Alpha, ETA, four hours twenty-two
minutes."

Frangelica rose from her chair. "Very well. Officers, we've begun what may be a fine and promising tour of duty together. May it all go as
effortlessly as this. As it is, we have time to get settled in. Lt. Artsy, please signal Beta Shift to the bridge. You are all relieved for four hours."

"A little big and airy for a lounge, don't you think?"

"Does seem like quite a waste of space on a starship."

"Can't beat the view, though."

Milkshake, Insane, Artsy, and Rikard occupied one of the many tables in the Officer's Lounge, Deck Ten, Section Z-Forward. Being on the
very underside of the spherical, gently curving "head" section of the ship, curved windows gave a full three-hundred-sixty-degree view.

Looking aft, the Earth was already just a faint blue dot far in the distance among the barely moving stars. Sol almost glared in the port
windows, mixing the darkness of the cosmos and bright daylight in an odd way that interested Milkshake.

"Well, I guess Commander Tacoman believes in comfort. For the officers, anyway." Rikard noted.

"What do you fellows think of Commander Tacoman?" Artsy wondered over her mango cooler.

Milkshake took a quick swig of beer while thinking.

Insane chimed in. "He seems like kind of a queer duck."

Artsy raised an eyebrow.

"Seemed like a nice guy to me." Rikard observed.

With that, two pairs of inquiring brown and one pair of amused yellowish eyes fall on Milkshake, who clears his throat. "I'll let you know
once I've gotten to know him." He replied diplomatically.

Artsy half-grinned.

Insane craned his head, looking around the lounge. "Where's everyone else? We're the only ones here."

"Ah, they must be moving their belongings into their quarters. I'm guessing all of us here travel fairly light." Rikard posited. The rest nodded.

"Well, I know Dr. Morgan needed to do something with the library computers. He brought a large upload of the latest exobiology data
from the N.E.S." Insane said.

"Oh, good." Artsy replied.

Milkshake finished his beer and stood up. "Well, folks, I really should check--" and he was interrupted as the PA system chimed, and a
toneless voice spoke.

"Commander Milkshake to Captain's Ready Room, at once."

"-on the Captain. See you in a couple hours." Milkshake finished.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Milkshake ambled into the ready room.

Frangelica's expression was not terribly light. She pointed to one corner of her small office, crossing her legs
and then folding her hands in her lap in a pensive fashion.

Milkshake's gaze was directed onto what at first glance appears to be a piece of machinery. When small ports in the upper surface slide
open, revealing bright green visual elements behind, Milkshake was startled to find it resembles an electronic...creature of some sort, with
glowing eyes, a usual complement of arms and legs attached to a squat torso, and quirked up elements that resemble cat's ears.

"What is that?" Frangelica asked, her words clipped.

The creature peered at the Captain, and in a gritty mechanical voice it speaks. "I am a F.U.R.B.Y.C.W.P., ID number 8830201, Terran Marine
Corps."

Milkshake suddenly recognized the object. "Specify model." he said to the machine.

"Field/Urban Robotic Battlefield Yuma-Class Weapons Platform. Designed by Terran Army Corps of Engineers, version 7.4.2, final design
revision August, 2998." it grated out.

"You knew about this?" Frangelica asked pointedly.

Milkshake raised his hands. "Not me, Captain. I suppose the Marines felt we needed a bit of extra military support. Which is not entirely
wrong, considering the personnel loadout is a bit on the powered side..."

Frangelica motioned him to stop. "I really don't appreciate the gift. I'm sure your General had the best of intentions when he sent this
wonderfully modern piece of soulless killing technology along for the ride, but I run a slightly different ship." She sighs. "Nonetheless,
what's done is done."

The captain stood up to address the newest arrival. "FURBYC...we'll just call you FURBY. FURBY, you are to report to Deck 17,
Engineering storage. Your orders are to guard that compartment from any enemy intrusion, even to the situation of your own disabling
and/or destruction. Do you understand?"

FURBY clicked. "I understand issued orders, sir." It then raised itself up on its stubby little legs and began
to leave the room.

Frangelica smiled. "Good, enjoy collecting dust." The FURBY did not reply.

Milkshake scowled, but said nothing.

"Captain, in case this ship is ever boarded by hostiles, or--"

"Thank you, that will be all, Commander. I expect you'll learn my command style eventually." Frangelica dismissed him, instead scrolling
through a PADD on her desk.

Milkshake nodded slowly, and departed.

Milkshake travelled light. The meagre belongings he didn't keep in storage were barely more than photos and various other memorabilia.
For some reason, he thought, as he left his new quarters, a fella like him who lived such a life of such constant movement, couldn't bear to
reside without some memories to--

"On your way to the bridge, Commander?" Tacoman asked as he joined Milkshake in the hall.

"Yup." Milkshake said, falling in step with the engineer. "Um, there's something I probably should ask you. LICC...."

"Yes, I chose it. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Tacoman grinned.

"But what does it stand for? Other powered teams usually are assigned an Army or Navy-standard group designation, and I just can't
figure out---"

"League of Intergalactic Cosmic Champions." Tacoman said, than walked on, leaving Milkshake in total and surprised befuddlement.

It was time for the shakedown tests to resume. The Spidermobile had reached a point well far enough away from Terra to conduct
tests on all ships systems in safety. The tug that had escorted them now took up a position 100,000 kilometers away, ready in case
of error or emergency.

Milkshake gripped the handrests of his duty chair, hoping the movement wouldn't be noticeable. It was.

"Not used to real starships, Commander?" Frangelica said. Was she prodding him?

"Feel like I've lived most of my life on them, Captain." Milkshake managed to get out before his jaw muscles seized up as a slight shudder ran through the ship. He tried to think why now, of all times, the anxiety was coming. He almost physically dismissed the thought, and breathed in deeply. "Ah."

Tacoman swiveled in his chair to face the Captain. "We're ready for systems test number one, Captain."

Frangelica had been studying Milkshake's face intently and rather infuriatingly, but turned her attention to duty. "Proceed, Commander
Tacoman."

Tacoman nodded, and turned to his console. "Power up procedures beginning. Ops, verify green light on systems. Reactor."

Milkshake dragged his eyes down to his console. "Reactor is go."

"EPS."

"EPS, go."

"Computer."

"Computer, cores are go, buses are go, interface is go."

They ran down the comprehensive list, with occasional verifications from Insane at Conn, Noonan at Tactical and Morgan at Science. At
the end and as Tacoman prepared to begin the very long and involved propulsions tests, Milkshake sat back with a sigh of relief, and the
nagging little voice came again, unbidden.

Tacoman peered quizzically at his diagnostic readouts, clicking through one, then several more without completing the tests, raising several
warning beeps from the computers. "This isn't really necessary." Tacoman said, mostly to himself. "Let's go for the big enchilada and
work from there, save a lot of time. Powering hyperspace engines."

An almost comical effect was generated as every head on the bridge whirled about in alarm.

Frangelica. "Commander, what--"

Milkshake. "We can't just--"

Insane. "There's no coordinates in--"

With what seemed like an expression of childish glee, Tacoman hit the bright green square on the console, feeding terawatt after
terawatt to the ravenous hyperspace engines. And then the universe turned on its ear.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEwwwwwwWWWWWWWWAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

It wasn't so much a feeling of acceleration as a feeling of oh my holy what in the world is happening stop it I'm feeling oh gawd.... The air
on the bridge, normally so friendily intangible, seemed to solidify to a consistency somewhere between warm honey and diamond. Movement
slowed down to a bare crawl, and if one desired to move faster than that, say raising their hands over their head in sheer panic, a very
unpleasant tingling sensation was felt in the body, and a visible blur trail was emitted by the moving limbs. The constant lighted consoles
suddenly gave off a foggy glow that emanated inches from the displays themselves, and the overhead illumination manifested itself as a pool
of light that illuminated the ceiling to a blinding degree, while somehow leaving the rest of the room abysmally dark. Then the present crew
began to exercise their vocal cords, which were having quite a bit of difficulty adapting to the very thick air suddenly being forced past them.

The result was that normal speech and shouts came out rather disconcertingly like moans of the dead and recently resurrected and unhappy
about the whole business.

Milkshake could only really see one thing in this hellish simulacrum of reality, and that was Tacoman's beaming face, as he stared with
childlike delight at the fracturing of normality his rashness had brought about. With some surprise, Milkshake felt himself growing neither
furiously angry nor absolutely terrified, since emotion had seemed not to make the jump across the breach with them. There were some
benefits to---

And then real life returned, with absolutely no force and no jostling, but with a suddenness that nonetheless sent everyone to the floor.

Milkshake laid face up on the deckplates, greedily gulping in air like a man who had been thrown into the void of space for several
hours. Above he could see an odd brownish distressed landscape which he fancifully thought was the surface of some nearby world,
but concluded was actually the underside of Insane's chair. It took some long minutes for the Marine to collect himself, an activity he
had vowed to himself never to have to do. But as he got up, those familiar and loved emotions returning, he found out someone had beat
him to whatever notions of revenge lay half-formed in his mind.

Tacoman was pressed back against his console, an expression of mild concern on his boyish face. Standing very very close was the
good Captain herself, an expression of fury marring her quite nice features, her eyes actually GLOWING with a rather impressive
cobalt/lightning effect.

Milkshake was half out of his seat. "Captain--"

Frangelica's eyes faded as she realized the full situation, and physically shoved Tacoman away. Insane watched with open mouth, Artsy's hair and eyes were faded blue with a few thin streaks of green.

The rest of the bridge crew tried to orient themselves as they picked themselves up. "Damage report," the Captain requested
as she returned to her chair. A few seconds later the tactical officer had managed to get up and look at the display.

"Reports coming in from all sections," he said, "No visible damage."

This was some good news at least. Frangelica then asked the question they all wanted to know, "Where are we?"

Insane did a scan. "According to readings, this is the Acrux sector."

"We're on the other side of the quadrant!" Noonan observed. "With normal warp drive this would take a year's
travel. Congratulations, Commander Tacoman, you've managed to build quite a time-saver. Once you've put together a slightly
less painful time-saver, we might have reason to celebrate."

"What do we know about this region of space?" Frangelica asked, returning to the original subject and turning to the Data
Console, which Artsy was busily scrolling through.

"Not much, Captain. About 50 star systems, at least 10 populated planets... the nearest catalogued outpost being a small starbase
about 30 light-years away."

Frangelica sat heavily back in her chair. "All stations, run diagnostics. I need to know if we're in any shape to get home."

After diagnostics were complete, Frangelica ordered the resuming of the shakedown test, with no interruptions. Tacoman was unusually
quiet during this, merely fulfilling his duty. The ship was found to be in perfect order, albeit somewhat depleted of fuel due to the massive
hyperspace jump.

Milkshake, Noonan and Insane were busying themselves around the Ops station.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to know your conclusion." Frangelica announced.

Milkshake turned around. "Simply, Captain, our chances of returning safely would be a lot better if we topped up our deuterium tanks. We
can run on what we have, but there'd be no reserve in case of emergency."

"Captain," Artsy looked up from her starmaps, "There is a populated planet within impulse range. Duhise. The details are very sketchy, but
the only exploration team to visit it was able to refuel there."

"Very good. Mr. Insane, set a course." Frangelica ordered.

"Coming up on Duhise, Captain." Insane reported.

"Put us into standard orbit, Lieutenant. Artsy, hail--"

Keiran whirled about to face Frangelica. "Captain, something very large is approaching at warp."

"On screen."

It was not in fact a very large object, although it at first appeared to be. Instead, several dozen starships left warp. Within
seconds, the small fleet began firing on Duhise.

"What's going on?" Milkshake wondered aloud, "Have we dropped out of hyperspace in the middle of a war?"

"There's nothing here on that front," Artsy commented, still accessing the sector's entry in the database.

"We'd better find out. Artsy, hail one of the ships."

The Data Officer opened a frequency, which was instantly responded to. On the main screen was a view of the command bridge. All
those on the Spidermobile's own bridge were a little surprised. While all had seen creatures of many sizes, and were accustomed to the
fact that their own height was not the universal standard, few had seen a ship's bridge entirely crewed by quite...short...humanoids. But
the strangest thing was, they didn't all appear to belong to one race or species. All that they had in common was their height.

"This is Captain Frangelica of the TSV Spidermobile. What is your purpose here?"

The alien commander leaned very close. Despite his stature, his expression was very adequate to make one uncomfortable. "Leave, or be
destroyed." The transmission was cut.

"Captain!" Milkshake reported, "Several alien ships are landing on the planet."

"Captain," Keiran reported, "This planet does not have native intelligent life-forms, and is mostly occupied by separate colonies. Each
colony is under ground attack by the aliens."

Milkshake continued the report. "Scans indicate a large ground force disembarking into the cities."

"Try to contact the planet." Frangelica ordered.

"We're getting a response from the largest city, Captain." Artsy said.

A humanoid man in simple but nonetheless high-status implying clothing appeared on the main screen. Behind him was a design which
appeared to be some sort of flag or crest, and before him was a podium and a microphone. He looked shaken, as well he might, and spoke
as if he didn't have much time to spare.

"This is Captain Frangelica of the Spidermobile, an Terran vessel. Our mission is one of relief and protection. We would like to know what's
going on."

The sounds of smashing and looting could be heard in the background as the man spoke. "It's the midgets!" he said. (Midgets was not
really a word commonly used by civilised Terrans, but the translation device had managed to convey his insult with its equivalent in Terran
Standard) The Asannian Empire is attacking us." The man ran a hand across his sweating brow. "We should have known it would be our
turn next. They've done this to nearly every planet nearby!"

"Done what?"

"This! Wrecked everything, every facility and building and searched the rubble! They won't tell us why, it's as if they're looking for
something."

"Are you sure they aren't on a mission of conquest?"

"What would they want with wrecked buildings and destroyed property? They never stay, they just fly away and attack the next
world! You Terrans, you might be able to help us. Can you muster a fleet?"

"We'll try to get to the bottom of this, don't worry. But I suggest you send messages of warning to all planets that haven't been attacked yet. Spidermobile out."

The viewscreen shifted back to the orbital view, and Frangelica turned back to Tactical. "Can we try to stop the fleet with force?"

"We're greatly outnumbered and outclassed, Captain. We'd last--" A screeching beep emanated from Noonan’s console. "We're under
weapons lock!"

Frangelica stood up. "Shie--"

Several seconds later, as Milkshake swung himself back into his chair, he cursed the lack of restraints and the apparent fallibility of the
inertial dampeners. He blearily looked back to his Ops console, only to find a frenzy of flashing status lights.

"Shields up! Red alert!" the Captain proclaimed belatedly. "Helm, evasive maneuevers. Tactical, power emwave cannon and mass
drivers and prepare to fire on my mark! How bad's the damage?"

"Bad." was all Tacoman had to report.

The ships, like their crews, were small and very maneueverable. There were also more of them than there were of the Spider. But one
thing Tacoman had done when designing the ship was ensure it was capable of defending itself. The enemy ships rolled and
evaded, but two well-directed shots from the Spidermobile's main cannon were enough to put one of them out of work.

"Enemy ship destroyed, Captain."

Frangelica turned to Engineering. "Report! In full, please, Mr. Tacoman."

Tacoman pulled up several windows on his console. "Shields are down to 45%, and hull damage, decks 10 through 15. Two sections
vented to space."

Milkshake had yet more bad news to report. "Captain, more ships of the same type leaving warp. We're now outnumbered 12 to one."

All good Captains know that a retreat, if only temporary, is sometimes necessary. "Break us away," Frangelica ordered Insane.

"Captain, sensors have found what reads as a data core from the destroyed enemy vessel. If we could capture this with tractors--"

"Yes, Cmdr. Milkshake, quickly do so. Insane, move us away. Tacoman, activate engines on my command. Warp engines, *not*
hyperdrive."

"The data core is in! Milkshake said.

"Moving us away!" Insane said.

"Now!"

The stars on the viewscreen elongated and began to streak past at the successful entry into warpspace. Frangelica shook her head, slowly.

Milkshake spat the sand out of his mouth and ran his hand across his sweat-streaked forehead as he crossed the small "courtyard" on the
port side of the starship, heading for shade underneath the Spider's nearest landing strut. As he walked he passed pallet after pallet of duranium
sheeting, which was being used to carefully seal several large breaches on the starship's lower hull. The world was very much like Earth, albeit
uninhabited by any life-form more complex than a small rodent-like creature, yet the ship had been set down square in the largest desert
available. According to the scanners, that region had fantastic mineral resources, quite suitable for converting to duranium by the ship's
"transmos". The first scouting expedition had found it true, and a cottage industry in repairs had cropped up. Milkshake took it upon
himself to supervise, since Tacoman was nowhere to be seen, but his Engineering teams were superbly trained, and had a better idea of
their job than Milkshake could keep up with. So, out of a sense of duty, he still kept a close eye on the repair teams. Today, though, the
heat was absolutely unbearable. Milkshake took one more look at Alpha Team's progress, then almost jogged to the far aft of the ship.

Rikard sighed at the mess the mining team had left of his largest and fastest shuttle, the Evanston. They had just finished unloading
their load of raw ore, which was now being carted off for analysis and transmogrifying into duranium. He looked up and noticed the
miners were on their way back across the bay, so he turned to head back into the shuttle. As he did, he saw a head pop into view *outside*
the huge bay doors, just above the decking. Shaking his head, he strolled over to investigate, and laughed as Commander Milkshake finished
climbing into the bay. The doors were only about ten meters above the surface.

"Getting a little exercise in on this fine day, Commander." Rikard joked as he helped Milkshake to his feet.

"Aah, I'd thought I'd put in some time on a nice, air-conditioned shuttle." Milkshake replied. "And climbing was the quickest way back to
the hangar. I didn't know when you'd launch again."

"Another minute and you'd've known first-hand, or -head." laughed Rikard as the twwo settled themselves into the pilot seats of the
Evanston.

"Think we should take a look and see what's keeping them so long?" Rikard wondered as he stared at the rocky outcropping not too far
from the shuttle.

Milkshake pulled up a hull temperature display. "No."

"Well, maybe their vein petered out. Or..."

"They're coming back. Without the ore."

"They've got something else."

The team leader, Lt. Salshih, panted as he dragged the anti-grav pallet into the shuttle's cargo door. "Sirs...look at this."

Milkshake and Rikard got up. Lying on the pallet was a roughly-cut object, appearing to be some silvery metal. The top surface was
polished to a brilliant mirror sheen, and was actually reflective. What it was reflecting, however, was not the dark overhead of the shuttle
interior at which it was pointed...but a bright blue sky.


To Be Continued...