[AgentZero]

Well, Fyron, as the first person to post any sort of comment, you get a star system named after you. A nice one, even. The status of the Narf system is pending while I await clarification as to whether or not you like the story.

Admiral Angus McArthur eased back in his command chair and surveyed the tactical plot in front of him. His Command Fortress sat at the tip of a cone of fortresses that faced the Pellus System's jump nexus. The fortifications guarded the sole link between the Terran Imperium and the Tauran Sovereignty. This fact alone had kept it safe from the scores of demilitarization bills Congress kept thrusting under the Empress's regal nose. She fought them, McArthur had to give her that, fought them with a ferocity that belied her lineage. Yet even from hundreds of light-years away, he could tell they were wearing her down. Every battle won was another line etched in her face, and in the month between today and her last transmission, she seemed to have aged years. He knew it was only a matter of time before his command felt the cold blade of budget cuts, but still, the Empress had managed a few spectacular victories.

One of those victories flashed into existence at the system's main jump gate. Opening a rift between normal and null-space required astronomical amounts of energy, more than even the biggest ship's reactor could hope to produce, which was why most ships traveled using jump nexuses. The weakness in the barrier between the two allowed ships to make the transit with minimal energy expenditure. Unfortunately, a jump nexus was usually situated on the outskirts of a solar system, which meant ships using the nexus got to look forward to two or three days of sublight travel before reaching inhabited planets. Centuries before, some clever soul decided to solve this problem by building a network of massive bases near a system's core worlds that had the power to open a null-space rift. Thus, all authorized traffic arrived through the gates, and anything coming through the nexus itself was ensured an extremely warm welcome. McArthur tapped a few keys on his command console and brought up a detailed scan of the recent arrival.

The TSN Raezel, new flagship of the Terran Space Navy, named in honour of the Empress, was the single largest mobile platform of destruction ever created. Her firepower rivaled even that of McArthur's colossal fortresses, though she was only about a quarter their size. A smile spread across the admiral's face as her commander requested permission to come aboard for a private meeting. Admiral Ivanov Korjev would be certain to have a few bottles of proper Russian vodka. He keyed in an approval to the request, with an added apology that the ship's liquid sustenance supplies were running rather low, and his smile split into a full grin as the reply came back:
“Acknowledged. Will arrive in +4.00hrs. Liquid sustenance will be supplied.”

Five hours later, two very drunk admirals sat in McArthur's private quarters, two full shot glasses and an empty bottle of vodka sitting on the table between them.
“So, my friend,” Korjev slurred. “Have you heard the latest?
“Latest what?” McArthur asked, sounding genuinely confused.
“News, man, news!” Korjev exclaimed.
“No, no I have not heard the latest news, man, news,” replied McArthur.
Korjev shook his head. “I believe your ancestors were reputed to have a greater alcohol tolerance then what you are showing, my friend.”
McArthur stared at him for a long moment. “That's the latest news?”
“Yes, my friend, it's all over the Terran News Network.”
McArthur stared blankly at the glass in front of him. “By the Divine, my reputation. I'll be relieved of command. Or worse, they'll reassign me to some backwaters-” His drunken muttering was interrupted by Korjev's laughter.
“No, even those vultures at TNN are wise enough not to call your manhood into question,” he chuckled. “It's about the Galahad.”
McArthur's eyes snapped up at the mention of his first command. “What of her.”
“She's disappeared,” his old friend informed him. “Not a trace. Word is that SpecOps acquired her her for a very, very, very black project. She was supposed to arrive in Fyron's Star three days ago. Her flight plan was known only to her captain, so no one even knows where to look.”
“Damn,” McArthur whispered. “I hope she's alright.”
“I believe an illustrious former captain once said of her, 'If we don't show up as scheduled, we're never showing up.”
McArthur nodded slowly. “I'll drink to that.”
The two raised their glasses. “To the Galahad and her crew?”
“No,” McArthur shook his head. “To you pronouncing 'illustrious' with half a bottle of vodka in you.