At the door stood a lone guard, armed with a military-grade assault rifle and supported by a veritable army of surveillance cameras on the nooks and walls overlooking the entrance. Inside and around the perimeter were undoubtedly countless more armed guards, patrolling one of the most valuable structures in all of Europe. The Lavit Launch Facility was not an anomaly in their security measures: indeed, all launch facilities had similar defenses. In the spacefaring age, each bloc’s launch facility was their only way to set sail into the New World. Any kind of damage or destruction would set them back decades.

John had never been inside the Lavit Facility, and had indeed never launched from Earth anywhere else than at Lincoln Station, the American launch pad thirty miles north of Washington, D.C.. With a nod of affirmation from the entrance guard, he was allowed access into the building and noted with mild approval that the layout was rather familiar, just with changes in décor. The Lavit, as well as the Lincoln, were both years after the creation of the Global Coalition; as a result, they and all other more modern facilities tend to share the same design and characteristics, as they were overseen by GC architects and officials. John made his way through the building, past reception and some administrative offices before reaching the elevator which took him to the same level as the launch pad, on the fifth floor. After that, he walked over the enclosed bridge separation the facility from the launch structure (a crude utilitarian structure far different in design from that of the sleek administrative building) and watched as the walls around him turned from smooth white to rough concrete; everything became bleak and wrought iron. He opened a door to the outside and was buffeted by a chill wind, intensified by the height. Sitting just inside the launch facility, and looking out of place on the pad itself, was a stylish vessel of dark gray steel and seamless curves, that put many of the old, clunky military transports John had rode on to shame. It was the [i]Sentinel[/i], the new American freighter that had been completed not two years prior, and which was loaned to the GC for the Willman Expedition. 

John greeted the Lavit prep crew on the bridge and was ushered into the vessel’s airlock, where the door was closed behind him, and after a few seconds the one in front of his face opened into a kind of lobby, with seats already occupied by a handful of people. Of them, he recognized only the German, Jethart Igneal, along with the Dane, Daniel Østergaard, two of the soldiers who were serving under John, whom he had just met the day prior. However, the brief time that they were in the room the day before was almost exclusively dedicated to training: what was different about fighting in the colonies, and how best to adapt to the new conditions. As a result, John knew their names and ranks, and not much else. Beyond Jethart and Daniel, the rest were civilians: a young, optimistic woman sitting near Jethart, and another lady – a scientist, John was sure – observing at a distance, along with a scholarly man standing apart from the rest, and the two pilots: one a wiry man with a witty smirk, and the other a woman lost in time. She gave off the distinct look and feel of the 20th century, with a cigar between her lips and her hair done up neat. Her style threw John off, but he didn’t really show it. On the contrary, he kept his military composure, nodding at Jethart and Daniel before taking a seat apart from the others and running a hand through his hair with an almost inaudible sigh.