"[color=f7976a][i]Go and make us proud, Ariana.[/i][/color]" 

The last words her father had said to her before she departed for training still rang in Ariana's ears, loud and clear. She had no illusions as to the shoes she had been sent to fill, her father had made sure of that. He had slain 6 MAS suits in his day. This count may be trivial to a MAS pilot, but for someone piloting an Aerospace fighter, that was a staggeringly high number.  She was continuing the legacy of the Williams family, a legacy she didn't dare let down no matter what. She shook her head and then nodded to herself, gently setting her hand on the patch stitched onto her shoulder. She was told it was the insignia of the team she was joining, the 7th MAS team.

Deep in her gut, the breakfast she'd eaten on the planet below boiled, threatening to rise. She'd heard about the 7th, they'd been talked about in awestruck whispers back in training. This was a squadrons of heroes, aces and, some said, demons, pilots who did the impossible and never seemed to stop for breath. To be assigned to such a team, especially with no combat experience, was more than unheard of, it should by all rights simply be impossible. How would they respond to suddenly having her on their team, she wondered, when they were no doubt used to flying with people who could outmaneuver her with one arm behind their back?

Again, she violently shook her head, and thought to herself 

"[color=0072bc][i]No Ariana, you can do this. They said you had the skill to fly with the 7th, who are you to call them wrong? You were the best in training, you can make a MAS dance in the sims. You can do this, all you have to do is keep the faith.[/i][/color]" She took in a deep breath, feeling the air swelling in her lungs, and then released in a long, slow exhale. Feeling her confidence slowly return, like a warm drink of coffee in her belly, she gently shook out her limbs, reminding herself it was a big day today.

Not only would she be meeting her new team, who she could only hope would take to her, she'd be seeing the first MAS she was to fly into real combat. Most pilots, she was told, stuck with the same MAS through their entire career, so this was a massive deal. This suit would carry her through combat, drills, and so much more, possibly for the rest of her career. She was, admittedly, incredibly excited at the prospect of seeing this MAS, an MAS she could truly call her own. Sure, she'd flown some Sentries in training on maneuvering exercises, but it'd been a different one each time, and they would pass on to the next cadet when she graduated. This one, however, would be uniquely hers and, hopefully, she could put her aeronautical experience to good usage to customize the MAS.

"[color=00a651]Touchdown in 3, get ready to disembark.[/color]" 

The call came from the speakers, and she bounced up and down in her seat in excitement. She gently brushed a stray hair from her face and reached beneath her seat, grabbing the duffel bag that currently contained every possession she'd have for her military career. Her father had always said that packing light is important for a pilot, as they changed station the most often as combat areas shifted and fleets went from reserve to active duty. So, all she had in her bag were a pair of uniforms, a basic grooming kit, boot polish and other such military essentials. All she had from her civilian life was a small photo of her family, lovingly stowed in the pocket of her current uniform. Since she'd just been ground side, she didn't wear a flight suit, rather a standard UEE uniform, sized well but ill-suited for the confines of an MAS cockpit.

[color=00a651]"Touchdown, dropping the ramp."[/color] 

Ariana was startled from her drifting thoughts by this declaration. As she slid her hand over to the release on her restraints, the ramp lowered. The air of the ship filtered into the small shuttle, and she breathed it in deep even before she was all the way stood up. This was how the air would smell for her entire stay aboard the [i]Abraham Lincoln[/i], and she wanted to get used to it. It was a good thing too, as she frowned in slight disappointment, noting the air lacked the fresh, crisp feel of the air planet side. Again clearing her mind, and scolding herself for being so scatter-brained, she slung the strap of her bag around her shoulder and stepped from the shuttle.

Looking around the bay, she was awestruck by what she saw around her, the bustle of activity so unlike what she was used to. MAS suits were anchored in the bay, tall and gleaming, pinnacles of battle. Scattered around the bay, maintenance crews and pilots moved between the suits. Almost as an afterthought, Ariana noticed there was a large complement of "conventional" aerospace craft as well, no doubt very much so like the ones her father had flown. She slowly began to walk forward through the bay, mumbling to herself "[color=0072bc]This is it Ari, time to make your family proud.[/color]" She approached a member of one of the maintenance crews who didn't seem too busy and asked 

"[color=0072bc]Excuse me, I'm Second Lieutenant Williams, I've been assigned to the 7th MAS Team, and I was wondering if you could tell me where they are bunked.[/color]" The man, an fair haired man in his early 30s, turned around and looked her over. He grinned after looking at her, for some reason, and then rubbed his chin in thought. After a moment, he replied

"[color=f9ad81]Not sure where they're bunked miss, but why don't you ask em yourself? Most of em are over there, probably waitin on you.[/color]"

The man pointed over to a stack of crates, where she saw a group of pilots gathered. On closer examination, however, they all had the same patch stitched on her shoulder. She smiled and said to the man

"[color=0072bc]Thank you![/color]" Then, without another word, began approaching the pilots. The nervousness returned, her gut churning and jumping, as the pilots grew ever closer in her vision. She again quelled it with a deep breath, the air flowing out and settling her nerves. As she drew closer to the assembly, she thought frantically of how to introduce herself. First impressions are key, after all, so what kind of first impression should she give? For now, she settled on complete business, and carefully positioned herself in front of the assembly, or at least as close to 'front' as she could get, since they were so scattered about. She brought her feet together, her boots slamming together with the sound of slapping leather, and brought her hand up in a crisp military salute. For the first, and most likely not the last, time since training, she sounded off

"[color=0072bc]Second Lieutenant Ariana Williams, reporting for duty![/color]"