[u]John Howard[/u]

As more specialists and members of the crew filed in, John mentally prepped himself for a transition from the man he was to the Sergeant he was expected to be. He remembered a time when that was far easier – when he could smile and mean it, and even the horrors of war couldn’t bring him down. Now, it was a different story: the horrors of war no longer fazed him. Not since six years ago.

John stood, putting on an air of authority and the gaze of a hardened General. He watched as the last member of his squad, Royland, entered through the airlock into the lobby. Something seemed off with him. Not fear, no, not quite that – hesitation, perhaps? There was something in his eyes. John approached him, amidst the conversations and bustle of the others.
“Good to see you again, Royland,” he said, with a smile that held sincerity, which was the best John could muster nowadays. “It’s gonna be a long trip. Far longer than I’m used to, anyhow. Are you accustomed to space travel?”

[hr]

[u]Elizabeth Sinclair[/u]

[i]I forgot how sweet Earth smells[/i], Elizabeth Sinclair remarked as she stepped out of the taxi and took in the sights of the Lavit Launch Facility in the southern French countryside. [i]Living in a big metal tube for years sure does take its’ toll[/i]. The thirty-one year old pushed her hair up into a messy bun, and brushed a lock of light brown hair away from her face as she marched toward the facility with her modest suitcase. She remained optimistic, all the while knowing that this voyage would be unlike the one she took five years ago to Mars. Mars was in rough shape at the time, but she knew exactly what she was getting into – the areas of Hampton, Mars that needed updated oxygen circulation, the suburbs that had minimum access to schools and hospitals, even the city’s centers for crime. This time, she was going in blind.

Well, not completely: she knew a tad more than the rest of the folks on board the [i]Sentinel[/i]. First of all, she knew their names, and, courtesy of Director Francois Moreau, she was briefed on their stories: the pilot, Moira Sphere, had a flair for the absurd and the mouth of a true Scot, but was damned good with a ship; the co-pilot’s name was Gera Zsoldos, the son of Ion Zsoldos of B.A.S.S. political fame. Sergeant John Howard was tasked with directing the ground team, but Elizabeth knew that he never truly recovered after the death of his wife; she found him an odd choice on Moreau’s part. And on and on – each one brought a skill, each one had a story. She also was given an extended briefing by the Director on what to expect, though this was far less substantive. There were a lot of “possibilities” and very little “this is what we know”.

She made her way through the building and up across the bridge leading to the launch pad. At last she came upon the [i]Sentinel[/i]: a beautiful silver eagle of a ship, as sturdy as she was aesthetically pleasing. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about the rig falling apart, as was the case with the hauler that brought her home from Mars. Stepping inside the ship, she found that she was one of the last ones: nearly every other member of the crew or the ground team was there, conversing or remaining solitary. She knew their faces, but only from files: Marie Vandersnappe, inquiring about the launch time to the pilots; Private Østergaard sitting by himself; Dr. Erin Middaugh, observing nervously at the edge of the lobby. With a deep breath, she took a step into the lobby, set down her luggage, and approached Erin, putting a hand on her shoulder and looking into her eyes with a smile.
“Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m sure none of us bite. I’m Liz.”