[color=007236][center][h3]ENS Clint Grayson, TNS Galatia[/h3][/center][/color]


Clint’s mouth finally closed only when he felt the thunk of his boots on the hard metal floor of his room. The transition to a gravity rich environment shocked him from the state of wonder he had been in since he first laid eyes on the TNS Galatia, his home for the foreseeable future. Of course he had seen Orion-class cruisers in the simulations at the academy, studied their design and abilities in combat. But to actually see one in person?

Well, that was something else entirely. 

Although some of the other recruits had barely batted an eyelid as the gargantuan beast came into focus following their arrival by shuttle, Clint couldn’t help but let out a gasp. A ‘backwater farmer’s boy’, as some of his instructors had termed him, could never have dreamed of seeing something so… [i]big[/i]. As his eyes drank in the hundreds of little ships buzzing around the Galatia like flies on fresh cow dung, he couldn’t help but feel insignificant. Insignificant, but proud- this was why they were going to win the war, because of war machines like this. They were going to save his parents, and everyone else for that matter. They simply had to. 

The thought of his parents brought a brief pang of sadness, as Clint considered what they would say if they saw him now. He didn’t dwell on it too long however, and instead returned to the Galatia as they drew ever closer to the one of the massive hangar bays that opened wide before them. When he returned he’d be sure to describe all this to his parents; that is, if he could find the words, for it was for smarter men than he to do poetic justice to such a marvel of space. He wondered if the other recruits were feeling similarly, but it was hard to tell in the dimly lit and cramped quarters of the shuttle. He offered a friendly smile to some, his natural cheerfulness shining through. 

[color=007236]‘Hey, I’m Clint! Nice to meet you all! Any other pilots in here with me?’ [/color]

No reply was forthcoming however, for at that moment they landed and the recruits jolted slightly in their seats. In the event the question mattered little, for the young boy from Lombar would get to know the rest of the fresh faced recruits soon enough. As he stomped down the deck in unison with the others, almost immediately orders began to be barked at him by a rather stressed looking officer who kept rubbing his nose. As the recruits broke off into groups depending on their new roles aboard, Clint felt a wave of laughter wash over him that he was careful to suppress. The Galatia might look impressive on the outside but some things never changed, and angry officers was one of them.

Focusing again on the officer, he began to understand why he was so stressed. Each time he would explain the orders, he would be drowned out by the never-ending assault of noise coming from every quarter of the spacious hangar. Engineers scurried to and fro, ships docked and took off again almost too quick to let their passengers disembark,  with the hi-tech machinery of the Galatia playing conductor to their orchestra. Thankfully, an announcement came over the loudspeakers that did what the officer could not.

[color=7bcdc8]‘All hands, The Galatia will be exiting hyperspace in 30 minutes. Elevating readiness to Alert 1, report to your commanding officers and await further orders.’[/color]

The next several minutes were a blur as Clint floated in a lose huddle with the other new pilots behind the officer, turning corner after corner and descending deeper into the metallic labyrinth that was the corridors of the Galatia. Occasionally they passed a veteran who seemed to greet them with disdain, but Clint didn’t let it phase his wonder and excitement. He could imagine getting lost in here very easily. Part of the experience, he supposed. 

After some time they stopped outside his quarters, and Clint detached himself from the group and stepped inside the small room. His small room. It was compact and functional, if not particularly inviting. Reminded him of home, in a strange way; efficiency was key for both farmers and soldiers. 

At last closing his agape mouth, he threw his kit on the bed and got to work quickly stowing away the various equipment within. Following his orders precisely, he paused briefly to catch his breath, then got to work writing his will. He didn’t particularly take it seriously considering he owned little, and knew he would be returning home one day hopefully soon, so simply declared his parents as next of kin. With that done, he checked the time on the holo-tablet conveniently resting on the desk nearby.

-0020. A little later than he would have liked, but if he checked for the quickest route to the briefing room he could make it in good time. After doing just that, he took one last look around the room, offered a soft smile and then hurried out the door. 

Several minutes later he checked the time again. -0027. Good, he wasn’t late, and he had just arrived at the door to the briefing room. Grabbing a handrail with one hand and pushing the button with the other, Clint pushed himself forward into the room. Unfortunately he rather badly miscalculated the movement, and careened rather unceremoniously into the room, past a few veterans watching with laughter, and into the back of a chair in the front row. 

Regaining his balance, he offered a sheepish grin and a quick nod.

[color=007236]‘Ensign Clint Grayson, reporting.’
[/color]

Grappling around to the front of the chair and buckling himself in, he considered offering some conversation to those seated beside him but quickly decided against it. 

Best not to draw any more attention to himself for now.