"We will begin decelerating from light speed. Since there is no artificial gravity well in the area, we can only hope that it will not jump straight into the disabled Nomad fleet."

Said the young navigator on the Scythian, who bore a concerning attitude at the precision of the jump. His worries were reasonable actually, as ships normally did not have to manually stop like this. They would freely jump into the outer rear of the planet's atmosphere, and the planet's gravity would decelerate them automatically, or they would have ships that can generate artificial gravity wells if the designated planet did not have gravity. But the UWG could not afford a ship like that, as around ninety percent of these ships were destroyed. Among the remaining ten percent, almost half were damaged, and required repairs. The reason for such statistics could not be simpler: the Nomad.

The Nomad, an unknown entity originated from a large desert planet, was the main cause of all the atrocities during the last thirty years. They were an organized space fleet, whose commanding elite was not yet known, possessing spaceships with sizes ranging from a small town to a megacity, all boasting with weapons of mass destruction. There was literally no way to stop them. They had more powerful weapons, they were more intelligent, and there numbers were overwhelming. They are stronger than the UWG in EVERY way. To be honest, being able to hold out against them for nearly 27 years was considered by many to be a great achievement. And yet, miraculously, they lost, while they were on the brink of victory. The strong Nomad fleet suddenly went offline, and they were doomed to float around listlessly. Now they were nothing different from a bunch of scrap metals floating in space.

"Decelerate faster. Better stop sooner than later."

Replied the thirty six years old Lieutenant Nelson Schor, the second in command of the ship. Donning a blue officer uniform decorated by a pair of golden epaulettes and all the medals he had achieved, the shaggy-haired man with a long scar on his right eye calmly gave the order to the navigator, as he tried to hide the dissatisfaction that he had within him. 

"Tell the one in charge to begin preparations as accordingly as it was planned. Make the effort, we don't have spare time for this." 

"Yes sir!" The navigator saluted as he left Nelson's personal quarter.

The young Lieutenant sighed as he watched the navigator file out of his room. He shouldn't be here. On this small, lowly cargo ship, as second in command. Second in command! He should have, at the very least, be first in command, not second. He had commandeered a small battleship before, so why not this?! He could not understand. What were the Naval Intelligence thinking when they assigned him to this?

Nelson was a young yet seasoned naval commander who had participated in several major battles against the Nomad, a few of them were victories. And yet, he did not take part in the final battle above Earth's atmosphere, as his sickly body decided that he should not by torturing him with a disease that effectively knocked him out of action for a whole year. He only recovered since last month, and was allowed to discharge five days ago. If he had been out three days sooner, then it would be different. Nelson soon returned to service, but was unsure if he could retain his rank as Lieutenant, so he contacted his friend, Alexander Mahan, who was a fleet admiral. And he met him, personally, a day later. Nelson could remember it very clearly.

XXX

"Alright Nelson, I have ensured that your rank will be reinstated...But on one condition."

Condition? Alexander had never made conditions with him before.

"That you would participate in an expedition in the Molyneux system, onboard the UWG Scythian, as its second in command." 

The UWG Scythian? 

That's a cargo ship. Why the hell would you send a military commander to command a cargo ship? 

"What do you mean Alexander? You're assigning me to a cargo ship?" 

"Yes." Alexander replied bluntly.

"Are you serious?! I don't believe that you would send me on such a mission!" Nelson suddenly snapped at the fleet admiral, totally disregarding the ranking systems here. If he wasn't his friend, Nelson would be likely in jail right now. 

Alexander noticed his friend's dissatisfaction, and replied, with an unusually calm voice.

"Your beliefs are true. I did not send you there. The Naval Intelligence did. I was just being the interchange between it and you to deliver the order." 

"Then you know what? I'm going to talk this out with them personally." Nelson was excruciatingly pissed, as he stood up and tried to leave.

"Nelson. Let me tell you something." Alexander stood up as well, stopping the impulsive Lieutenant with the same calm and composed tone.

"I know you deserve to be assigned more significant mission, but are you up to such a task?" The tone was also challenging and calculative

"Of course I am."

"Then prove that you are still worthy of not just being Lieutenant but also being a leader itself. Not to me, but to 'them'."

XXX

He still did not know how this will prove his worth. But as Alexander said that, his vanity resurfaced, and he found himself reluctantly accepting it. 

Nelson sank back onto his chair as the scenarios began to unravel in front of his quarter's windows. Less than thirty minutes later, the ship had began to move into RX3248's orbit, and was awaiting docking permission.

"Well, there's no reason to stay here."

He's second in command. Not first. He was given more freedom of movement than his captain. And when given such freedom, there was no reason to stay behind. It, firstly, was boring. More importantly when placed in a commanding position where he must supervise, a commander should be right where the process was happening. This applied to all scenarios, both combat and non-combat.

Nelson stood up from his chair, and filed out of his room, heading towards the ship's boarding quarter.