The Last Praetorian
Chapter Six

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

The alert arrived at C&C while Jon was reviewing the latest crew rotation with Paul. It was common for Paul and Jon to frequently rotate the crew roster so as to avoid some crew always being stuck on the un-sociable shifts and hence not having the opportunity to spend time with their families. It was also an opportunity to give some of the new shift leaders command experience, which was always valuable in Jon’s opinion.

The duty officer caught Jon’s attention. “It seems that there is some sort of disturbance on the flight deck,” he reported.

“Disturbance?” Jon inquired, surprised, before exchanging glances with Paul. Jon could not remember the last time there had been a ‘disturbance’ on the station. Possibly a few years ago, back when the annual station party got a little out of hand…

“You don’t think it has anything to do with Miranda?” Paul proposed. “She has only been assigned to Gunny for a couple of days. How much trouble could she get into in that short amount of time?”

Master Sergeant Patrick “Gunny” Reynolds was arguably one of the most capable crew chiefs on Terra Nova. At over six feet in height and weighing almost two-hundred pounds, rumour had it Gunny had once single-handily led a marine boarding action against a pirate cutter, to have the pirates immediately abandon ship when faced by him.

Once again exchanging concerned glances with Paul, Jon stated. “Paul, you have the C&C I’ll be down on the flight deck investigating the disturbance.”

Paul nodded in agreement, and added, “Let me know if you need a security detail down there?” Jon nodded his head in agreement before heading for the lift to take him to the flight deck.

Arriving at the flight deck several minutes later Jon was surprised to find one end of the deck deserted and followed the sound of the shouting and jeering to the other end, where he found a large crowd gathered. With some difficulty, a lot of pointed shoving and angry stares Jon managed to push somewhat to the front and was disheartened, but not really surprised by the scene facing him.

Surrounded by a large crowd of flight crew and deck hands, Reynolds was facing off against Miranda. It was obvious this argument had been going on for some time, as Gunny was already red-faced. Almost miniscule compared to the bulk of the marine, Jon was surprised to see Miranda standing her ground and even repeatedly jabbing her finger into the chest of the marine sergeant.

The crowd quickly quietened down upon catching sight of the Commander, with what could only be described as a thundercloud hanging over him. Meanwhile the antagonists had not seemed to notice his arrival. Miranda continuing to determinedly jab her fingers into Gunny’s chest, despite it having much the same impact as trying to jab a pencil through a sheet of steel.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you used to do in the Imperial Navy. No wonder the entire thing was disbanded.” Upon hearing her words, Jon observed Gunny go an interesting shade of purple. “I keep telling you. By running the loading process in parallel you will be able to increase productivity by at least twenty percent. Whoever heard of the absurd idea of loading ships one after the other?”

Jon had known Gunny for over five years and knew him to be honourable, if not more than a little blunt-spoken. However Jon could see, for the first time, Gunny contemplating murder and decided he had better intervene before events spiralled out of control.

“Attention on deck!” snapped Jon. While none of the crew actually saluted he did observe a general stiffing in posture. More importantly, he noticed Reynolds and Miranda had backed off somewhat.

Guess it’s true that you cannot fully take the Navy out of the person, Jon mused to himself. Deciding to quickly get to the bottom of the situation, Jon rounded on his deck Chief and demanded. “Gunny! What the hell is going on here?”

Still red-faced and obviously trying to control his temper he jabbed his finger in Miranda’s direction, obviously not even prepared to refer to her by name, and replied. “She accused me of running an out-dated, inept, incompetent and poorly organised loading operation.” Jon winced internally, glad that he had arrived before things had gotten further out-of-hand.

Rounding on Miranda he glared at her and stated. “I assigned you here under the direct supervision of Gunny with explicit orders to follow his every instruction, not for you to insult him.” Jon snapped angrily.

“I don’t care what you think either.” Miranda snapped back. “I refuse to be a part of an operation that is so inefficiently run. Where I come from we haven’t loaded ships sequentially in years. You could increase productivity by at least twenty percent by implementing my recommendations!” By this point even Jon felt his ire increasing and was just about to let rip when Miranda turned her back on him and stalked towards Gunny, jabbing him in the chest once again and insisting.

“I’ll arm wrestle you over it! You win, I never step foot on this flight deck again. I win, you will at least try my recommendations!”

The flight deck suddenly went very still and every eyeball in the room swivelled towards Gunny to see how he would respond to such an absurd proposition. He towered over the much smaller woman, weighing at least seventy-five pounds more than her. Meanwhile the Chief’s jaw had dropped open in disbelief. He was obviously about to dismiss the challenge when he realised every eye was upon him. He turned to face Jon with an inquisitive gaze.

“Don’t look at me chief,” Jon raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “This is your flight deck, it’s your call.”

Thinking for a few short moments the Chief motioned to one of the heavy workbenches not far from them and hollered, “Clear a space. Clear a space!”

With a loud whoop and cheer the crowd made a space around the large workbench and the two antagonists moved to either side, facing off warily.

Slamming his powerful elbow onto the surface, the chief offered, with a leer, “You want to make it the best of three sweetheart?”

Meanwhile Miranda glided around to the other side of the table, completely serene, as though she were taking a walk in the park, before laying her arm down, offering her hand delicately to the huge Chief.

“No, just once is perfectly fine with me,” she replied softly with a sweet smile directed towards Reynolds.

Her sudden shift in mood obviously threw the Chief off balance, as he licked his lips, glancing around at all of the intent observers. He suddenly realised emphatically beating a woman who was barely half his weight was not going to be a resounding victory to echo down the ages. He relaxed his posture slightly and took her offered hand in his.

Again offering the Chief a sweet smile, she asked, “On three?”

The Chief nodded his agreement and started the count.

“One” he began.

“Two…”

“Three!” he shouted.

His hand did not move so much as an inch, although he could feel her increased pressure. Glancing up into her face he was distracted for an instant when, instead of the look of strain he had been expecting, she was still looking serenely into his eyes and wearing a slight smile. The Chief had a sudden premonition that this was going to be bad, really bad, when Miranda suddenly made her move.

Not in the direction of his hand, as everybody observing expected, but in the direction of his face. Suddenly leaning forward, Miranda kissed the stunned deck Chief on the lips. Not a chaste kiss, like a brother and sister might exchange, but a full-on kiss, with tongue. The Chief’s eyes went as wide as saucers. The instant he felt her tongue enter his mouth all thoughts of the competition and his hand fled his mind. As soon as Miranda felt his muscles relax she pushed with all her strength and the Chief’s arm hit the table.

Miranda gave the completely astonished Chief an impish smile followed by a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks Chief!” she smiled. “Looks like I won, would you like any help implementing my recommendations?” Miranda’s voice could barely be heard above all of the cheers and whistles coming from the assembled crowd.

Taking pity on his deck Chief, and trying to fight down his own surge of jealousy at the Chief being the recipient of such a kiss, Jon called out, “Okay people. Back to work. The show is over.”

With some good-humoured pats on the back and congratulations to Miranda the crowd finally dispersed back to their jobs.

“Chief, I look forward to seeing your progress report regarding these new procedures,” Jon offered as a parting comment to Chief Reynolds. Gently reminding him he expected the deck chief to uphold his part of the agreement.

Arriving back in C&C Paul looked up in some consternation, inquiring, “How are things down on the flight deck?”

Biting back a laugh, Jon replied, “They are fine. Miranda has everything under control down there, although I will be looking forward to the next few reports from Gunny.” Jon laughed.

It was several days later, after the incident on the flight deck, that Paul & Jon finally had a chance to put their feet up and relax. They usually alternated shift patterns so one of the experienced command staff was always on hand in case of an emergency. However, this evening there were no inbound or outbound ships scheduled, so one of the more junior members of the command staff was in charge of the C&C, with instructions to call if there were any problems.

They had finally managed to put Paul’s kids to sleep, which had involved complex negotiations, followed by a round of ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop.’ With Jon, as the more senior, threatening the kids that if they did not go to sleep he was going to space their teddy bear, they had quickly agreed and settled down to sleep.

“So where is Carol tonight?” Jon inquired, leaning back in the Harrington’s living room with a beer. Carol was Paul’s long-suffering wife of over ten years and was usually in charge of putting the kids to sleep.

“She mentioned something about Miranda having been here over a week and nobody having shown her a good time,” Paul replied, opening his own beer. “So she and a couple of the other women have taken her out for a ‘Girls Night Out’,” Paul added, putting particular emphasis on the last three words. The story of Miranda’s run-in with Reynolds had spread like wildfire throughout the station, dispelling any resentment that might have been harboured by some crewmembers when the story had also got around of how she came to be aboard the station.

“Perhaps we should forewarn security now,” Jon murmured. “Sounds like a group that should be identified as ‘dangerous, handle with extreme caution’. Speaking of which, how are Reynolds and Miranda getting on?” He asked with some concern, worrying that Gunny might harbour some resentment about the way Miranda had bested him.

“Last I heard, fantastically,” Paul replied brushing off any concern. “Productivity seems to have increased by at least forty percent following Miranda’s recommendations. I heard that upon seeing the results Reynolds picked the girl up, straight off the ground, and some of the crew had to rescue her before the Chief suffocated her by accident. Ever since then the Chief has been putty in her hands. I hear they are discussing ways to improve productivity further,” Paul added.

“Glad she is fitting in with the rest of the crew,” Jon replied. “I have moved her across to work with security during the next crew rotation,” Jon added, reclining in his chair, relaxing after the busy day. “I didn’t want to assign her there initially, as you know how McNeill felt when we first revived her. A clear threat to my personal safety and the station,” Jon parroted, trying his best to imitate the British accent of their security chief.

Paul smiled at the poor impression, before frowning and commenting, “You sure that is a good idea? She will have access to the station armoury,” Paul said with some concern. With a laugh Jon recounted the face-to-face meeting in his office several days earlier. Paul just listened in growing disbelief and his face grew pale when Jon reached the point about tossing her the live weapon.

“What the hell were you playing at?” Paul demanded, keeping his voice down so as not to wake the kids. “She could have just as easily shot you and made for the nearest ship!” Paul exclaimed.

Jon acknowledged the point with a short nod of the head, but insisted, “It was my judgement call. No way could we confine her to the brig or her quarters for any length of time. We could not spare the people and I assume you did not support McNeill’s less than subtle suggestion of just sticking her out the nearest airlock?” Jon inquired mildly.

“Of course not!”

“So, instead, you would have some unknown, loose cannon running around the station?” Jon continued. “Perhaps we catch her tampering with the magnetic shielding around the fusion reactor,” Jon suggested, with a slight nod of his head towards the children’s bedroom. Paul went as white as a sheet, obviously not having thought through the damage a person loose on the station with malicious intent could cause.

“Better I just put one life at risk, than risk the lives of everybody on the station,” Jon insisted, making it clear the topic of conversation was now closed.

Looking to change the topic, Paul inquired, “So when are you planning to put Miranda on rotation in the C&C?”

Relaxed in the comfortable chair with the beer, Jon replied without thinking, “I was planning on waiting a few more crew rotations before I put her on duty in the C&C. She needs some more experience with the various departments and to become familiar with the department heads before she is ready,” Jon explained. Suddenly realising what he had just admitted to he opened his eyes to focus on his second-in-command, who was wearing a smirk on his face.

“You knew!” Jon insisted, realising that he had just been set-up.

“Yep.” Paul replied with a grin. “It has been a long time, but I still recognise an Imperial Navy fast-tracked command training program when I see one.” Paul confirmed.

Anxious to reassure his old friend, Jon explained, “I have no plans to replace you.”

“Glad to hear it. So when do you plan on informing Miranda of this?” Paul inquired curiously.

“Hell, not for a while yet!” Jon insisted, settling back down. “She would probably laugh in my face if I suggested the idea to her now, but she has so much potential.” He said. “Look at the way she has got Gunny wrapped around her finger, and the rest of the command staff are already warming to her. She is smart, clever, and intuitive and has natural leadership ability.”

“As long as you have thought this through,” Paul suggested carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” choosing his words delicately, Paul explained. “We still don’t know much about her, beyond what you have already told me, that she is an outstanding pilot. Now you have started her on a fast track training program for command. We could be handing her right back to the Syndicate, not just as an ace pilot but with the sort of command skills that would help mould them into a far more effective threat to this system.” Having voiced his concerns Paul fell quiet. He decided not to also voice his concerns that Jon was becoming infatuated with her and was losing his perspective. Paul had been surprised Jon viewed the talented young pilot much more as his protégée than potential romantic interest. Paul had observed the young woman catch the eye of more than one male member of the crew, however Jon had not seemed to make any advances.

“So what time does Carol get back tonight?” Jon asked, leaning back in his chair after deciding to give Paul’s concerns further thought, but not tonight.

“She warned me she could be back quite late. Seems she and the other women are going to try and set Miranda up with that young communications offer from third shift. According to the women he is eye-candy.” Paul watched with a smirk as Jon spat beer everywhere.

Yep maybe not totally disinterested, Paul thought with a grin.

A few weeks later Jon was reviewing the latest company shipping reports, noting the worrying rise in the number and severity of the attacks on Vanguard ships, when a chime interrupted his reading, notifying him of somebody requesting permission to enter.

“Come!” Jon called out and the door slid open to reveal the not unexpected face of Jason Edgar, Vanguard’s ‘Company Man’ as Jason jokingly referred to himself. The rest of the crew simply thought of him as their Intelligence Officer or ‘Chief Spy’.

“Take a seat, I was expecting you after reviewing your latest report,” Jon commented, with another glance at the disturbing report sitting on his desk. “Do we have any more information explaining the increasing number of attacks on our ships?” Jon inquired.

Shaking his head Jason replied. “Nothing concrete at the moment, just conjecture. We assume that the failed attempt on your life some weeks ago has thrown a spanner in the Syndicate plans for Vanguard. Hence we assume the increasing number of attacks is an attempt to push you to reconsider their initial proposal.”

“When hell freezes over!” Jon replied grimly. “Any idea what they might attempt next?”

“Intelligence are guessing they will continue to ramp up their attacks on our ships to increase the pressure on Vanguard and our customers. If that fails to work, we assume either another attempt on your life or some sort of direct assault on Vanguard. As we have little presence off the station we assume this will take the form of some sort of sabotage or assault on Terra Nova directly.”

Thinking for a moment, Jon replied. “Okay please let David know about the possible threat to station security and ask him to increase internal security. I will discuss the possible outside threat with Paul and come up with a suitable response. Is there anything else?”

“Just one other thing, sir,” Jason continued. “You asked me to investigate the background of Miss Miranda.” So far nobody had managed to get her to divulge her last name. Hence the crew had simply become use to referring to her as Miranda or Miss Miranda.

“Has intelligence had any success determining her last name yet?” Jon replied in a rather ironic tone of voice.

Ignoring the perceived insult to his intelligence team, Jason continued. “Perhaps. With your permission we requested a sample of her DNA from the Doctor. It took us a long time but we finally found an exact match in some old records from one of the adjoining systems.” Jason handed a copy of the data to Jon who pursued the results with interest.

“I notice that this is a very old record,” Jon commented, checking the last update, which was dated almost twenty years earlier.

“That was why it took us so long to find the match,” Jason explained. “The record had long since been archived to long-term storage, hence it took a lot of time to retrieve. I also draw your attention to the last update.” Jon flicked to the last update of the record, which detailed the person had been legally declared dead for almost twenty years.

“I must confess I find Miranda in remarkably good health for a person who was declared dead twenty years ago,” Jon commented sarcastically.

“According to the information from the records, her parents were part of a crew of an inter-system deep space freighter. The freighter disappeared on a routine trip in the Aquila constellation. The ship was declared lost, with all hands a few years later. According to the records Miranda would have been approximately six years old when the ship was declared lost.”

“So,” Jon mused, “we have the mystery of a ship that has been missing for over twenty years, lost with all hands, or at least so was assumed and now we find one of the crew, who would have only been six at the time, alive and well, twenty years later, working for the Syndicate. Would intelligence like to draw any conclusions from these facts?” Jon asked dryly.

“No sir,” Jason replied, realising it would not be a good idea to speculate any further.

“Thank you for the information. It will be put to good use. Please pass on my thanks to the rest of your team.” Hearing the dismissal in Jon’s voice, Jason nodded his head in thanks and made quickly for the exit.

Meanwhile Jon turned back to the datapad intelligence had supplied and started to review the information carefully.

Sometime later Jon stepped into Security looking for Miranda. He had decided it was time to have a face-to-face with their newest crewmember, to discuss the past. Hence, with datapad in hand, Jon decided to go hunting. Miranda had recently been assigned to Security during the last crew rotation and Jon had been carefully monitoring the security reports to try and guess whom Miranda was going to shoot, or kiss, next. Noticing security was almost empty except for McNeill, the station head of security, who was reviewing a tactical map of the station with a frown.

“David, any idea where I can find Miranda?” Jon inquired. David looked up, obviously irritated by the interruption before he realised who the question originated from.

“No Sir!” David responded quickly, straightening his posture, as though he were preparing for a parade ground inspection. Jon was tempted to joke with the younger man that he could remain at ease but guessed this would make him even more uncomfortable. Some of the crew had made the transition from military life to civilian easily. Others, McNeill a case in point, had been less comfortable in civilian life and kept inadvertently reverting to a formal Navy mode of address. Privately Jon felt that he intimidated the younger officer, hence his nervousness kept causing him to leap to attention whenever he was around. For the twelfth time that day, and every day since the Imperial Navy had been disbanded by the newly formed Confederation, Jon cursed them for purging so many outstanding officers, people who had dedicated their lives to the service.

One of the motivations for establishing Vanguard had been to give these people a new purpose in life. Jon could give a first-hand account of the shock of going from a highly structured command environment with a clear mission to a civilian life with no clear objective, mission or goal. Of course it did not hurt Vanguard in the slightest to be staffed, almost entirely, by highly trained, extremely motivated, ex-Imperial Navy who viewed every task as a military objective to be surmounted.

Meanwhile David realised that a slightly more informative answer might be helpful, hence added. “Her shift ended over an hour ago. Possibly she might be in the mess hall having dinner. It is getting fairly late for second shift,” David added diplomatically, politely reminding his boss it was getting fairly late in the evening, station time.

“Thanks David,” Jon replied distractedly, before focusing on what his head of security was looking at. The large holoscreen in the office was currently displaying the tactical map of the station where a number of points had been highlighted.

“How is the security review going?” Jon inquired, remembering he had asked for this several days earlier, after being briefed on the escalating threat from the Syndicate Organisation.

“Not too badly,” David replied. “We have identified a number of weak spots within the station that could allow any boarding party to establish a bridgehead. The biggest issue we have is lack of tactical intelligence. Are we looking at a lone saboteur, limited boarding party or all-out invasion of the station by a heavily armed Syndicate division?”

Jon’s eyes widened in shock before he responded sarcastically, “Well let’s hope that your security team do not need to repel an entire division. Could be a struggle for your team to repel a couple of thousand assailants,” Jon replied, with a straight face. David could not tell if his boss was being sarcastic or not. Hence wisely decided not to reply to that comment.

“Well carry on,” Jon continued. “Let me have a copy of your report when you have identified all the weak spots for the station and how you plan to deploy your security teams,” he said, as he departed to continue his search for Miranda in the mess hall.

It was quite late for second shift; hence the mess hall was fairly empty by the time Jon arrived. Just a few stragglers were finishing a late dinner before heading to their quarters for the ‘night’. However, there were a couple of small groups relaxing with drinks after dinner.

Terra Nova had originally been designed as a remote resupply & repair outpost where crews would have normally been rotated every six months. Therefore social areas were limited in number and size. With Jon’s permission, Paul had converted one of the smaller repair shops into a small cinema and some of the observation decks had been converted into lounges where couples could relax when off-shift. However the mess hall was still the place to congregate for food or to relax with some friends over a drink.

Upon entering the mess hall Jon’s gaze darted around the room and quickly came to settle on Miranda. She was sharing a drink with a small group of the other young women on the station. Jon recognised a few from the flight deck and security, along with a couple from various other departments. Miranda was laughing at something that one of her companions had said and was obviously enjoying herself. Jon was glad to see she seemed to have integrated herself well into the crew and a small part of him was glad the table seemed to consist of female crew only and a certain young officer from communications was nowhere in sight. Jon quickly supressed that line of thought.

Reluctant to interrupt the group, Jon decided to have a drink and wait for the group to disperse before approaching her. He had a delicate subject to bring up and would prefer to have the discussion without a crowd of onlookers. Collecting a coffee, Jon slipped into one of the comfortable seats next to the window and gazed out, thoughtfully taking the odd sip from his glass, trying to think how best to bring up the difficult topic ahead.

“Don’t look now,” Sarah from Operations whispered quietly to the group. “But eye-candy has just walked in.”

As was always the case, everybody ignored the edict and all eyes swivelled towards the entrance to the mess hall, observing the Commander as he poured himself a drink and took a seat by the window, alone.

“I wonder what crises took place to draw him out of his office? The guy practically lives there,” one of the girls from security, whose name Miranda had forgotten, commented.

“I’m not complaining,” another chimed in. “He can just sit there and I can admire the view. Hey Cassie, I thought you said that you were going to ask him out for dinner?” She left the question hanging in the air.

“I did, but he politely declined, said he was too busy,” Cassie sighed deeply. “According to station scuttlebutt some girl broke his heart many years ago, and he still carries a flame for her.”

Miranda, who had never had many female friends, looked around the table in astonishment on hearing all the dreamy sighs that followed that statement.

“So the Commander is not married? Paul mentioned he has a family so I just assumed…?”

“Have you ever seen him with anyone?” Sarah responded. “No that man is single, and such a waste. If I ever find the woman who broke his heart, I’ll, I’ll…”

“You’ll have to get in line…”

Miranda looked around, surprised at the fierce expressions that had appeared on the faces of the women around the table. “Isn’t it the Commanders choice?” she asked, confused.

“But it’s such a waste! He is so good-looking,” Cassie wailed.

“And good with kids. Don’t you remember how he took Castle’s daughter out for a ride in his shuttle on her last birthday?”

“I overheard the senior officers talking once. It seemed as though the Imperial Princess broke his heart. Or was it the other way around? I cannot remember.”

“You mean the Emperor’s daughter?” Miranda interjected.

“Yeah, it seems like the Commander and her were close before the Emperor’s death. You all know the story about how he helped her to escape the fleet and flee to Eden Prime.” Another chorus of sighs echoed around the table.

“Typical,” Cassie muttered. “It’s always the princesses that get the good-looking guys. Hopefully she will grow old and die a spinster,” she added spitefully.

It was sometime later the sound of Miranda’s group breaking up for the night roused him from his thoughts. Glancing at the chronometer in the mess hall he was surprised at how late it was. Noticing Miranda was almost at the exit to the mess hall Jon quickly lengthened his stride to catch up with the young woman before he lost her.

Walking abreast of her, he caught her eye and politely inquired, “I know that it is late but can you spare a few minutes of your time to discuss something?”

Obviously surprised at the encounter, and curious why she had not just been called to his office, Miranda nodded her head in agreement.

Jon cast his gaze around the corridor, really not wanting to have this conversation in such a public place. Noticing the entrance to one of the observation lounges, which was sure to be unoccupied at such a late hour, he motioned towards the entrance and with a polite wave of his hand allowed her to enter first.

Upon entering the observation lounge Jon had a quick glance to make sure that they were alone for this conversation. Confirming they were the only ones present, Jon approached Miranda, who was staring at the stunning view. Being situated above the docking ring it gave a spectacular view of the station and the main docking ring and Jon could just make out the light from the drive engines of one or two arriving or departing ships.

“I must imagine you find this room quite claustrophobic?” Miranda broke the silence with a smile. Slightly confused, as the lounge was fairly large and they were the only occupants, Jon raised his eyebrows in question. Miranda tapped her nail against the window to clarify her meaning.

Quickly catching on that Miranda was referring to the energy field in his office he replied. “I’ll get over it. I have come to realise not many people appreciate being separated from the cold vacuum of space by only a thin layer of photons.” Deciding upon a somewhat oblique angle to start this conversation Jon said. “I have been meaning to congratulate you on your skills as a pilot. They are truly exceptional.”

Miranda frowned for a moment before replying. “Obviously not good enough, seeing as you escaped without a scratch and I managed to collide with an asteroid completely destroying my ship and only just managing to escape with my life. No thanks to you,” Miranda added bitterly.

Realising too late that this was probably not the best opening topic, but now being committed, Jon continued, “Well, I had the element of surprise on my side. The ’Light is not your average ship,” Jon responded in a light tone, hoping to erase some of the bitterness from the younger woman.

“The ’Light?”

“My nickname for the Eternal Light.”

“The ’Light,” Miranda replied, rolling the name on her tongue. “I like it, and it seems a good name for such an amazing ship.”

“Maybe I’ll let you fly her one day,” Jon replied, then quickly bit his tongue, unsure where that last comment came from. He never let anyone else pilot his ship, going as far to pilot her himself when just changing docking ports at the station. Miranda however, did not seem to notice.

“So how did you learn to fly like that?” Jon pressed, continually trying to steer the conversation back in the direction of the real topic that he wanted to address.

Miranda just shrugged at the question. “I have been living on ships or stations of one kind or another ever since I can remember. I expect I was crawling around cockpits before I could walk,” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Anyway, I was always asking what this button did, or that button. I guess before I knew it I understood all the functions and procedures on the ship. Therefore, sometimes they let me co-pilot the ships. After a few years of that I was piloting the ship part time, then full time. I guess I was just a natural. I love flying,” Miranda explained wistfully. “The only time I ever feel free is when I am flying.”

“Do you remember much of your childhood?” Jon asked softly, trying to bring up the topic he wanted to discuss.

“Not much,” Miranda said. “I was told that my parents died in a freighter accident when I was very little. Luckily they managed to rescue me in time.”

“You do not remember anything about your parents? You never tried to find out if you had any other family?”

“No, I was told that I was an only child and that I had no other family. Why all these questions?” Miranda finally asked, starting to get suspicious of Jon continuing to press her regarding her family and past.

“I just find it strange,” Jon chose his words carefully. “You seem to have no family, no past. You said you were rescued from a freighter, but we can find no records of a freighter being found and especially no mention of a survivor. Space is a huge place Miranda. When ships are lost they are almost never found. A failure during FTL will at best drop you deep into interstellar space between systems. The area is so vast no ship would ever be found, any distress signal would take years to reach the nearest habited system. At worst a ship would be crushed by the gravity of the collapsing wormhole leaving nothing. The likelihood of a catastrophic accident that killed your family, while sparing you, with rescuers close enough to save you is improbable at best,” Jon explained gently. “The only way for such an event to have occurred is for your rescuers to have already been there, before the accident that killed your parents. It is just as unlikely an accident would occur just as your rescuers happened to arrive. Your ship was attacked Miranda, your parents more than likely killed in the attack,” Jon concluded sorrowfully.

Miranda started to back away from Jon, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I don’t believe you,” she retorted. “You’re making this up. You are just trying to turn me against the only family I have. They rescued me, raised me and gave me everything I have!”

“No,” Jon replied urgently, trying desperately to make her see the truth. “They have used you and now discarded you after you failed them. The same way they use everybody else to get what they want. All they care about is power, domination and wealth. You do not have to take my word for it. You have full access to the communications and computer resources of the station. You can conduct your own search. However, you will find the same that my team did. In the past thirty years the computer only found a few dozen cases of shipboard accidents where one or more crew survived. All these took place in close orbit or proximity to one of the populated systems or stations where rescue teams were quickly scrambled. All of those accidents were widely reported and none mention a young girl being rescued from the ship. Widening the search parameters to all reported missing ships for the past thirty years that had a young girl aboard only returned one result.”

Jon offered Miranda the datapad he had been holding, which contained the information Jason found, before summarising it. “The ship was a long range inter-system freighter called the Keplar, reported missing twenty years ago, a crew complement of twenty-nine, with one beautiful six-year-old, with dark hair and brown eyes, called Miranda. She was the daughter of the pilot and one of the flight engineers. We could only find one picture…”

Jon touched the symbol to access the photo library on the device and brought up a picture of a young couple holding a small girl in their hands. The girl had short dark hair, sparkling brown eyes and an impish smile.

“It’s you,” Jon insisted. “We compared the DNA linked to your record with the scan the Doctor took when he revived you. It’s a perfect match.”

Miranda just stared at the picture with tears running down her cheek.

“But why?” She finally asked. “Why spare me when nobody else survived?”

“We will probably never know,” Jon replied sadly. “Perhaps you were fortunate to have survived the attack when the rest of the crew did not. Traditionally pirate attacks leave no survivors, since they do not want to risk anybody identifying them later. A small part of me hopes when they boarded the ship and found you alive, some grain of their humanity remained, which let them spare you and rescue you from the freighter.”

Realising Miranda probably felt very alone at the moment, having the only life she knew suddenly pulled out from under her, Jon pulled her into an embrace. Miranda resisted for a moment before resting her head gently against his chest. Jon decided he would just ignore his shirt getting damp from the tears still running down her face.

Jon was about to reassure her that things would get better when the door to the observation lounge suddenly slid open and a giggling couple, who were also entwined stumbled in. Quickly noticing the couple next to the observation window, there was a moment of shocked silence, followed by a hasty apology before they ducked out of the room and the door slid shut once again.

Letting his chin rest on Miranda’s head for a brief moment, with his arms still wrapped around her, Jon closed his eyes and cursed softly to himself at their inopportune timing. Living in such a small, tightly-knit environment, the crew did nothing better than gossip. Jon was certain the entire station would think that they were a couple by the start of the next shift. Realising Miranda had enough to deal with at the moment without this additional concern, Jon decided to wisely keep quiet. Perhaps he could issue a station wide bulletin at the start of next shift informing the crew they were not romantically involved.

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