"I regret to inform you that you're no longer a Lieutenant, Commander."

"Oh, thank Cheeba for that. I was starting to think the system was broken. What happened, what did we do this time?"

"You've been promoted again. You're now a Lieutenant Commander."

"WHAT. THE. the Advanced Discovery Scanner's planet-rattling honk drowns out the remainder of Wingnut's outburst ?!?".

"Commander.

I've just now finished catching up on the backlog in your Inbox. It seems that there was a minor oversight that would not become apparent until after we last spoke."

"You missed something, in other words."

"I had not yet caught up, to be more precise. It was about your promotion from Warrant Officer to Ensign. I seem to have - erred."

"Erred? Out with it, man."

"In correcting myself, please let me be the first to congratulate you ... Lieutenant."

--:-:--

The ground crew scrambling about the launchpad froze for a moment as the ship resounded with an aggravated growling noise not unlike a heat sink about to purge.

It took a moment for the crew chief to realize it wasn't actually the ship, "Commander Communist" up on the bridge was simply venting again. Shaking his head in ignorant disgust, the Federation chief ordered his squad back to work.

Life went on.

Vega's voice chirped. "Commander, an observation?"

"Go ahead, Mr. Vega."

"You were recently promoted to Ensign in the Federal Navy, along with the permit and ship requisition privileges that come with that rank. Do you not find this - irregular?"

Wingnut did, recalling that he - not long ago - had realigned from the Independents of Sirius Corporation to the Independent Socialist Party lead by Yuri Grom.

"Because of the fact that I'm not even a Federation citizen?"

"Yes, sir."

"I tried to explain this to them, but that only resulted in my third promotion. I think the Federal Navy seems to operate more like a militia than an actual Federation military arm, like the ancient Foreign Legion."

There was a pause. At the other end of the line, Vega was likely consulting a tagged entry in the GALNET Interpedia. "Ah. An irregular militia from the 19th century operated by the French, unique in that it accepted non-French citizens for service on conditions of..."

"Exactly that. They offer me missions, pay me for completing them, and occasionally the draft pick on ships only operated by the Federal Navy. I didn't so much join, or get conscripted, so much as they just shoved a few courier jobs at me and painted a Federation flag on the Busted Flush.

It's strange, really, seeing as in their politicians would paint me as some strange kind of Galactic Communist. Stranger still, there's also anarchists. Same for Imperial citizens and Commander-grade slaves, they get put to work, too."

"Do you... not welcome the prestige that comes with these promotions? Being recognized for this effort? Most would see your track record with the Federal Navy and stand quite impressed."

"No, Mr. Vega. If anything, these promotion notices are the only thing that roll into my inbox faster than subscription renewals for Squeezy Stan's 'Space-Babes of Sirius' skinrag."

"On that note, Commander, may I ask..."

"No, Mister Vega, you absolutely may not. Get ready for the departure handover, please."

"Mister Vega, what happened to my ship?"

"Sir?"

"This isn't the 'Serial Peacemaker.' At least, not the same one that was docked here last night."

There was a long, almost guilty pause before Brent Spiner's voice came back online. "May I respectfully decline to answer that, sir?"

Wingnut scowled. "You may not. What happened?"

Another pause.

--:-:--

"At approximately 2030 last night, you left the ship. Within an hour, I mistakenly read a command to prepare for departure. Voiceprint analysis shows now that the command was issued by someone named Shawn la Chance, but at the time, I mistook it for yours.

At the time, you had not actually returned to the ship."

Wingnut took a moment to remember. "I was in my quarters catching a power nap."

"Yes, sir. I had not realized this. So I made the preparations, and cleared you through Traffic. Once the ship lifted off, it remained above the pad without any conn response."

".... so since the ship was blocking the pad..."

"Yes sir. McCoy City's automated station defenses.... cleared it."

"That was a very expensive mistake, Mister Vega."

"Of this, I am acutely aware, sir. So I requested a replacement Alliance Chieftain from the shipyard and had the station crew replace everything. I then proceeded to exhaustively reconfigure the ship to the loadout and preferences recorded at the time you docked, overlooking nothing.

Decals, nameplates, tail number, key bindings, parking tolerances, GALNET queue, radio stations. It was an all-nighter, but by morning I was quite satisfied you would not be able to tell the difference."

--:-:--

"Who paid for this?"

"You did, sir. Unfortunately, all of the funds related to your operations automatically come out of your GALBANK, and now I am in a position where I must refund you from my own personal earnings. I apologize most profusely, Commander. You will be refunded."

"I suppose I have no choice but to tolerate this as a learning experience. But Mister Vega, you're gonna have to learn too. Whenever I leave the ship, you're now to disconnect your link until I request your services again."

"Yes, sir. If I may ask a frank question?"

"Go ahead."

"You seemed to know before you even embarked. How did you figure it out?"

Wingnut exhaled, sagging back in his seat and taking the stick.

"The paint was intact."

The High Society (Spacebook Video)

"Mister Vega."

"Commander?"

"Connect to GALNET and get me an update on what we know about the Thargoids."

"Working," came the disembodied voice of NPC Otto Pyle-Lott, piped in through the link that connected the Serial Peacemaker to a tele-presence suite on the Orbis starport 'Abraham Lincoln.' A moment later, he came back on. "This just in from AEGIS Research."

And he began reading aloud.

--:-:--

_“The codices indicate that the Thargoids may be an older race than the Guardians, and that the two species share a history of conflict. This hostility was a product of the Thargoids’ belief that they had a pre-existing claim to the regions of space occupied by the Guardians.”

“The Guardians attempted to communicate with the Thargoids, but these efforts ended in failure. They determined that the Thargoids’ survival instincts were so strong that they could not tolerate any potential threat, including the proximity of another space-faring civilisation.”

“It is now clear that the Guardians’ defensive drones and advanced weaponry were developed principally to protect their worlds from the Thargoids. Although details are scant, it seems these war machines eventually succeeded in repelling the Thargoids.”_

--:-:--

The Commander nodded, but offered no interjection. A lot of this new information aligned with the speculation that he and Tatiana Searle had come to when visiting the surface site in Meene.

It had also since been discovered that these were in fact reproductive sites. But give Mr. Vega a moment, because he was about to reaffirm this fact as well.

--:-:--

_“Thanks to Ram Tah and the brave pilots who explored Guardian sites, some of our questions about the Thargoids have been answered. It is clear that our current situation echoes that of the Guardians. Our space, like theirs, was seeded with barnacles thousands of years ago, and now the Thargoids have arrived to reap the biomechanical harvest.”

“We now know that the purpose of the Thargoids’ ongoing military offensive is to remove humanity from what they consider their territory. If the Thargoids adopt the same modus operandi as with the Guardians, their next move will be to start aggressively mining mineral resources. There is no evidence this has yet begun, however.”_

--:-:--

_"Ram Tah has also made a statement about the impact of the findings:

“Until now, the Thargoids have been shrouded in mystery, and their objectives have been unclear. For the first time, we have an insight into what drives them, why they are attacking us, and what their overall goals are. This is a historically significant discovery that I believe will make a huge difference to this conflict, and perhaps to humanity’s survival.”_

--:-:--

"Alright, Mister Vega, that'll do. Thank you."

So far, he'd guessed right. That meant there was a very strong possibility - depending on how the Thargoids' own Frame Shift technology worked - that an attack on the remote settlements of Colonia was exceedingly likely.

If they were able to 'surf' the supercharged radiation of a neutron star, as human ships could, then taking the far end of the Neutron Highway would indeed bring them directly into the back door of The Bubble.

This was why he had found AX weapons at the colony - and no doubt the next time he went, there were going to be Guardian tech brokers looking to make a fast buck.

Canonn and AEGIS both knew - and now, so did he.

The pieces were ready to fall into place soon.

The comms panel on PCS-02 continued to buzz insistently, rousing Wingnut from his light snooze. "HOTBOX, go ahead."

The voice that greeted him was machine-precise, clipped, and quite formal. Not a single word was shortened nor wasted.

"Good morning, Commander. My name is Otto Pyle-Lott, and I am from the Telepresence Agency, contracted to the Federal Navy Reserve."

Wingnut sounded that name out in his head and suppressed a dry chuckle. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Pyle-Lott? I hope I'm not being disrespectful -" as they were both aware Otto had not given a rank or title.

"Not at all, Commander. As a sub-contractor, I hold no official rank in the Pilots Federation. For the sake of efficiency, you may refer to me by the call-sign 'Vega.'"

-

The Commander paused for a moment. Vega's voice was so familiar, and yet he couldn't place it. "Do you fly a ship of your own, Mister Vega?"

"No, sir. Officially, I am what you might call a Navy Provisional Commander - that is a job title, and not a rank. My TPA suite operates out of the Orbis starport "Abraham Lincoln," near Sol."

"Federation territory. Of course."

"Yes, sir. My role is strictly telepresence. I can assume direct control of your ship and its functions, but that will not permit me to make command decisions on your behalf.

Though my job is to see your missions run more smoothly, the Serial Peacemaker is still your ship - I will not even be aboard. You may consider me more of a function of your ship, as opposed to a person, if that would make things easier."

"So in short, that makes you... NPC Otto Pyle-Lott."

"Yes, sir."

Wingnut grimaced. He was not going to mumble -that- mouthful every time he wanted to talk to a disembodied voice.

"In that case, welcome aboard, Mr. Vega."

-

"Thank you, sir. I believe we will work quite well with one another. Please do not hesitate to open a link whenever you feel I may be of service." Vega moved to disconnect the line.

Wingnut held up a hand. "Before you go, one more thing. Have we spoken before today?

I can swear I've heard you somewhere before."

"No, sir. I have been told the same thing by some of the other Commanders I have worked with. I suppose I am simply possessed with a very familiar voice."

"Familiar, eh? I'm sure, then, you must know who else you sound like."

"I am sorry, sir. I simply do not have enough data."

Wingnut sat back in his chair, and tugged down the front of his flight suit at the belt. Something about this, too, quietly bothered him. "Fair enough, Vega. Thanks for your time."

"Commander."

Commander Wingnut, now in command of an Aliiance Chieftain - the "Serial Peacemaker" - responds to an urgent distress call while searching for Thargoid Sensors in Pleiades Sector IR-W D1-55. This is the same alien-infested sector in which the attacks first began a year ago. Even now, starports like the Oracle, Reed's Rest, and Titan's Daughter are still struggling to rebuild.

Although he was expecting to notch his first Non-Human kill at some point in this adventure, Wingnut winds up finding a lot more during this encounter than he bargained for.

Hot Wings: First Blood (Spacebook Video)

It was becoming apparent that the curse of his previous ship was starting to rub off on an already unlucky CMDR Wingnut.

He had just noped his way past a Death Neutron, only to wind up in a pirate ambush. Slipping the tether and winking off into the next system by the skin of his teeth, Wingnut then found himself surrounded by cruise liners.

Before he could escape, he had been proudly advertised that EVERY SINGLE ONE of them was in the top 1% of all liners out there. With a horrified shriek from its pilot, the Johnson County Sheriff winked off again.

--:-:--

Then, in the next system, a gentle voice greeted him on the hailing frequencies.

"Hello, Commander. I am so pleased to meet you." On the screen was a jovial-looking man with an afro that would never fit in a standard-issue helmet. His smile was pleasant and almost inviting.

"My name is Bob Ross, and I hope we can be friends. It's such a beautiful morning, and I couldn't help but notice what you're carrying today."

Naturally, he was suspicious. "Thank you, Mister Ross. They're for-"

Abruptly, the man's face hardened into a menacing scowl.

"I don't fucking care."

--:-:--

Wingnut blinked.

"Give it to me. All of it. Or I will paint that sun with your insides, and it will be OUR LITTLE SECRET!"

Wingnut screamed again and hit the Jump button.

"What do you mean, out of date?"

Petty Officer Adopl Gallant (yes, that very same one - damn, did that man get around!) of the Federal Navy Reserve nodded. "Afraid so, Commander. I'm calling to inform you that you've been fast-tracked - again."

Commander English, formerly of the same rank, risked a hands-off-stick moment to scratch his scalp. Chief Petty Officer, practically the same day. "I just -got- that letter - from Hudson himself, so I am told to believe."

"Well, our little war in Wolf 359 lead to a few - unexpected casualties, mostly along our NCO staff. The only details recorded are "Catastrophic Tactical Blunder."

As a result, you're now a Chief Petty Officer, and authorization is remitted for a Federal Assault Ship, whenever you are in position to take command. Sir."

"Who's the senior officer that authorized this?"

"You will be... sir."

Wingnut expelled an exasperated breath. "And who's your next?"

"I am... sir."

Wingnut stared at the hologram in disbelief. "But you don't hold the authority to even do that!"

"I don't. Anymore. Congratulations... sir."

"You know I'm not even a Federation citizen."

"I'm aware... sir."

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!"