Although the CSN's reappearance at the Dodds household hardly discreet, the first Simon knew about it was due to the sound of his father cursing at the top of his voice, striding angrily and purposely towards the Confederation transport craft that had landed close to the house. It had touched down in one of the orchards belonging to the family, damaging the valuable crop and sending his father into a rage.

Simon had been sitting in the study, pushing a pen around various pieces of paper. At the sound of his father's cursing he left the house, seeing the CSN representative that was making his way up the track; the man removing a white envelope from within his jacket. Simon's father strode past the officer, caring little for what the representative had to say and only about what was happening to his field.

"Second Lieutenant Simon Dodds?" the man, in full naval dress and sporting a pair of sun glasses asked, as Simon hurried after his father.

"Yes?" Simon answered, both men now follow Gregory down the track in the direction of the transport.

"This request came in from CSN HQ today for you. I should advise you that it is urgent." Simon took the envelope from the man and removed the single piece of folded paper from within. Though the letter was brief, the message was clear: it called for his immediate return to duty. Simon paused, finding the nature of the request surprising.

It meant that his suspension was over, even though he had only served five months of the six he had been handed. Suspensions usually ran far longer, whilst the Confederation Stellar Navy considered reinstatement of personnel. The second surprising aspect was that it had been delivered in the form of a personal letter. A video call was far more usual. The Navy's presence at the family home further compounded the seemingly urgent nature of the request.

"Do I have to leave now?" Simon asked, lowering the letter.

"No. Be prepared to leave early tomorrow morning. I should let you know that this comes at the personal request of Commodore Parks," the representative confirmed. Simon looked again at the letter trying to extract some more information; trying to read what was not there. He vaguely heard the messenger telling his father that the government would reimburse the family for any untoward damage to his field.

"A CSN inspector and maybe even a government inspector, if need be, will be dispatched to assess the possible damage."

"No, that's not good enough!" his father bellowed back at the sun glass wearing man, who raised both hands in a defensive gesture. "That's an organic field! We don't use chemicals, or machinery to pick the produce! We do everything by hand and you have contaminated the entire region with your stupidity and disregard!"

Workers handling various pieces of farming equipment and clutching baskets brimming with apples were looking from their employer to the naval representative.

"As I said sir, I am sorry for any damage that we may have caused..."

"And yet you are still not shutting off those damn engines!" Gregory said in disbelief. The shuttle's engines were burning the grass behind it and Simon could only guess at the long term effects it might have on the crop.

The Dodds family owned several orchards and were proud to be one of the few remaining large scale organic farms remaining in Ireland. Though rather impressive Simon had had enough of apples for the time being.

***

"They only want you to come back and sign something so they can get shot of you," Simon's father muttered that evening as his son joined his parents at the table for dinner. Gregory was still seething following the CSN's visit to his orchard. When they had departed, the true extent of the damage could be seen.

"I doubt that," Simon said confidently, taking a sip of orange juice. He had spent the afternoon stuffing clothes into a bag in preparation for his departure early the next morning.

"You don't have to go, you know. You could just stay here," his mother commented as she deposited three plates of chicken, rice and salad on the table.

"Your mother's right," his father muttered again, not giving Simon a chance to speak. "You should work here instead of joining the Navy. You wouldn't have to worry about promotions, gruelling exercises, crap food or even chances of getting killed. You could be giving out the orders instead of receiving them. Other people would be doing the work..."

Simon, about to cut into his chicken, set his knife and fork back down on the table. It was the same thing his father had said to him the day he had told them of his plan to join the Navy. He sometimes wished he had a brother or sister, if only to have someone on which to deflect unwanted attention.

"The request is urgent," Simon reminded his father not touching his food until he could gain some sort of support for his decision.

"You'll be back here in a few days," his father said, buttering a small granary roll.

In truth, Simon knew his father was not being negative about his son's ability, or intentions to continue his career within the Navy; he had merely become used to having Simon around for the last few months. Simon had been in the Navy for nearly ten years and his mother and father had missed seeing him grow into an adult.

At least that's what his mother had told him as she stood at his bedroom door that night after his father had turned in. At that time a small part of Simon did not want to leave, having become comfortable back at the orchard, with his family close by. But a bigger part of him was set in the decision to return. Even his father's attempt at emotional blackmail could not dissuade him from responding to the CSN's request. Though he could quite easily have refused it and then terminated his service, he did not. He owed it to himself to put things right.

***

Simon said his goodbyes and left immediately the next morning, the transport waiting for him further down the road this time. He had been summoned to another star system within the Confederacy know as Indigo. With the knowledge that the system was several hundred light years from Earth, Simon was confident that his reinstatement was assured. It was a long way to bring someone only to tell them that their service within the Navy was no longer needed. And surely the only reason they were bringing him all the way out there was because they needed him back urgently?

But during the trip Simon had suddenly found himself arguing against his father's alternate explanation for his summons back to duty: what if he really was going to be discharged? Even though at the end of his hearing five months ago he had been handed a suspension due to "lack of evidence" - the testimonies of four eye witnesses, for some reason, did not count - he was still not one hundred percent sure. It was possible that the committee and senior brass needed him to come all the way out there so they could discharge him properly, being too busy to travel themselves.

Simon had looked out at the stars whilst his transport craft had awaited clearance to jump from Sol to Indigo and thought back upon the events that had led him to where he was now.

It was whilst flying with his own wing, the White Knights, and under the command of Commodore Hawke, a man whom he had failed to see eye to eye with ever since the first time the two had met, that Dodds had disobeyed a direct order with disastrous consequences.

On a tiny Confederation planet, barely larger than Sol's own Pluto, a large separatist faction from an Independent World state had secreted themselves. Despite knowing the planet to be home to many planetary explorers and independent research groups, the Confederation had allowed them to do so, intending to strike and bring to an end their repeated acts of aggression once they were all together. When the time had come the Confederation's armed forces had launched a large scale operation with the intention of simultaneously evacuating the explorers and eliminating the enemy. As night had fallen landers had touched down and ground troops and vehicles had streamed out. Large drop ships broke the atmosphere and deployed fighter craft, Dodds and the White Knights amongst them.

Though it had started well the operation ran into difficulty when reinforcement enemy fighters had arrived unexpectedly in the conflict zone. Following their appearance Hawke had immediately ordered the air support to pull back. He was concerned that the additional aerial combat would have a detrimental effect on the success of the mission, endangering the ground teams as the risk of friendly fire to and from the surface increased.

As the squadrons pulled back, Dodds had witnessed two of his wingmates being brought down and, frustrated with the entire situation, had looped back around to try and prevent further losses. His efforts had resulted in his own TAF sustaining heavy damage and dropping from the sky. He had ditched not far from a rescue point. In the confusion and with the desire to get back from the advancing enemy lines as quickly as possible, Dodds had retrieved a weapon from a downed soldier and headed back towards the extraction zone.

Along the way he had been surprised by a group of evacuating men and women who ran into him. His own survival instinct had kicked in, causing him to open fire before he realised who he was shooting at. The result was two civilian casualties, the loss of a Tactical Assault Fighter he could have flown home, one court martial and one five-month stay with his parents back on Earth. He was eager not to have to go back there in a hurry, if he could help it.

But being a starfighter pilot was all he knew - and all he was really good at. He had decided that he was sick of apples, though maybe he would change his mind in a few years. But what was he supposed to do otherwise? Work for a bank, like his mother and father had? That would please his parents. His father would remark that he was pushing thirty, knew nothing and would have to start from the bottom.

As if a bank would take me on anyway, he thought.

After several hours his transport eventually arrived in the Indigo system and shortly there after docked at Xalan Orbital Station where he was to meet with the senior command.

Time to be known as Dodds again, Simon picked up his belongings. A deck attendant met him as he exited the transport and led him from the landing deck to a lift and, from there, down the various corridors to his appointment. The escort rushed him along, giving Dodds no time, or place, to stow his bag.

"Simon Dodds to see the Admiral," Dodds' escort informed one of the two female security guards standing outside the meeting room. She communicated the message to another standing within. The door was opened.

"Fleet Admiral Turner is waiting for you inside," the woman said, gesturing for him to go forward.

"Admiral Turner?" Dodds repeated a little quietly, feeling his mouth go dry.

"Yes, sir. Fleet Admiral Turner."

They didn't bother to put that into the letter, Dodds thought, before realising that his mouth was hanging slightly open. He shut it and cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said, and walked calmly into the meeting room.

***

Walking up to the front he set his bag down, removed his cap, and saluted the three men seated behind a long, highly polished wooden table.

"Second Lieutenant Simon Dodds reporting as requested, sir," Dodds presented himself. He stood before the three men in full naval dress. On his feet he wore a pair of well polished black shoes, which he had become strangely conscious of in the last couple of minutes. Perhaps it was because of the way they clopped so noisily as he walked, announcing his arrival more than he would have liked.

There was no answer from any of the men behind the table. The Admiral, seated in the middle, continued to slowly leaf through a number of pieces of paper in front of him, apparently deciding to make Dodds wait on purpose.

He recognised all three of the men: Commodore Parks and Commodore Hawke sat either side of Turner, both patiently waiting for the admiral to begin. Behind the desk, a window that made up the entire back wall permitted Dodds a view of the twinkling stars outside. He forced himself not to be distracted by the sight. Aside from the four men only two others occupied the room, both armed security personnel by the closed door at the other end, rifles drawn and pointed down.

As he continued to wait, Dodds started to get the impression that what was about to be discussed was highly confidential. Presently Admiral Turner looked up from his reading, gathering together the papers.

"Before we begin, Lieutenant Dodds, I have a question I want to ask you." The admiral clasped his hands together on the desk before him.

"Yes, sir," Dodds acknowledged.

"Tell me: what does the name "Lieutenant Commander Patrick Dean" mean to you?"

"He's a TAF pilot, sir. He was recently injured in the line of duty," Dodds answered truthfully, without pausing to think.

"Wrong answer, Dodds," Turner said with false patience. "I'll ask you that again. Who is Lieutenant Commander Patrick Dean?"

Dodds noticed that all three senior officers were now staring intently at him and the pilot became thankful for the cap that he held by his side, his grip tightening on it. He quickly grasped the direction that the admiral's question was leading him and, remembering what he had been told the morning of Dean's death, supplied his next answer.

"I don't know, sir. I've never heard of him."

"Excellent. Neither have I," Turner said, sitting back up straight. The man appeared satisfied with the point he was making, it now very clear in Dodds' mind. "Shall we get this under way then?" the admiral asked of the two other officers before turning back to Dodds.

"There are three reasons why you have been brought out here today, Lieutenant," began Turner. "First and foremost, after considerable discussion we have decided that your suspension from the Navy has been met. You should have had sufficient time during this period to reflect upon your actions and realise just how serious and costly your mistakes were."

"Yes, sir," Dodds answered. "During my suspension I spent a lot of time..."

"Secondly," Turner continued, raising his voice slightly to emphasise the fact that he had not yet finished speaking and that Dodds should keep his own mouth shut. "Naval human resources are at an all time low and we need every man and woman we can get a hold of. You may be aware of the on-going problems we are facing securing Confederation interests against increasing insurgency, as well as the Imperial civil war. The war is now causing unrest in a number of Independent World star systems; unrest and disturbance that could eventually spill over into Confederation controlled space. Should that happen we can be assured that immigrants will come pouring into many of our systems, bringing refugees, criminals, bounty hunters and even more insurgents along with them. In order to pre-empt such an event we need to increase naval presence along our borders."

Dodds pictured the galactic map he had seen so many time before in his mind: the Confederacy, home of Earth, on the right hand side, grouped fairly close together, if a little loosely scattered here and there; the Mitikas Empire, on the left, made up of a much greater number of systems and all tightly packed together, like fish that had been dragged up in a net; and then there were the Independent Worlds, running between the two huge nations like a gulf or a river, keeping them apart and acting like a buffer of sorts. Here and there throughout the declared independent space, star systems would be marked as Imperial, where the Empire had spidered out and captured some during the latter days of its expansion. He could not quite imagine the same thing happening in reverse to the Confederacy, as Turner well be suggesting. He might not know great deal about the history of the galaxy, but he assumed that the Confederation was a little more stable than most other places; most certainly the Independents.

The image evaporated as Turner continued speaking.

"This is a point that needs to be understood by all Naval personnel: the relationship between the Imperial Senate and the Emperor is now strained beyond repair and as such the Confederacy, as well as number of Independent nations, have begun the recall of all diplomatic staff. You may hear talk of parts of the Empire having been "bombed back into the stone age", but for now the Confederation will not be sending forces into any part of the region in an attempt to bring about stability."

Dodds had certainly heard about the issues that were plaguing the Empire, the events featuring regularly on news broadcasts. The trouble was that, since it had become such a regular feature of the news, he had almost stopped paying attention to it altogether.

His eyes briefly swept over Parks and Hawke sitting either side of Turner. Each both looked straight at him, as Turner did, their faces inexpressive. They were in their forties and of similar height, although Parks looked thinner than Hawke, both in the body and face. Strands of silvery grey hair were quite prominent throughout Commodore Parks' thinning black hair, but absent from Hawke's. Turner himself was quite an old man. Dodds thought he was somewhere in his early sixties, close to retirement age.

Dodds had noticed when he entered the room that Parks seemed to have aged a good ten years since he had last seen the man, looking older than Hawke, despite being six or seven years younger. Hawke, himself, appeared extremely healthy by comparison.

"And finally Lieutenant it is my privilege to inform you" - Dodds detected a hint of sarcasm in the admiral's voice - "that you have been recommended and subsequently selected for participation in the Navy's latest technological endeavour. It is not a decision that I entirely agree with..." Commodore Parks turned his head only slightly to acknowledge the accusing look he was given by Admiral Turner, "... but your flight profile along with your usual ability to work well within a team made you fit the bill. Tell me, Lieutenant, has anyone discussed with you anything about the ATAF project?"

"No, sir," Dodds said, feeling his palms sweating slightly. "No one has ever mentioned it to me."

"And I should think not," Turner answered gruffly. "The project is strictly on a need-to-know basis and, as of this moment, you are not to discuss it with anyone not directly involved in the evaluations. I must warn you that to do so would result in a punishment far worse than a mere suspension from service. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I believe that is all I wish to say. I did not intend for this to be a long meeting, so I will wrap things up here," Turner concluded sliding the papers in front of him back into their folder. "Unless there is anything further that you wish to add, Commodore?" He looked to Parks who shook his head. "Commodore?" His attention turning to Hawke.

"I must once again reiterate my objection to this man's reinstatement into active service, Admiral," Hawke suddenly spat. "The man is a cocky, arrogant insubordinate who is a danger to himself, his squadron and the Navy's very reputation!"

Dodds sighed inwardly. It felt to him as though the man had spent several hours before the meeting rehearsing the line, so as to deliver it without error for maximum effect. The moment Dodds had entered the meeting room and seen Commodore Hawke seated alongside Turner and Parks he knew there would be problems.

"I do not doubt for even one second that he will continue to mock the chain of command within weeks of being back in control of a starfighter," Hawke went on, glaring at Dodds. "It would be better for all of us if the man were reassigned to logistics where he..."

"Yes, that will do, Commodore, I am fully aware of your objections," interrupted the admiral, waving him down. "Thank you for repeating your original statement, but I read it clearly the first time." Hawke turned back from Turner to look back at Dodds, a dark scowl across his face.

"No, I have nothing further to add, Admiral," Hawke finished dryly. Dodds felt a small sense of relief swell within him. How Hawke loved to gloat. Should Turner have agreed with the man's suggestion, Hawke's eyes would have been filled with that subtle, malicious satisfaction; the very same pleasure that Dodds had seen register during his court marshal, the moment the guilty verdict had been brought against him. But not now. He had been denied such delight today and would have to find it another time, in another place, and preferably with someone else.

Dodds' eyes were drawn to a red substance that was gathering just above the commodore's top lip and noticed that Hawke's nose had started bleeding. Hawke too became aware of the flow and rummaged around in a pocket for a handkerchief, producing it just as a drop of blood slid down from his nose and splattered soundlessly on to the table in front of him.

Dodds watched the man place the handkerchief under his nose and tip his head back slightly, attempting to control the flow, though he kept his eyes on Dodds as he did so. His nose was not exactly gushing, but it was certainly more than a few drops. Dodds found it strange that, though Parks and Turner looked over to the man to see what the cause of his sudden discomfort was, they gave it no more than a common courtesy before they turned back to the starfighter pilot stood before them.

"Good. We must press on gentlemen, time is not a commodity we can currently afford to waste," Turner said, paying Hawke's sudden nose bleed no more attention. "Lieutenant Dodds, I am hereby returning you back to duty. Commodore Parks will brief you shortly." He gestured to one of the guards standing by the door who promptly strode forward to Dodds' side. "Mr Sears here will escort you to a suitable waiting room where the commodore will meet you. You are dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir," Dodds said saluting, before replacing his cap, picking up his bag of meagre belongings and making to leave.

"Lieutenant Dodds," the admiral's voice called to him as he crossed the room.

"Sir?" Dodds stopped halfway to the door and turned around to face the table again.

"With regard to the statement that Commodore Hawke gave, whilst the Navy does indeed need every good pilot it can get I will have absolutely no qualms whatsoever with immediately dismissing from service any pilot whose actions put the lives of others at risk; or whose reckless actions result in critical mission failures, directly or indirectly. Do not let your selection into the ATAF project and the early end to your suspension make you believe you are invincible, Lieutenant. The day you do a good job I will be the one to let you know. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir. Fully, sir," Dodds said, saluted once more and left the meeting room.