It's enough to melt this reentry-burn-hardened heart, for a few minutes anyway. What a wonderful honor to know how much we mean to them. As we traveled past the planet MIT, we discovered the the Cambridge system was honoring our journey and our 20 year celebration with a gorgeous array of fireworks. We play the superheroes they want us to be, and y'know, after a while, I think it starts to rub off on us, gets through our skin, and we start getting it in our heads we really are superheroes. Civilians cheered as we passed in parade manner. We flew from the launch pad to a fanfare, ships wired up with classic space flight tunes to amp us up for the difficulties ahead. The Admiral shouted "fall ranks!", counted us off, shook our hands, and looked each of us in the eye. Maggots are maggots 'til they grow wings. Even so, I intended to remain cynical about the kid. What business he felt he had backing our asses in SCUL Prime territory I will never understand, but I certainly appreciate the camaraderie of any pilot who trained under my own mentor, and founder of the Starchasers, Civitron. Well, that hot-shot I mentioned earlier it seems went by the handle Dust, and his HARV Bronco that day was baptized in beer - a poetic symmetry whispered to me by the voodoo fly-boy of the Starchasers Shadow Man. No telling when you might get sucked out of an air lock, or crushed by a near-flying heavy transport. With the dangers of space travel as they are, it's probably comforting to believe you're not the only one in charge of your own flight-path. Space-pilots are often superstitious folks, and it's no wonder why. As is the custom of a space regiment, the next order of business was for new ships to be christened in steering dampener. Baptized in purple dust, 20 years a new man. I'm not a god-fearing man myself, but I admire the (sometimes strange) rituals of others. The Admiral coated his own face in ceremonial purple war dust and offered to any other pilots, who shared his book of superstitions, colored powder to do the same. On the launch pad Beetle Juice straightened her rear thruster with the help of dogi and a wrench from flat bag. The Admiral had kept this regiment in constant cycle for near 20 years (pedants like dreadflint would keep counting until Tuesday), and that's what tonight's mission was all about. He urged us to do what we needed to do to keep healthy. With this in mind, he led by example, saying he'd been cutting back on his hours, knowing getting himself injured or killed from over-work wouldn't be a help to anyone. We are worth more alive than dead to the cause. Shortly before launch the Admiral gave a rousing speech, talked about camaraderie, begged the unprepared not to be heroes, and begged the prepared not to be morons. A few of them Emeritus, if you get my meaning. Hell, pilots we hadn't seen in ages showed up: moose, Rotwang, Zygoat, snarly, I could go on. He knew it was a special night, and he clearly had something to prove. I had agreed to show him the ropes a year ago and I intended to keep that promise. After-all, he'd followed the letter of the law, and I was in no position to tell a foolhardy greenhorn he couldn't lay down his life for the cause. I dutifully gathered the requisite paper work. He'd brought his own ship, as if that would be enough to make us lick his boots. At 2100 hours, just when we thought we were going to be up to our necks in meal-worms, one more one-flight (a full year ago, I might add) hot-shot graced us with his presence. This was more than a mission it was a celebration. These saplings had heard the stories and who could blame them - they wanted a piece of the action. Oh sure we had Everest and MacGyver we thought they could handle themselves, but they just hadn't logged the hours yet for us to be sure. It started with a stray, calling himself Sherpa, looking for a "mentor". This would be a mission for the tried and true, but so far it was looking as if a slew of un-tested maggots were dominating HQ. It was worrying as we noticed at 2000 that none had yet been delivered, but just then DeadBride arrived with the important package in tow. We would need special provisions for the night. The total flight time would be lengthy, but so would the time spent on the distant star. Safety and comfort were of the utmost importance tonight. Standing around HQ, there was much commotion as the early crew began preparations.
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