“You know,” Colin Richards said, “I feel all alone out here.” John Naiser smiled at his wingman’s tone. “You are all alone out here,” he pointed out. “It’s a million miles to the carrier and dozens of light years back to civilisation.” Richards snorted. “This is all your fault,” he said. “If it wasn't for the incident with the woman’s swim team…” “Oh, shut up,” John countered. “It was you who told the Admiral that it was all in jest. And the Princess laughed.” He sighed at the memory. In truth, neither of them had any idea if the events just prior to their graduation from the starfighter training centre had ensured their assignment to HMS Canopus, a bulk freighter that had been hastily converted into a starfighter carrier, but it was a sore spot. Most of his graduating class had been assigned to fleet carriers and sent to the front. He and Richards—and a bunch of half-trained reservists—had been sent to the backwaters of human space.
