Over drinks...

Silas and Raev sat at a table in the corner of the cantina, both nursing large glasses of alcoholic drink. Raev's had an umbrella in it, and what appeared to be a fruit salad drifting around at the bottom.
  "I tell ya Silas," he said, "I miss the good old days as a merc. No one ordering me around, no one telling me to reduce collateral damage, but this army gig has it's bonuses. A regular salary, for one. And I still get to yell at people and make them do what I want."
Silas stared into the depths of his glass,
  "I dunno, I like this life still. I'd rather die at the helm than anywhere else, it has a certain poetic romance to it, if nothing else, and the irregularities of payment don't seem to depress the crew. So long as they're happy, I don't reckon there's a ship out there that can take us on."
Raev looked up at his old friend, who's eyes seemed focused on something deep inside the fizzing, green liquid in front of him.
  "That was awfully heartfelt, for you. How many of those've you had?"
  "Three. You should know, you got me them."
  "Gods, that's not enough to get you spilling your feelings, you ok mate?"
Silas sighed, and took another pull at the drink,
  "I'm not sure, I've been thinking about packing it in. Taking up dad's trade maybe. Giving the ship to Alice or Denver." he took another drink,
  "But every time I think about it, I just feel like I'm betraying someone: the crew, the officers, you, the Orchid herself. I just can't quit, people seem to always need me." He glanced across at the Sergeant,
  "Y'know what I mean?"
  "Silas, not half an hour ago I watched you kill four people in under a second. That’s the side of you that everyone sees, that’s the side they rely on. I think you need to have a rest at some point: let go of the ship’s wheel for a while and just relax. Take a holiday. Get some massive payoff for a small job and drink it off on a sunny beach far from the battlefront. Give your crew some downtime too, you’re not the only one being run down by being constantly flying. Tell you what, I‘ll-”
A sudden, tinny, alarm broke the sergeant off in mid-console, his wrist-com was flashing bright red, and a small, red holographic soldier was standing on its surface, looking very worried.
  “What’s the matter, private? This had better not be another drill!”
  “It’s the Imps, sir. An entire fleet just jumped into the system; we need every ship in the air, now! All stations are to be at full battle alert in ten minutes!”
The sergeant looked at his drink briefly, before muttering, “Damn them all…” and pushing it away. Silas was already on his feet, barking orders to his crew through his own com.
  “All crew, and I mean all, sober up and get to battle stations, fast! Anyone caught loitering has all shore leave revoked! I want to be able to launch the second I arrive!”
He looked over to the sergeant with a breif, wry smile,
  “I guess the beach will have to wait. I’ll see you later, once we’ve hammered these idiots.”

The End

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