Another Fine Adventure

Posted on Sat Nov 15th, 2025 @ 7:10pm by Gunnery Sergeant Nathaniel Hale

516 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Long Night
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 0000

The first thing Gunnery Sergeant Nathaniel Hale noticed about the Challenger was that she smelled too clean.

He’d expected the recycled air, the hum of the environmental systems, the faint tang of metal and ozone — every ship had that. But Challenger was something else: new, polished, untouched. The kind of ship that hadn’t yet learned how to breathe.

His duffel hit the deck with a thud as the docking hatch sealed behind him. The ensign assigned to escort him was half his age and twice as eager, firing off directions and details Hale barely heard.

“MACO quarters are on C-Deck, sir. The Captain sends her regards. You’ll find—”

“Aye,” Hale interrupted, dry. “I’ll find it.”

The young man hesitated, then nodded and hurried off, clearly relieved.

Hale started down the corridor, boots echoing. The walls gleamed, the lights hummed, and every passing crewman looked either nervous or determined not to make eye contact. He couldn’t decide which he preferred.

After a decade spent in outposts and transports that rattled when they sneezed, the Challenger’s perfection felt alien. Everything here was crisp, bright, and sterile. No scuffed deck plating, no laughter echoing down the halls — just quiet efficiency.

He found his assigned quarters easily enough — and frowned immediately. Shared.

He stood in the doorway for a long moment, then turned on his heel and went to find the nearest yeoman. Ten minutes and one politely stubborn conversation later, the MACO First Sergeant had been reassigned to an unused cabin off the main corridor. It was small, spartan, and blessedly private.

He unpacked in silence — boots under the bunk, uniform folded, family photo propped on the shelf above the desk. Marina and the kids, all smiles in the summer sun. The memory caught him for a second, heavy as the gravity plating.

He sat on the edge of the bunk, rubbed a hand across his face, and exhaled through his nose. The hum of the ship filled the quiet. Somewhere, a comm panel chirped; somewhere else, someone laughed.

It was the first real sound of life he’d heard since coming aboard.

“Good,” he muttered. “Means there’s still humans here.”

He stretched his back, bones protesting, then reached into his duffel for the small metal tin he always carried. Inside were two things: a battered combadge, dented at the edge, and Clara’s targ. One ear bent. One button eye gone.

He turned the toy over once in his hand, smiled faintly, then set it beside the photo.

Outside the viewport, Earth hung suspended in black — blue, bright, impossibly far and impossibly close all at once.

Hale leaned back, arms crossed, watching the home he’d just left again.

“Here we go,” he murmured. “Another fine adventure.”

He didn’t sound thrilled. But somewhere under the weariness, there was a flicker of resolve — the kind that had carried him through worse things than new paint and quiet corridors.

He took one last look at the targ, the photo, and the stars beyond the glass.

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

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