Tides of Change

[majoj]

Commander Raoul Duke was lying in bed. His eyes were closed, but he was awake. The massive amount of painkillers kinda numbed the pain, but it was still there,
lingering, waiting for him to make a single wrong move to strike back with renewed vigor. Even the breathing was painful.

He slowly opened his eyes, one by one,
blinded at first by the glow of his ceiling lamp, then, he started moving his healthy arm behind his head, in search for something on his nightstand. Finally, his fingers
came upon a familiar shape. He grabbed the box, opened it with his fingers, and shook out a cigarette straight into his mouth. A flicker of fire, and suddenly, a thin
strip of smoke was ascending straight up, until caught by the torrents of air conditioning.

He took a big puff, blissfully inhaling the smoke, ignoring the sudden jolt
of pain from his broken ribs. Yesterday was a disaster. The Tranquility is in drydock, new armor upgrades ripped to pieces, cockpit missing... His crew members
severely wounded - or worse. The betrayal of Coalition has cost him his vessel, and almost his life as well. In these dark times, every help they could get was more
than appreciated, and a stab in the back like this lowered the morale of the entire Order, and with it, their chances of survival.

Duke turned his head around to see
the intercom panel built in the wall. Gripping the cigarette with his lips, he punched in his name and authentication, requested a call and waited for response.
After a short while, a lean, blonde woman in white uniform appeared on the screen. "How can I help you, commander?" "Jonathan Clay. Sergeant. What is his
condition?" "Let me see... Oh, I'm sorry, we did everything we could, but his wounds were too severe. " He closed his eyes momentarily in a gesture of utter dismay.
"Thank you, officer."

Raoul flicked the switch, and the screen went blank again. He resumed staring into the ceiling, puffing his cigarette. Is this the beginning of the
end? Are our days as protectors of humanity counted? Who will protect them when we're gone? Bleak thoughts swarmed his mind, ascending to ceiling, following the
trail of burned tobacco.

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