Dark figures moved about in a hazy mist of confusion. They spoke in whispers, to inaudible to hear. They spoke two, no - three syllables. All at once, the sound was lapping like waves on an ocean. Over several minutes the whispers became louder, almost audible. He could start to make out what they were saying.

As the voices became louder, the figures started to take form. They were cloaked figures, figures without faces. The cloaks started to take better form as well; they appeared to be traditional Itani council robes.

One of the figures came closer, a face started to appear, it was familiar. He could finally hear what the others were saying. In deep rasp it spoke...

"Ooorus. Orus."

A-Dawg awoke in a cold sweat. He untensted when he realized he was home, or what he called home for now; a small cabin in the north of Serco Prime. Dragging himself out of bed and away from the the tiny bedroom A-Dawg moved into the kitchen/common room area. From the look of it, it was going to be a nice day out. The sun of Sol II rose with majesticaly over the trees as it arced across the landscape and sparkled off of a river about fifty meters away. Great time to go fish.

Thirty minutes later, sitting out by a homebuilt dock with the rod in the water, he glanced at the clouds in the sky, thoughts turning to space. The HAC he was assigned to was undergoing a major refit, mainly the tearing out of it's innards to fit the new shield generators in. The four months of shore-leave had felt nice though. Soon something was on the reel, most likely an old Earth fish, called a "trout." Even after over two-thousand years seperation from the original colonies, the "trout" remained relatively unchanged, if not a little more hardy to deal with Terra II's rigorous conditions.

The animal on the other end rallied against the line, not unlike the others. He could have easily ripped it out of the water, but that wasn't the point of fishing, it was about patience, tactics, he liked to think of it as a battle of wills than strength. Suddenly the line snapped and it got away. A low rumble approached.

A-Dawg made never kept any communication devices in the cabin on purpose, the only communication he kept with the outside world was occasionally driving into the local town for supplies. By the sound of it, it definitely was louder than a passenger vehicle, unless someone thought it'd be funny to drive a tank through the woods.

Over the trees came the familiar sound of a grav-engine at close range, an EC-89 bearing Serco military insignias came hurtling to the ground. The rear-entry hatch quickly opened and out popped a familiar face.

"Enjoyed your trip? Good. New orders."

"... I had a good trout on the line. You scared him off."

"We're running low on pilots these days, these are tough times for the Dominion. We need some more men up there. You're being reassigned."

"Where?"

"Guess." said the figure wryly.

A-Dawg grinned back. It was time to start getting used to spacestation quarters again.