The Odysseus wasn’t quite as lucky as the Odyssey, taking into account a certain definition of luck. Since the official commissioning of the ship into the Confederation ranks, there had been a large influx of new faces. Certainly none of them were hopeless, but they weren’t the cream of the crop that the Odyssey had enjoyed.

Too many Marines for that, for one. Steph smirked to himself at the thought.

He and his ofttimes mentor, Eric, had a long-standing exchange on that subject. Being a former Marine himself, Eric wasn’t amused with the jarhead and leatherneck jokes Steph was likely to toss his way with regularity. Steph hadn’t actually been a member of any particular military branch, having fallen between the cracks as things got desperate during the latter half of the Block War. The war had reached a point at which the hastily-tossed-together Confederation between the United States, Canada, and Mexico really didn’t care about what uniform you wore, or even if you wore one, as long as you were willing to step up for the cause.

When the war ended, as a member of the Archangels, Steph had actually managed to avoid any official enlistment in any of the various military branches, because none of them wanted to let another claim the Archangel squadron.

And now here I am, wearing a Black Navy uniform. How the mighty have fallen. Steph’s lips twitched at that thought.

The Black Navy uniforms were nice enough, dress whites for special occasions and space black with gold and silver trim for the rest. No hats, thank the gods. Steph had followed those proposals intently and seriously considered sending death threats to the morons who wanted them to have caps, hats, berets, or some other apparel idiocy.

We live and work in sealed habitats. Why the hell would we ever wear a hat?

He pulled off his black tunic and tossed it over a bench near a press machine. For once, some level of sanity had won out in the bureaucratic nightmare that was the chain of command. Hopefully, that would be an ongoing trend.

He doubted it though.

“Stephan?”

The light contralto voice and distinctive accent mangling his name brought Steph out of his reverie as he settled into the exercise machine. The source was approaching from over his left shoulder, but he didn’t need to look around to recognize her.

“Milla,” Steph said warmly as he gripped the padded arms of the press and started pushing. “Didn’t know you were in here today.”

“Regulations,” she said as she came around in front of him, smiling slightly. “We did not have so many in the Colonies Navy.”