Having no idea what a uniform should look like, Russell decided to consult the police commander first. As the chairman had said, the man's library of military history was staggering. When Russell explained his task, the commander grinned and pulled a file from the archives.

  "This plays in that old microfilm reader over there," he said.

  Russell examined the title beneath yellowed plastic coverings: The Common Man in Uniform 1900–2200: A Pictorial Collection.

  He pored over each image carefully, not wanting to miss a single detail. The earliest soldiers wore elaborate hats and chest plates, but the commander explained these were forms of armor, long since obsolete. Dismissing them, Russell focused on practicality. As he studied the film, he sketched a design, filling the borders with notes.

  An hour later, he carefully handed the film back to the commander. “Take a look and tell me what you think.”

  The commander examined Russell’s sketch closely. The uniform was a close-fitting black jumpsuit with a silver disk fixed to the right breast. It featured thin lapels and a V-shaped neckline, tucked into calf-high boots. A belt with a round silver buckle cinched the waist, embossed with UWSS—United Worlds Space Service. Officers would wear a ship-shaped pin on the lapel, while enlisted personnel would don a smaller silver disk, representing their member colony. The final touches included a lanyard and a sidearm for the UW military police.

  Russell felt a surge of pride.

  “I’ve never seen a commanding officer more in need of a sergeant major,” the police commander remarked. “I volunteer to plan your drill, ceremonies, protocol, and rank structure.” He extended a hand. “If you’ll have me.”

  “Gladly,” Russell said, shaking his hand.

  “Call me Ted,” the commander replied. “Ted Harmand. Now, let me get this over to the tailor’s factory and start production.” With that, he spun on his heel and exited the office.

  Russell spent the next two hours wrestling with an acceptance speech.

  The United Worlds council chamber was thick with anticipation. Dr. Hopewell and Professor Sachett stood before the assembly, laying out the details of Russell’s findings, along with his plan to rescue the hostages and destroy the sphere.

  “I have full confidence,” Hopewell declared, “that this man’s instincts are correct. We will succeed in eliminating this invader. However, we must also face hard truths. Our military consists of nine companies of military police spread across Terra, Venus, Luna, and Mars. We have not engaged in war for sixteen hundred years. We have no standing conscription system. Until one can be enacted, we will rely solely on volunteers.”

  A heavy silence followed.

  Hopewell took a steadying breath. “It is my solemn duty to announce that open enlistment into the United Worlds Space Service will commence at 18:00 hours solar time—on Terra and across all space stations and colonies.”

  The chairman of the Security Council, Linette Hughes, stepped to the podium. She faced the full membership of the United Worlds General Assembly, joined by six to ten emergency delegates from each colony, as well as representatives from the far-flung mining stations.

  As she took in the sea of faces before her, a grim thought settled in her mind: If I can convince them that this threat is greater than a single ship, humanity has a fighting chance. If not—if we only come together for a temporary pact—then one day, we will face this again, with fewer options and far worse odds.

  Another realization struck her: We have been at peace for so long that we believe peace is the natural state of things. We have forgotten what it means to fight for our survival.

  She let the room settle before speaking.

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  “Thank you, Dr. Hopewell, for your briefing,” she began. “The man behind these insights is here with us today. He has traveled from the farthest colony—Charon, Pluto’s moon—to aid in our defense. For him, this mission is personal.”

  She paused.

  “Four crew members were aboard the Argus when it was lost to the sphere. Among them was Argus’ engineer, Debra Hilds—Russell Carlin’s partner.”

  Murmurs rippled through the chamber.

  “For his work in uncovering vulnerabilities in the sphere, and for his willingness to lead a rescue and sabotage mission, I am invoking the Emergency Power Act.” Hughes straightened her shoulders. “As of this moment, he is commissioned as the first captain of a vessel in the United Worlds Space Service. This decree is issued on the 122nd day of the year 3960.”

  She looked out over the assembly.

  “His ship, now nearing completion, remains nameless. Perhaps he will tell us his choice.”

  Her gaze found Russell. “Captain Carlin—will you and your Sergeant Major join us at the dais?”

  From the two large entryways at the rear of the assembly, two men emerged, clad in jet-black uniforms. On the lapel of one, a pair of silver ships gleamed, flying parallel—Russell’s captain’s insignia. The other man wore a plain silver disk with the word Terra embossed at the top edge. Both had round, silver belt buckles emblazoned with the letters UWSS and wore calf-high black boots of webbed nylon fiber. Side holsters and lanyards, also matte black, completed their stark attire.

  They walked in perfect step down the carpeted aisle, ascending the podium with military precision. Russell stepped forward first, gripping the podium. His voice carried easily across the assembly hall.

  “By this time tomorrow, my vessel will have a name,” he began, his tone firm but not without a touch of pride. “And standing beside me is a man who will play a key role in shaping this service. Sergeant Major Theodore Harmand, late of the UW military police, has agreed to oversee all training operations. Those of you who have served under him before know what that means.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd, some exchanging knowing glances. Russell allowed himself a brief smirk before continuing.

  “The uniforms you see us wearing will soon be standard issue for all UWSS personnel. And training—” He glanced at Harmand, who gave a curt nod. “Training will be rigorous. We are not forming a club, ladies and gentlemen. We are forming the first line of defense against an enemy we barely understand. Sergeant Major Harmand will ensure that only the best step forward, assisted by a cadre of seasoned UWMP veterans.”

  Russell then hesitated for just a beat before turning toward the far end of the room. His voice took on a slightly different quality—less authoritative, more personal.

  “Now, there’s one more matter to discuss.” He let his gaze land on Jeff Calan. “After reviewing the needs of this fleet and speaking with my ground cadre, I have a recommendation to make. Commandant, I’d like to formally submit Commander Jeff Calan for officer training.”

  A few heads turned toward Jeff, who sat stiffly in one of the rear visitor benches. He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening.

  “If you accept, Jeff,” Russell added, “Chairman Hughes has already approved it.”

  Jeff hesitated, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on him. A lifetime of training, of discipline, had prepared him for moments like this. And yet, his instincts screamed at him to walk away.

  Jamie, seated beside him, squeezed his hand, her fingers trembling slightly. She already knew what his answer would be.

  Finally, Jeff stood, clearing his throat before speaking. “If you think I’m the right person for the job, then I won’t refuse. I’ll do it.” His voice was steady, but his eyes flickered toward Jamie, knowing the sacrifice it would demand. “I’ll train the Astro-gators and pilots. We’ll need the best if we’re going to survive what’s coming.”

  Russell nodded approvingly. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” He looked out over the crowd. “Because make no mistake—this is just the beginning.”

  That evening, at 18:00 hours, the remaining complement of Terra Twin enlisted into the UWSS. Within a single week, the space service had amassed 10,500 enlisted personnel, 350 officers, and a training cadre of 100. Two installations were established—Base One on Luna and Base Two on Charon.

  The astonishing speed at which the military was forming left Chairman Hughes with mixed feelings. On one hand, the enthusiasm and efficiency were reassuring; on the other, the ease of its establishment was unnerving. Open enlistment had been chosen deliberately—history had proven the dangers of conscript armies that lacked commitment and morale. Yet, many recruits had barely reached the eligibility age of twenty. They were eager, talented, and full of confidence. But Hughes harbored no illusions—humanity knew little of their enemy, and after sixteen centuries without war, they were dangerously out of practice.

  Years later, in her memoirs, she reflected:

  They were all so young, so full of pride and skill. They were confident, competent, and competitive. They looked to me as sheep do to their shepherd. And I turned away—so they wouldn’t see my fear.