"It was October the Tenth, Cycle 209.
A hyperspace storm was raging on the route to Westernesse. The fleet was battered by an unfruitful expedition to survey a derelict ship, supposedly orbitating around a red giant's corona. Another scavenger maybe arrived first; or maybe Sindrian informants were mistaken. Either way, Admiral Hera was wrong - she'd always been one of a reckless kind, too eager to accomplish her mission, but this time she had wasted too much resources on a pointless search. When supplies run desperately low, and we though things couldn't get any worse, Pirates attacked us. Came out of nowhere, made a mess of our sensors, and burned straight to our position.
I was in charge of a Dominator hull, with 300 people on board, loyal men and women who would have followed me to hell and back if I ordered them so. I knew them - I still know them all, every one of them. We're no cowards. There was no way to correctly deploy, ship's systems were completely incapable of engaging combat, it would have been a suicide.
I took my decision. I gave up my oaths, let down the Admiral, and we fleed while we still could. Run around an asteroid belt, to hell with the rest of the fleet. You may call me a deserter, but my conscience is clear. Come get your bounty, if you can."
Admiral Ferguson hesitated for a few seconds, then ordered to close communication link. She never spoke about that moment ever again. Anyway, that was a furious battle, I can tell you that. I still keep that bastard's Intel's notes on my pad, wanna see his stupid face?
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