"Attention all hands, brace yourselves immediately. Exiting wormhole travel in five seconds."

Marcus Winter heard the PA system echo the helmsman's words as he sat nearby on the bridge, his fingers tightly gripping his chair as he prepped for what was to come.

"Three, two, one... mark."

A blaring alarm sound raced through the ship, and as it did, Marcus felt his entire body tremble, a pins and needles sensation stabbing through his hands, arms and chest as the UWS Sorrento came out of wormhole. His teeth went cold and numb, a raw, grinding pain sawing into the enamel that made him grimace. Bearing the pain as much as he could, he gazed down at the screen in front of him. As he did, he saw a small blip appear, marking the ship's location.

Then another voice filled the bridge, one that didn't belong to the helmsman, Ensign Tennant. This one was female, and it spoke in a monotone, robotic manner, each word followed by a glitchy and synthetic hiss.

"Location: Vulcanus system. Local Interstellar Traffic Control station is requesting our identification, Captain."

The synthetic voice got a groan in reply. Turning around in his chair, Marcus gazed over his shoulder to see Captain Baker shake his arms out to his sides, an expression of agony on his pallid face. Writhing pain carved itself onto his wrinkled, ash-white face, while a hideous grin sprung from his mouth as the Martian gritted his teeth.

A respectful degree of pity loomed inside Marcus. Captain Baker was tall and gaunt as a stair rail, his spindly limbs and porcelain-coloured skin webbed with black-and-blue veins. Both the result of living with low gravity and a lack of strong sunlight. Made the bodily stress of exiting wormholes even more severe for him, just like it did for Voyagers.

Through the pain, the Captain still spoke. "Computer, squawk our ident to the ITC station. Tell them that Marshal Idriah is expecting us."

"Acknowledged, Captain." The on-board AI responded immediately.

Marcus' screen pinged again, a white line drawing itself between the Sorrento and a hovering station marker, all of them within the same star system. On the same screen was the system's star, represented by a dull grey sphere, ringed by several other planets passing around it in orbit.

"Interstellar Traffic Control have acknowledged our signal, Captain" the Sorrento's AI spoke up again. "They are contacting the planet Vulcanus on our behalf to speak to Marshal Idriah."

Captain Baker nodded. "Understood." He then leant forward in his chair. "Mr Tennant, maintain acceleration and set a course to keep us within the Lagrange point."

"Aye, sir." Tennant replied, immediately setting to work at his command console.

As he heard that, Marcus stepped out of his seat and turned fully to face Baker. "Is that my cue, Captain?"

Baker's head twisted right. "Aye, Major Winter."

Marcus nodded. "I'll go and get my men. Be back shortly." He then started to step towards the door, but then Baker spoke up.

"You know, sir, we can just use the PA system" the Martian said.

Marcus looked back at the Captain. "I'll be fine, Captain."

A puzzled expression crossed Baker's face. "Are you sure, sir? It'll be faster than fetching them yourself."

Upon hearing that, Major Winter cracked an easy smile. "I'm old-fashioned, Mr Baker. Besides, it'll take a decent while for the Marshal's signal to reach us, and you may need the comms system for other things in the meantime."

The Sorrento's commander maintained his look of confusion, but his response was all the same. "Aye, sir."

"Thank you, Captain" replied Marcus. "As you were."

As the bridge's personnel set about the remainder of their work, Marcus stepped through the automatic door and made his way towards the elevator. He'd been on this ship for a week now and knew the route from the bridge to the quarters like the back of his hand.

Stepping into the elevator, Marcus tapped at the touch-screen controls and selected the eighth floor. After a brief electric 'ping', the sliding doors rolled shut, leaving the Major alone as the small metal booth descended.

And as it did, he felt something move through his body. A slight, but still noticeable, feeling of lightness, as if he had suddenly lost several pounds of weight in an instant. As the lift dropped downwards faster and faster, the feeling intensified, and Marcus felt his organs rising in his chest.

He was used to it by now, though. Not just because he had been on this ship a while. Because of his career.

He was a Major in the SOSC - Special Orbital Strike Corps. Unofficially known as the 'Orbital Commandos', or the 'Death From Above Corps'. One of the elite units of the Union Armed Forces.

Their motto, 'Descend and Destroy.'

And the 'orbital' part was exactly how it sounded. Needless to say, Marcus' body had become accustomed to the effects that thrust could have on the body. The feeling was the result of the quick-moving elevator racing with or against the trajectory of the ship. Going down lessened the craft's thrust gravity slightly, making you feel lighter, and going up did the opposite, shoving you downwards into the floor.

Just one of the many strange things humanity had come across in the centuries of interstellar travel. By far one of the least bizarre. And least dangerous.

Marcus lifted his gaze. Beside the door, halfway up the dull, deep grey walls was the electronic touchscreen. As the elevator moved, the man patiently watched a thin red blip run down a light blue outline of the Sorrento, passing from the bridge towards the ship's centre. The moving metal cabinet didn't pause once, and no-one else entered to join him, leaving him bereft of company as he travelled three hundred metres down the length of the Union cruiser.

As he stood waiting, he caught sight of something reflected in the screen. A broad-shouldered, dark-skinned man with a wide nose and strong jawline, two near-black eyes settled beneath crop-cut ebony hair. He was dressed in typical naval uniform, gifted to him by Captain Baker upon boarding the ship; a deep grey suit covered in plates of protective armour, with oxygen tanks and grav-jet thrusters mounted on his back. A space helmet was strapped tightly to his belt and upon his wrists and boots were more thrusters, these ones smaller, for manoeuvring in zero-G. Upon his shoulder was an Army epaulet, the single star denoting his rank.

Refusing to admire himself, Marcus tilted his head, his eye drawn to the thick patch of rough scar tissue just above his right temple, its wart-like texture branded into his skin.

To onlookers, it was a battle scar, something the Major had earned on the fields of war as he fought for the future of the Union. But to those who knew Winter well also knew the disappointing truth. It was a birthmark. Nothing more, nothing less.