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Episode 5: Baptism of Fire
Wildstar stood stock still on the dark, silent bridge of the old warship. The only sounds were the captain's, Venture's, and Wildstar's quiet breaths, along with the usual computer hum of the ship's systems.
Derek took a deep breath and held it, straining his ears to catch even the barest hint of the coming of the enemy.
Captain Avatar sat perched in his captain's chair, also listening, waiting.
Venture could barely see the outline of either man in the low glow of the ship's instruments.
To Mark, the silence was almost unbearable. That was the stark difference between him and Wildstar, Derek had little fear. After all, he'd faced uncertainty his entire life. What was one more day of not knowing where he'd be tomorrow? Mark, on the other hand was uncomfortable not knowing exactly where he would be a week from now, much less tomorrow. For Mark, this unexpected jaunt out to the strange ship was rather unnerving. He stood still, concentrating on what he would do if the enemy really was out there and suddenly appeared. If they weren't there, he would drag Derek back to the barracks and try to get some sleep.
The bridge remained deathly silent.
"It's been hours since I told you to destroy that ship," Colonel Gantz fumed at the man who showed him the Eratites' buried construct. "Why isn't it scrap yet?"
"Sir, we had… setbacks… No one knows why. It's almost like someone knew we were planning on making a run on the site and saw to it that we couldn't until now."
"Hmm, a saboteur?" Gantz asked, eyebrow raised, and the subordinate momentarily thought he might be off the hook, then Gantz exploded, "You expect me to believe that? You're all lazy and incompetent! That's the real reason the Eratite ship isn't destroyed yet. Just go and get rid of it. You may even enlist Din* and her sister-ships. Just get this done!"
"Yes, sir…" the man saluted the Colonel and scurried away.
Once the man was gone, Gantz sat down heavily in his chair and sighed, "Hilde…" he thought, the image of his daughter appearing in his mind, unbidden, "If only I had known… I would have hidden you away from them; they never would have found you, and I wouldn't have to be out in his awful, lonely galaxy…"
The day his daughter Hilde was abducted by Deun the Usurper – the elder brother of Gamilon's current ruler, Leader Desslok – he was sent out here to help oversee this endeavor. General Dommel Lysis, head of the Gamilon Royal Navy saw to it that the troops were battle-ready and that Gantz received the resources and training to lead this group. But no matter what he did, Gantz always ended up thinking about getting his daughter back – having her safe again.
Right now no one knew where Hilde was. Even after Leader Desslok deposed his wayward brother there was no information released that might lead them to Hilde's location. It was all beginning to seem like a sick joke to Gantz. How could this have happened? How could it still be happening?
Every day Gantz waited for news that they found his daughter – alive and well, he hoped. Despite his hopes, day after day passed with no word. And now there was this new mess with the Eratites and their new-found will to fight back. Why didn't they just give up? Surely it would be easier than dying slowly from the toxins that were being pumped into the planet. If they surrendered, Leader Desslok offered to make them a territory subject to Gamilon. They would still have to house the entire population of Gamilon – and the remaining two inhabitants of Iscandar – but they would at least be alive.
They were stubborn men, these Eratites – had to learn everything the hard way it seemed.
"Colonel?" the voice of the man he dismissed several minutes ago echoed into the room via the communications system.
"What?" Gantz growled.
"Din and her fleet are ready to take off, Sir."
"Then go already! Stop making me wait for a victory that should have been ours days ago."
"Yes, Colonel Gantz. We're taking off now, Sir."
With that, the base rumbled as the ships launched and began their short journey through the solar system to Erats. They would be there in a couple of hours. Until then, there was nothing to do except wait.
Alarms erupted from everywhere at once. Wildstar flew into action, taking his position at the combat chief's chair.
Venture couldn't move for the barest second before the shock of the imminent threat sent him jumping to his friend's side. He took the navigator's chair – though what either of them could do with the ship still entrenched in crusted ocean muck, Mark wasn't sure.
Derek stared out the blocked bridge viewport, as though his eyes could melt away the grime crusted there.
"Enemy fleet approaching your position, Captain Avatar," The same voice that announced the coming of the scout planes days earlier now heralded the coming of something much more deadly.
"Understood," Avatar replied. "Evacuate the area directly beneath us."
"Yes, Captain."
"Captain Avatar?!" Nova's welcome voice pierced through the shrill alarms as the nurse appeared at the back of the bridge, her hair mussed and face still sleep-filled, but her eyes were wide awake, "Is the radar operational yet?"
"Yes," Avatar replied.
Nova nodded and within a second she was behind the radar console, pushing buttons and watching screens and readouts. Within a ten-count, the radar was ready, "Enemy ships thirty thousand mega-meters directly above us. Five battleships and… hundreds of fighters! They know we're here!"
Avatar nodded and for an instant, he said nothing, then to the surprise of all three young people he said, "Orion, take us up."
"What?!" Derek questioned, utterly taken aback. "They'll squash us like bugs if we do that!"
"Sit down, Wildstar," Avatar commanded.
Derek slowly obeyed, just now realizing that, in his declaration, he'd risen all the way up out of his chair.
"Cap'n! She's a bit rusty; this engine hasn't been tested yet!" The old Irishman's voice crackled back through the ship's comm system.
"Now is as good a time as any to test it. The more we know now, the easier it'll be for us later."
"If there is a later," Wildstar mumbled under his breath.
"Gentleman," Avatar addressed Derek and Mark, "And Miss Forrester," he nodded to Nova, "This is your baptism of fire."
Nova nodded, her jaw set in a determined line, eyes fierce. Derek and Mark nodded grimly, ready.
Ten long seconds passed, ten agonizing seconds of the enemy drawing ever closer to their defenseless position.
Then, the ground quaked beneath them. Gently at first, then violently, the ground, caked about the hulk of the long-dead ship loosened, blown away from the site by the force of the rising ship.
Con tower, main guns, upper decks, lower decks, and finally, the lower bridge all emerged from the dirt. The ship raised its proud head above the grave it was sentenced to for too many decades and stared up at the enemy now descending upon it, as if to say, "This is my home, and you'll not have it!"
"How is this happening?" Wildstar asked as the dirt, caked over the front view port, began to crack and give way under the engine's shaking. Piece after piece of debris crumbled away to reveal the radiation-ridden world around them, eerily glowing in the stone-cold night.
Derek had never seen Earth like this – after the sun went down. No one was allowed out here at night; it was too dangerous. If a man's suit breached, he froze in minutes. At least during the day the only thing an unlucky soul would get was some exposure to the radiation, which could – most of the time – be treated if the victim was found quickly enough, but at night… if trouble came, death followed it swiftly.
This night was even deadlier still because now, Gamilon ships were descending on them and the untested Earth ship was only equipped with a crew of four, plus the old captain.
"Not great odds," Thought Wildstar, "Ah… so what?" he shook the thought of his impending doom out of his mind. After all, he had no family to go home to after this, so what did he have to lose?
He stole a glance over at Venture. Mark's face was white as a sheet and if the situation hadn't been so dire, Derek would have had a good laugh at Venture's expense. Not this time though – at least, not until they got out of this.
"Forrester, how long until the enemy is within firing range?" Avatar asked.
"Two minutes, Captain," Nova replied from her station.
"Wildstar, start charging weapons. They'll need some extra time to prepare."
"Yes, Captain," Derek acknowledged and began the preparation sequence he drilled over time and time again over the past many days.
"Ninety seconds," Nova announced.
"Weapons are charging," Derek announced and watched as the readout for the main guns changed, their energy levels rising closer and closer to the one hundred percent mark.
"Sixty seconds."
The energy level barely squeaked above the thirty percent marker.
"Captain, we don't have time!" Wildstar suddenly blurted, "We're not going to have enough power!"
"Yes, we will," Avatar insisted. "Be patient."
Derek gritted his teeth as he watched the indicator rise too slowly. Finally it reached the fifty percent mark.
"Fifteen seconds!" Nova's voice had a hint of anxiety in it now.
"Captain, we can't do this!" Derek shook his head, seeing no human way possible to finish charging the ship's guns in time to meet the incoming ships.
"Yes. We can!" The captain repeated as he saw a wild look begin to creep into Wildstar's eyes. "Be still! The less time you have, the more you need to use the time you have wisely. Now stop overthinking it and let's do this by the numbers."
Wildstar stared into the captain's face, speechless at the confidence the old man still exuded.
"Five! Four! Three!"
Suddenly the readout lit up brighter than anything Wildstar had ever seen before and the power level soared from half to full in an instant.
"Two!"
"Power at one hundred percent," the computer announced.
Derek was too stunned to react for half a second and just nearly succeeded in picking his jaw up off of the floor in time to hear Nova finish her countdown.
"One! They're in firing range now, Captain."
"Fire at will, Wildstar," Avatar ordered the young man.
Derek took careful aim.
"Firing the main guns now, Captain," Wildstar announced as he let loose a barrage of laser fire into the oncoming horde of planes.
Tall and beautiful, the young queen stood watching as events transpired on the world her people and her sister-world's populace now knew as "Erats."
She saw to it that the message capsule her sister brought to Erats was used as the core of whatever ship the Eratites used to make the long journey to Iscandar.
Because of this, every time the ship used the core in some fashion, or whenever it was in distress, she could see everything happening onboard ship for a limited time.
This was the first instance it happened and it thrilled her to be able to see the faces of some of the brave men and women who were making the journey. They had no idea who she was, or why she wanted to help them, but they accepted her message in good faith, and she intended to do everything in her power to help them reach Iscandar alive and well and return home safely, bringing healing to Erats.
Gamilon riddled Erats with deadly radiation, but they also helped construct the fabled Rophi Shamayim* - a machine that once restored Iscandar from the brink of annihilation. If it could do that for a planet so far gone as Iscandar once was, surely it could also restore Erats to its former glory.
"By the will of Yahweh…" the young queen thought, "I pray it will be so."
The queen peered into the Eratite ship and watched as hundreds of Gamilon fighters swarmed the single ship. She expected to feel some apprehension at the sight, but found she was not anxious.
Ever since the day she'd first seen the malakhim shl Adonai* with her own eyes, she began to sense things she was never able to before - things that once would have troubled her no longer did, and things she would have never noticed before now stood out clearly.
"You will make it, my Eratite friends. Do not despair at the host that has encamped against you. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand… but Yahweh will see to it that you remain unharmed," The woman smiled faintly as she watched the exchange.
"They're… they're gone!" Wildstar exclaimed less than a minute later, "Wiped out!"
"Yeah," Venture agreed, stunned at the ferocity Wildstar exhibited as he mowed down the entire group of planes trying to turn them back into scrap.
"Those are some guns, Captain," Wildstar turned to look back at Avatar.
"They are," the old man replied, "But it looks like that was just the beginning."
Nova agreed and announced, "Three warships now approaching our position. They aren't sending out any more fighters."
"Yeah, because they don't have any more," Derek smirked.
"Be that as it may, be wary of the," Avatar instructed, "Ships less powerful than these were at Pluto…"
Derek's brow furrowed at the mention of the slaughter at Pluto. His jaw tightened and he waited the intolerably long time it took for the warships to get into weapons' range.
Finally, the first of the three ships got just close enough for Derek to hit it.
"Die, filth," he growled as he shot a gigantic hole right through the center of the alien ship.
The second warship, not anticipating its companion's sudden demise sailed right into Wildstar's firing range just as he began his second salvo.
The third warship stopped just out of the ship's firing range.
"Come on! Just a little closer, you coward," He challenged the ship.
Derek taunted the destroyer over and over hoping that it would dance into his range so he could blow it out of the sky just as he had the two other ships and their fighters, but it just… sat there.
Derek finally slammed his fist into the console and stood half-way up out of his seat. "Come on already!" he shouted at the enemy. Let me finish this!"
Despite this final challenge, the third ship didn't drift any closer. Instead, two seconds later, it turned tail and ran.
There was silence on the bridge for a moment before Venture said, "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it… We really can beat them with this thing!" he wiped the sweat off his forehead.
Nova looked up from her post, a triumphant smile on her face, "That's not all we can do," she said, holding up a tablet computer which now displayed an image of the ships they just faced. "We also just got a detailed scan of that warship. Consider it one of the first of many entries we'll be able to make about the Gamilons' ships."
"Well done, Forrester," Avatar praised the young woman. "You got information on the fighters as well, I assume."
"Of course," she replied, tapping the screen a few times and bringing up the information she collected on the smaller planes.
"Very good work, all of you," Avatar addressed his three-person crew. "Venture, set her down. A crew will be in here all night moving her to the underground hangar we prepared for her."
"Yes, Sir," Venture acknowledged and gently set the mammoth vessel back down on the scarred earth.
"Now go get some sleep," the captain ordered, "We all have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. The ship is to be christened, and I'm the one they convinced to do it. I'll see you all in the morning."
With that, they all dispersed, Wildstar and Venture still in a fog from the flurry of events.
"Remind me never to follow you out of the barracks at night ever again," Venture said, finally starting to feel the consequences of the adrenaline rush he just experienced. He was about to crash, and if he didn't find his bed, and quickly, Wildstar was going to have to carry him back.
* Din – a ship, name means "Vengeance"
* Rophi Shamayim – what the Earth-dwellers dubbed the "Cosmo DNA"
* Malakhim shl Adonai – angels of God
Episode 6: Christening Day
Darkness shrouded the great hall. It was midnight, and though the palace had many a light, not a one of them was shining this night. The underground city was in total darkness, by the order of the Leader himself.
All was silent except for the echo of one man's footsteps as he approached the door to the hall. Suddenly – a pause in the footsteps; would he enter and show approval, or let his dissatisfaction be known by remaining outside? Even if he entered, would he consent to the proposed renaming?
All eyes strained to see the door in the darkness. Hundreds of citizens were packed into the throne room, shoulder to shoulder. This day – the day of the capitol's christening – was one that many had looked forward to ever since the announcement that the once-great Rapha'owr, most magnificent city on the face of Gamilon would be moved beneath the surface and resurrected to her former glory.
Her new name had been decided by the people of the great city, and now they awaited the decision of their Leader to accept or reject that new name, "Belarus."
Not even a whisper was heard in the great hall as all waited for the sound of footsteps to resume. For a chilling minute, they did not and the people began to fear that their choice had not been to the Leader's liking.
The doors to the throne room creaked and groaned as they slowly opened. The room remained in darkness, but all around, every ear heard the distinct steps of the Leader as he began his ascent to the throne.
They all listened, hearts beating heavily, hoping for the one thing that would make this night a moment that would never be forgotten. Many of those assembled held their breath, waiting.
Darkness continued to pervade the room and many began to wonder how the Leader could see to walk, but he had been known to do many extraordinary things – especially during the rebellion that brought him here to rule over them – as was his birthright.
A brilliant light appeared, shining down on the man who walked the narrow path to the front of the hall.
Its brilliance blinded many of the onlookers, and they had to look away to recover their vision, but just as many continued to try to stare at the scene, their eyes burning with the intense light.
The Leader's footsteps stopped the instant the light blazed on and some wondered if he too had been blinded by the light, but just as soon as they all recovered enough to see him, they realized their mistake. He was not blind, merely waiting for them to be able to see him as he continued his journey. He did not even appear uncomfortable in the sudden brilliance.
He stood tall – over six feet. His head of orange-blonde hair stood out starkly in contrast with his blue skin-tone. The uniform he wore was similar to the one his father – the deceased Deun I – had worn a decade earlier when he had ruled the world. Blue-gray in color, the uniform was highly formal – for though he had once fought alongside rebels in a camp cobbled together with whatever they could scrounge, he now stood before them every bit a ruler. The black cloak that shrouded him was blood-red on the inside, making him appear, to the imaginative eye, as much like an avenging angel as an aspiring king.
Every eye gazed in awe as many of them looked upon their Leader for the first time in their lives. They all glimpsed him on his coronation day years before, but now – now they all saw him clearly with his determined green eyes and jaw set in a hard, unbending line. Some also noted the odd scarf he wore with his crimson collar of office. The gray material seemed to gleam in a way that the rest of the uniform did not, but no one speculated why he had chosen to wear it, or where he'd gotten such an odd article.
The one thing, more odd even than the glowing scarf, that – though many may have noticed – none dared look at for long was the single black glove that the Leader wore which completely concealed his left hand.
His chosen weapon, hanging at his side, was widely admired and whispered about as he made his way to the throne. The weapon was of Iscandari construction, and many speculated as to how the Leader had come to possess it. The hand gun shone in all its golden brilliance in the bright spotlight that followed the Leader on his trek, eliciting murmurs of approval as he passed by.
Men and women began to chant the name of their Leader, just as they had on the day he was crowned.
"Desslok – Desslok – Desslok –" they all began to herald the Leader in unison, becoming louder and louder as he neared the throne.
The Leader looked neither to the right, nor to the left; his gaze remained fixed on his goal.
He did not let the din of the crowd around him distract him. If anything, the people's voices drove him onward him.
He reached the dais upon which the throne rested and stepped up onto it.
The voices ceased.
Silence, thick and still fell over the crowd.
The Leader raised his head and gazed upward, the circle of light still surrounding only him. Glorious brilliance fell over the man like a waterfall of light, almost as though he were receiving some divine anointing. But almost as soon as the moment began, it ended as the Leader took his first step towards the throne. One step, and then another; then he was there, before his reclaimed throne. He turned towards his people and began to speak.
Leader Desslok looked out over the crowd of officers assembled before him – a far different group than the one he faced at the renaming of the capitol. These were seasoned men of war. Many of them fought in the countless conflicts with the Cometines twenty, thirty, even forty years ago. One or two were even alive to witness the restoration of Iscandar over a hundred and ten years ago.
In the presence of such men the Leader often felt inferior to them in at least some small way. But though he respected them all, he reminded himself almost daily – he too had fought his share of battles, some far more gruesome than any of these before him had ever seen in all their years of space warfare. And when it came to the art of the sword, he was by far their master. He had the war with his brother to thank for that. So much of that conflict was waged hand-to-hand, his brother's army within shouting distance of his own.
That was a war for the very soul of Gamilon. "Deun the Usurper" as he was now known, enlisted the aid of a cult whose presence was – then – felt planet-wide. The group, known as "The Followers of Guardiana" worshipped a dark spirit and its host.
The Leader would have found and eradicated the host, but there were... complications with that approach. The host was his own grandmother, a woman of much treachery and the means to do as she wished. Thankfully the woman fled Gamilon for reasons unknown to them, and none had heard or seen anything of her since Deun's deposing.
Things were much different now with the leader of the Guardiana followers gone and Gamilon continuing to suffer from those cursed tsarebetim* that plagued the world, and though its despot was gone, Gamilon was more tumultuous than ever.
Leader Desslok stepped up to the balcony railing overseeing the amphitheater. It was packed. Every seat was filled and there were some who had to stand on the outskirts of the enormous room.
The amphitheater was long and narrow with the Leader's perch at the end farthest from the entrance. Rows of seats lined each wall from top to bottom, providing a way for all to see the Leader at once and be recognized should they be allowed to speak during the assembly.
Desslok's eyes roamed the great expanse, searching in vain for the one face he knew would not be present, Admiral Raymond Talan, the one man in the GRN* who still openly persisted in opposing the plans to conquer Erats. But though he stood against the Leader, Desslok would never think of taking the usual steps to silence the man. Raymond Talan was the closest thing he had to a father. To deal treacherously with him… that would be unspeakable.
Thoughts of the Admiral brought with them memories of Talan's son, Masterson. The younger Talan vehemently opposed the taking of Erats and voiced his displeasure to Desslok on several occasions. During that last of these disagreements, the Leader banished Masterson to wander the outskirts of the Gamilon territories in a patrol ship. With him, Desslok sent every professing Christian he could find. It was the worst regret Desslok ever had. Many a time he thought about recalling Masterson to Gamilon, but he was forced to deny that wish by… other forces.
Desslok looked now, not only at the men assembled here, but at the deep shadows that shrouded portions of the room. He peered into them, looking for something he had only seen out of the corner of his eye; something he hoped he would never see clearly.
There were so many changes since the war for the throne. Not the least of them was the absence of the sword Desslok was so accustomed to wearing. The Leader felt strange without the blade. It had been so long since his sword graced his side, but he hadn't forgotten the weight of it, the feel of the scabbard as it hung faithfully with the handgun he always wore. He found himself reaching for his sword at times of great triumph, or great frustration. Now… all he had to reach for was empty air, so now he raised his hands high as his sign of a decisive victory, or of some great announcement that he wished to proclaim to his people.
Today was one of those days.
The noise of the gathering turned boisterous.
Desslok made his presence known to the group, raising his gloved left hand in a request for silence.
The crowd instantly stilled.
"Gentlemen," Desslok began, his voice echoing through the great hall, sounding much grander than he anticipated. "Today we gather here to speak of the continuing efforts to occupy a new homeworld for our people. It has come to my attention that we have encountered some… resistance from the Eratites."
At this murmurs of disbelief rose until the Leader spoke again, "These insurgents will be dealt with speedily. We have no time to waste and General Lysis assures me that he is doing everything he can to see that the incident of yesterday does not occur again."
Desslok paused and recognized an aged man sitting half-way up the wall to his right.
"How do we know that this won't happen again?" The man asked, his tone insistent, but respectful. "That is exactly what we thought about the Cometines right before they stripped Iscandar."
Desslok nodded, "You have a fair point, General Hegel, but Dommel Lysis was not there when Iscandar was ravaged."
The old general accepted the Leader's rebuke, but something in his face told Desslok he did not truly accept that as an answer.
"I know you do not all share the confidence I have in our military commander, but had you seen the skill and courage he exhibited during the years I fought beside him, you would." The Leader continued, "I do not doubt his ability, and neither should you. He has prepared for this, and he will not fail."
Not one voice rose in protest. Those who disagreed kept their thoughts to themselves.
"My friends," Captain Abraham Avatar stood on the deck of the rebuilt battleship, Yamato, holding a glass of one of the world's most precious substances – purified water. "Today we are gathered here to witness something this planet has never seen before." He looked at the many lines of men and women. All of them wore the distinctive uniforms designed for the crew of this new ship.
Each division sported a different color. The groups stood in one or two straight lines, their division leader at the front. Among the officers were Wildstar, Venture, and Nova Forrester, along with many others including Patrick Orion, the veteran Avatar always kept as his chief engineer. The strange Doctor, Sado Sane, was there too, his squinty eyes peering out from behind his wire-framed glasses.
"Today we celebrate a new beginning," Avatar continued, "And with that beginning, we also must commemorate an ending." He held his glass up in a toast, "Today we give this grand ship a new name, one that hails from centuries passed, and holds in it the spirit we seek to embody. Today 'Yamato' becomes 'Argo'."
There were murmurs all through the crowd, especially from those of Japanese descent.
"Don't worry," the Captain reassured them. "The name 'Yamato' is not gone forever. I know that to many of you she will always be known by her first name, but in honor of her resurrection – her second life, the EDF thought it fitting to also give her a second name."
The mutterings of disapproval turned into murmurs of understanding and appreciation.
"Now, just as the ship this one was renamed for set out on a voyage of great importance, so we must soon set out on one of much greater importance." The captain scanned the room, noting the expressions of determination on each and every face, young and old alike. "Let us remember this moment for as long as we live," he held up his glass and drank.
The water was cool and clear, just as all of Earth's water used to be. Now, clean water was a luxury to be rationed. Every one of the men and women assembled drank with care and soberly gazed upon the newly dubbed Argo, the ship that would be their home for a long time to come.
Avatar set his empty glass aside.
"Now, you all know that this journey must be accomplished in one year or less in order for it to succeed."
All nodded.
"The launch date was originally scheduled for November, but," the captain sighed heavily, "in light of the recent attack on the Argo's previous location, it has been decided that the launch will be moved up to this week."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
"If any of you want to stay here instead of coming with us to Iscandar, you may do so. No one will think any less of you for staying." The soft din of the crowd ceased and Avatar continued, "You have all been briefed on the message we received from this strange ally. Is it difficult to believe? Yes, it is. But is it impossible?" The captain looked straight into the eyes of every division leader, finally stopping at Derek Wildstar, "Many have given their lives to see that we stand here today. I would be a fool to say that what is to come will be easy, but I would also be a fool to say that it is impossible."
There was a moment of utter silence as everyone digested the captain's words.
Then, Avatar went on, "'While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.*' Today the Earth herself still remains. We must have faith that the times and seasons will one day soon be set right again. We must hold on to that promise. I know that not all of you share the faith I do, but I believe that we will succeed in this mission. Earth will be restored, and we will return and see our home green and blooming once again."
A roaring cheer erupted among the men and women, and even those who didn't agree with the captain's religious tendencies did agree that they would do their best to save and restore their home.
* tsarebetim - scars
* GRN – Gamilon Royal Navy
* Genesis 8:22