	Pacing, they say, had become his regular routine.  Back and forth over the same place on the command deck, relentlessly.  Once a bet went sour against a materials technician, concerning the possibility of a grove being dug into the deck.  During the dead of the night shift, the only time in which the admiral wasn't around, two techs actually measured the deck and found there to be a small grove where the admiral paced.  So much for the durability of modern day metals and one tech was out one hundred credits.

	Those who were actually in the know, understood why Vice Admiral Brahms continued to pace everyday, sparing a glance at holographic plot.  The deeper the fleet moved into Shivan territory the more concerned he grew, but for some inexplicable reason, no Shivan had yet to be found.  This caused a great of debate amidst the xenologists about the Shivan mind set, and even greater frustration to the military strategists.  Three months into Shivan territory and nothing, not even a piece of debris.

	In all fairness, the lack of hostile contact was beginning to affect the combat personnel as well.  At first it was great, no sudden alerts, no friends dying, and everyone was well rested.  But after a little while, they began to become paranoid to the point where pilots were blasting the crap out of asteroids because they looked vaguely Shivan.  The civilians on the other hand didn't mind at all.  Life was beginning to return to a normal routine, as much as it could be considered a routine.

	All of this Veronica Christensen had seen before on various reports that crossed her desk.  Another one was just handed to her as she watched the admiral pace.

	*He should relax a little.  The man is going to have a heart attack before he turns fifty-five.  Probably give everyone else one too.  Oh well, what can you do about it?  Walk up him and say: "Sir, you're really freaking us out.  Go to the mess and have a beer or something."  Right.  He'd tear into me like a starving man into a honeyed ham.*

	"Commodore?" a young enlisted man asked quietly from behind her.

	Veronica turned around slightly.  "Yes?"

	"I have a priority one signal from recon wing one-one-niner-eight.  They've made contact with an unknown power signature.  They are still to far out to make confirmation on the ships." the enlisted man was to point, and held a firm voice.

	Standing swiftly, and taking the few steps over to the admiral, she only told the enlisted man to put it on the main plot.

	The holographic picture swirled out of focus and then came back with new information crawling over it.  Brahms stopped and analyzed the updated plot intently.

	"How long ago?" he asked briskly.

	"Approximately five minutes transmission time.  He should have confirmation by now." Veronica answered.

	Both Veronica and Brahms stared intently at the plot as information was continuously refreshed.  Size, power output, and physical tally of the ships came in at a steady stream.

	"I don't like this sir." she said.

	"Neither do I."

	Then the information flowing into the command centre told the holographic plot to change to icons representing the unknown ships to change colour from purple to red.  Specific information starting piling up beside each blazing crimson icon.  Molochs, Rakshasas, Liliths.

	"Organize a proper scouting mission. Put your SOC boys on this one, the longer the Shivans don't know we're here the better."  the admiral said without taking his eyes away from the plot.

	Veronica turned away to perform her duty, but as confident as she looked, there was deepening feeling of dread growing inside her.  

	*Here we go again.  Lord have mercy.*