Rowan Farrell went over the vessel a final time. It was his first command position, even if he was nominally the second in the hierarchy. Nothing to write home about, if he had a home to write to or anyone there who could read. There was no one except maybe his uncle Gordon, now retired and ensconced in a peaceful backwater settlement with his old comrade and partner, a man who had once been his commanding officer. Still, this was a command and it was Rowan’s first. The shiny golden bars on his tunic gleamed from an excess of polishing and he vowed to do his best to uphold the family’s military tradition in good form.
As space ships went, The Guardian Wasp fit in a half-step below the least of the real patrol vessels. Even so, she was nimble and fast, perfect for cruising among the remote
