The first rays of sunshine began to peek through the window, piercing the darkness inside Celt's humble domicile. At first the light focused mostly on the foot of his bed, but as time moved on it slowly crept up his sheet, warming his chest, then neck, and eventually his face. His eyes squinted shut to block out the intrusion of light within his dark room, but fluttered open immediately after. The day had finally come, the day that years worth of work and research would come together. It would either give Humanity hope, or fill it with despair. Only time would tell.<br/><br/>Celt sat up in his bed, rubbing his face as he fought through the haze that always accompanied the first little while after awakening. He stared down at his hands, steady as stationary block of pure steel. They were the hands of a pilot, focused and precise. Celt turn and hung his legs off the side of his twin-sized mattress, letting them dangle for a moment until they reached the cold tile floor. His socked-feet softly made contact, and that was the signal that it was time to get up and get ready.<br/><br/>Immediately he began his physical training, utilizing some of the equipment in his quarters that required him to give a bit of extra effort. Staying in shape in space was not as easy as it was working with the constraints of gravity. Sure, they could simulate it on board a starship, but even when they did, Celt felt weightless.<br/><br/>After his work out, Celt showered quickly then went to the mess hall for breakfast. Like clockwork, the rest of his squadron showed up only minutes after he had arrived. They took breakfast together, chowing down and relating expectations for the day's events. They had been given the day before and the morning of launch as free days, time to steady their nerves, say goodbye to their families and friends, and to prepare to leave the academy on Earth.<br/><br/>********<br/><br/><i>"Alert! Alert! Saurian fleet on our scanners! All personnel report to your positions! Repeat, all personnel report to your positions!"<br/>
</i><br/>The general quarters alarm sounded and the area around Celt took on a red hue. The first battle of the newly commissioned fleet was about to begin over Jupiter. The Saurian fleet had stopped their advance near the giant planet, leaving the Sol High Command panel somewhat confused. Speculations flew; they were using Jupiter's resources to resupply something they needed, or it was a trap, or perhaps it was a code of conduct in their society to wait for their enemies to meet them on the field of battle. Regardless, they were well represented in both size and numbers.<br/><br/>Aboard the SDF Icarus, Celt sprinted down the service halls and made his way to the hanger. Already the area was awash in adrenaline, but the deck hands, pilots, techs, and other personnel were still relatively calm. Celt, at only 19, was one of the youngest pilots in the SDF Navy, and officially the youngest pilot assigned to the Icarus. No one paid attention to his age, however. As long as he performed his duties well, he would keep their respect.<br/><br/>Celt climbed into the cockpit and settled in before lowering the canopy. It snapped into place and the cabin pressurized, a simple precaution since he was already wearing a flight suit that hugged him like another layer of skin. The helmet was linked wirelessly to the computer console, relaying information as it came in. Celt primed the engines and began his pre-flight check. He got about halfway through when he felt the fighter shutter, signaling to him that the catapult had him and was pulling him into launch position.<br/><br/>Locked into place, Celt finished his checklist and prepared for launch. The power core hummed steadily, warming up the engines and providing power to the weapon systems. The intercom again came to life, this time inside his helmet:<br/><br/><i>"All pilots, this is Captain Kaanar. Our enemy has taken up an offensive posture and is steadily moving toward us. Your objective is to protect the capital ships, intercept enemy fighters, and destroy enemy projectiles. If it's not human, kill it. If the Icarus is forced to engage directly, you'll be instructed to return and provide escort. Don't take any unnecessary risks, and come home safe. Godspeed, pilots."<br/>
</i><br/>The pep-talk did little for Celt. He knew that most of them were probably going to die, but as long as he died in combat, doing what he was born to do, he wouldn't mind. Moments after the captain's voice faded away, the catapult activating, shooting Celt and his fighter into space like a bullet. He formed up on the Squad leader's left flank, at roughly his 8 o'clock, and shoved the throttle forward. They were joined by fighters from all over the fleet, and together they prepared to face their enemy.<br/><br/>New technology, new crews, same enemy. Celt liked his odds.