Chapter 18: I am ready, are you?

This time he made his way to his elaborately decorated personal quarters, and once he arrived there, he made his way to an ancient wooden trunk. The decorative carvings on its surface resembled the Wars for Castor, which would in recorded history lead to the founding of the Plexxan Federation.

The large trunk was easily opened, since the old bearded man possessed the keys to its locks.

Opening the trunk gave access to artefacts that helped shape the last century of not only Federation history, but also galactic history had been severely influenced by these artefacts and its owner. And today, it was time for another chapter to be written.

He grabbed a belt, and lifted it out of the trunk. The black leather was followed by worn down holsters, holsters for a pair of plasma pistols, which lay casually on the bottom of the trunk.

After the belt was firmly strapped to his hips, the President reached for his trusted pistols. He felt toe scars of battle on their surfaces, and flashes from long ago filled his mind: faces of old friends lost long ago, defeats and glorious victories all entered his worried mind for a moment.

The pistols were put in their holsters, and the belt was strapped to the old mans hips. Then, he grabbed a few knives and strapped them to his legs, his arms and then took his most prized possession from its storage.

The engraved metal was shining bright, almost blinding. A pair of long, well sharpened Plexxan battle swords rested in his hands, their weight pressing on his muscles. The old man stood for a moment, pondering about his plans: Had he considered every scenario? Were his assumptions about the enemy right? Had his decision concerning saving his crew been the right one to ensure their survival?

The cold steel made its way back into the dark, as it was pushed back into the scabbards, both weapons swung through the air, and landed on Howard's back in a crossed position. That way over each of his shoulders one hilt rose, seemingly out of nowhere.

A few other artefacts made their way into his battle gear before he closed the old trunk and locked it. With that, the President returned to the bridge once more.

"We will reach the end of the wormhole in three minutes Sir", was the answer one of the officers gave the First Officer when Howard returned upon the bridge. He whispered a few clear orders to his Tactical Officer in the middle of him being announced upon the bridge.

Then, after a quick systems check, he stood in front of the view screen, leaning on his walking cane: ready for anything.