Marcus woke up. For the first time in over a year, he opened his eyes to a sight other than the polycarbonate paneling inside his stateroom on the USS Ulysses. Today, he took in the dull green polyester of his camping tent as he blinked away the sleep fog.

Two months ago, Marcus Beardsly had received word he’d been selected for captaincy. Two days later, his former CO had pinned the fourth pip on Marcus’ collar, and a few weeks after that, the Ulysses had semi-ceremoniously dumped him back on Earth. It had been a bit jarring, leaving his home away from home like that. He honestly hadn’t expected to make captain. Sure, he’d been on good terms with his CO, who probably put in a good word, and he’d been a commander long enough to have time in rank. Marcus was also confident in his own abilities, so it wasn’t a matter of feeling unworthy. Despite all that, he had just assumed there had been other, more qualified commanders out there. 

It turned out there were better qualified commanders out there, which is why Marcus Beardsly was being given a California-class support ship, while his old friend from the Academy was taking command of an Excelsior II. Still, Marcus wasn’t going to be picky about his first ship. He got a command. He was a captain. That is an amazing achievement, and he was going to enjoy it.

Marcus was waking up inside a tent somewhere in the Arctic Circle because he was on shore leave before officially taking command of the USS Truckee. His family lamented his refusal to visit, his friends called him crazy for willingly subjecting himself to negative temperatures, but Marcus relished it. The outdoors! Nature! And most importantly… peace and quiet. Of course, a moment’s reflection revealed it wasn’t truly quiet here in the middle of the woods. A nearby river was babbling, a few birds twittering, and… what was that scratching sound? Was something trying to get into his supplies?

Throwing off the sleeping blanket, Marcus reached forward and unzipped the tent. With a sense of urgency, he lunged out of his tent, forgoing his boots and soaking his socks on the frost-kissed moss. Blinking in the sun, Marcus shaded his eyes and looked around. There, over by the makeshift bench he had crafted, a pine marten was arguing with the latch on his pack. Marcus sighed, picked up a stick, and shooed the creature away. He certainly wasn’t going to kill the animal, but he preferred to eat his food himself, rather than give it away.

With the morning excitement over, Marcus turned to practical matters. His breath misted in front of him, and he was suddenly aware of how cold his feet were becoming. Marcus stripped off his socks, donned a fresh pair with his boots, and set about rekindling last night’s fire.

He’d been out here for two weeks now, and his shore leave was rapidly coming to an end. In his time here, he’d built a little bench, a food cache, and a make-shift smoker. Not that he’d used the smoker – that would require killing the wildlife here, and Marcus wasn’t interested in that. Hunting, even for food, wasn’t outlawed on Earth, but it was generally frowned upon these days. There was simply no need, with replicators and essentially limitless energy. His father had been a big survivalist, however, and when Marcus was a boy, they’d spent many nights watching old television shows where people went into the wilderness to test their mettle, to see who could last the longest. As Marcus grew, they moved from the couch into nature themselves, spending a weekend here and there in the Alaskan wilderness. His father had passed a few years back, but this was Marcus’ way of paying homage to his dad.

After finishing a breakfast of replicated sausage and a biscuit, Marcus double tapped his comm badge. Before setting out on his camping trip, he’d rigged up the household computer to transport his garbage back home, straight into the reclaimator. Marcus was pretty pleased with his handiwork, not being an engineer. Plus, it meant he didn’t have to risk any bears rolling up on him in the night, looking for scraps.

Donning the rest of his cold weather gear, Marcus set out for a walk. It was his last day, and he wanted to enjoy the view one last time. Not to knock the view in space-he loved watching the stars streak by at warp speed-but seeing Earth the way it used to be, before humans had claimed most of the land, was something that just couldn’t be beat, in Marcus’ mind. He pushed through the thicket, taking care not to leave a wake of destruction through the underbrush. A snowshoe hare leisurely hopped out of his path, confident in its ability to escape the lumbering human. Marcus waved, as if the creature understood. Finally, Marcus cleared the tree line. 

The thin, cold air was already taking its tole on Marcus, but the sight took his breath away. He stood on a rocky outcropping, overlooking a valley. A slow, winding river meandered across the landscape. Marcus spotted an eagle soaring up above, watching for food. He spent the next half an hour just taking it in, committing the sight to memory. It would be a long while before he would have this chance again. New starship, taking the captain’s chair, earning the crew’s trust… it was a heavy burden, and he wouldn’t feel comfortable taking another vacation again until he had settled in there.

Later that day

Marcus tightened the last strap holding his sleeping bag and tent to his pack. He swung the pack around and onto his shoulder as he stood. Surveying the camp site, Marcus nodded. Fire was out, gear packed, no garbage. All that remained of his amateur woodworking efforts was a pile of sticks and timber, after he’d taken apart the paracord holding them together. Content he was leaving the wilderness the way he found it, Marcus sighed, and tapped his comm badge. 

As the column of light around him faded, the first thing he noted was the warmth. He was home. He spent the next hour fastidiously storing his camping gear and verifying his little jerry-rigged garbage disposal program had worked properly. When he was certain everything was in its place, Marcus showered, trimmed his mountain-man beard, and donned his dress uniform. He had timed his last day perfectly. It was time to meet the new crew.

“Beardsly to Truckee. One to beam up.”