Music thrummed faintly through the walls. Laughter. The clink of glasses. A fund raiser, Commander Iverson had called it. Mandatory attendance for all active pilots, though he'd said it with the same enthusiasm as someone announcing a root canal.

Inside, the main hall had been transformed. Tables lined the walls, draped in black and gold. A small stage hosted a band that was trying very hard to sound enthusiastic about a jazz rendition of a pop song. Wreaths of Garrison insignia hung between banners celebrating the end of the war.