Civilian Alert: "Captain, Civilians!"
"C-Captain! Civilians!"
Among the naval academy cadets who had unwittingly boarded the ship and fought in the battle despite being students, one male cadet scanned the ground below, wondering if any civilians might have survived the massive aftermath. He spoke up toward the woman seated impassively in the captain's chair, staring straight ahead.
"I'm not the chairman right now. I'm the captain."
"S-Sorry!"
"So... you spotted civilians?"
After briefly rebuking the male cadet for using the wrong title, the captain manipulated the virtual panel on her command seat at his words, projecting the external screen he had been monitoring right in front of her eyes.
What appeared was a man and woman amid the devastated urban streets ravaged by optical weaponry. They looked a bit disheveled, but hardly like survivors who had weathered such turmoil.
Though she was currently forced to occupy the captain's seat out of necessity, the ship she was on boasted specs so extraordinary that even imagining them felt presumptuous. With her keen eye and grasp of the situation, it was only natural that she realized all this chaos stemmed from the very vessel she commanded.
Considering that background, searching for identity verification systems or personal data on this ship would be utterly foolish. It simply wasn't there.
'Can't identify them, so letting them board recklessly is tricky...'
The ship would soon revert to military control, stripping her of the captain's seat. But for cadets like these, destined for naval academy enrollment and military service, gaining combat experience aboard now would be a massive boon for promotions in the impending whirlpool of war—no need to look far into the future.
At this critical juncture, a turning point for their futures, boarding unidentified civilians with shady backgrounds would only harm her position. She was about to refuse the rescue when she noticed not just the male cadet who first reported it, but also the female cadet clumsily operating controls in her awkward boarding, and the countless eyes of the header-class cadets returning as the battle nearly ended—all gleaming with unspoken resolve. Realizing her mistake, she halted her refusal and slowly nodded.
"Sergeant James Dean, check the life detection sensors."
"Ah...! Yes, ma'am!"
At her command, James Dean fumbled with the hologram panel with inexperienced hands. Thanks to his clumsiness, the captain caught a moment to breathe, discreetly wiping away the cold sweat trickling down her face and biting her lip.
'I'm not skilled enough to criticize Sergeant Dean either... Can't let my guard down...'
She had anticipated the ship's gravity, so rescuing civilians and letting them board was impossible? That was standard protocol for any Federation military officer in the captain's seat. But that assumed properly trained soldiers with full military education, deployments, and competent subordinates.
She wasn't dealing with perfect soldiers, but raw recruits from the academy swept into battle by chance—a motley crew of amateurs. No matter how justified her orders by logic and necessity, harsh commands to these mentally immature kids would undermine her charisma and leadership. Swallowing bitterly, she clenched her fist.
Bridget Midas. Her name, and the infuriating irony of her surname fueled her grip. The Midas family had once rivaled the fame of the war hero who birthed a half-family lineage known to all.
Contextually, unlike Ban Kail, who rose alone against military brass, her father Jefferson Midas leveraged old noble wealth and connections, arguably surpassing him at the time.
But God apparently didn't wish both Federation titans to fall. Ahead of a crucial battle, Jefferson committed an inexcusable strategic blunder, dooming his downfall.
What happens when the frontrunner falters? 'Assets seized, fake ties scatter—obvious.'
Bridget felt resentment toward her father anew, yet realized she wasn't much better, having nearly echoed his blame moments ago. Turmoil churned within as she reflected.
Entering the academy had been a gauntlet, enduring classmates' bullying with intellect inherited from her once-heroic father, crushing them all to rise as cadet chairman.
Furious yet determined, as a Midas, she vowed revival through unyielding success. Nodding to James Dean after he scanned nearby biosignatures and sent the data, she checked the panel.
'Excluding those two in plain sight, no other survivors nearby.'
The radar map centered on the ship showed biosignatures dotting the area, but none as vivid as the pair ahead. The sensor's overwhelming precision even gauged life force, earning her silent admiration. Without delay, she lifted her head to the watching crew and spoke clearly.
"We'll rescue the two civilians in front of us first."
Her words sparked bright smiles from the still-naive crew. Perhaps expecting to search for their families next, or spotting acquaintances among other civilians.
But turning this strategic weapon into a free clinic? Forget family revival—her life would be at risk.
"However! Civilian rescues end with those two."
"Ah...!"
"Ch-Chairman!"
As eyes shifted and shoulders flinched, Bridget slammed the command seat's armrest with all her might—despite only affording level-1 enhancements from her near-bankrupt family funds—and swept a chilling gaze over them.
"Are you all sane?! What do you think this ship you're on even is?!"
Her voice, honed by societal storms, carried natural charisma, freezing the crew's movements.
"This mess happened because of this ship! Even if we had no choice but to board and operate it, once the chaos settles, who here is confident we won't face military tribunal?!"
The brief leniency for the visible civilians lingered, but Bridget inwardly smiled at the perfect setup, staring down their paling faces to imprint her presence.
"This ship we're on is a strategic weapon that forced the Nova to break their truce, poised to upend national strategies. Once aboard, we're not cadets—we're soldiers. Every action demands ironclad justification and purpose."
I'm the one with the vision you lack...
"Suppose we play the humanitarian card and rescue civilians everywhere, as you suggest. At tribunal, will you claim we opened a strategic asset for civilian volunteering?!"
Interim or not, as captain, I hold authority and responsibility—shut up and obey.
"Sergeant Dean!"
"Y-Yes!"
"You spotted them, so take responsibility and secure those two civilians' identities now."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Lieutenant Kyle!"
"Heh. Yes, ma'am!"
"Lieutenant, under Sergeant Dean's lead, secure the civilians' identities, then escort them straight to the isolation sector aboard. As I said, we're rescuing them on moral grounds, but they're still civilians."