Two Piranhas scream into frame. They're piloted by LANCE CASEY and MAESTRO, newly graduated cadets from the Confed Flight Academy. CAPTION: Nephele System CASEY: (V. O. ) C'mon, MAESTRO, lost your touch? MAESTRO: (V.O.) Just limbering up, pal. They bob and weave in the blackness, trying to outrun each other. CASEY:(V. O. ) I've been ahead of you since the last jump point. MAESTRO: (V. O. ) Watch and learn from the MAESTRO himself. MAESTRO accelerates, moving dangerously close to CASEY. CASEY: (V. O.) Ooooohh ... can't beat me that easy CASEY pours it on and leaves MAESTRO in the dust as the first distant glimpse of a Confed carrier appears on the black horizon. ANDERSON: (V. O. ) Incoming Piranhas, this is the TCS Midway. You are entering restricted Confed military space. Reduce speed to ZERO-six-ZERO and set approach vector to B-44. Do you copy? CASEY: (V. O. ) Awww, it was just getting interesting. (beat) Midway we read you. Reducing speed and adjusting vector for approach. MAESTRO: (V. O. ) Take us around back, CASEY. I've been looking forward to this for a long time. CASEY: (V. O. ) You act like teenager on a first date. The space fighters bank and turn. CASEY: (V. O. ) Wow, look at her! (beat) I just hope they got all the bugs worked out. MAESTRO: (V. O. ) Relax. Except for routine tours, Confed hasn't seen any action in years.
EXT. SPACE --MIDWAY
Glory approach of the two fighters. ANDERSON: (V. O. ) Welcome to the Midway. You are cleared for landing. They land their ships on the FLIGHT DECK.
INT. FLIGHT DECK
CASEY and MAESTRO walk away from their fighters, flight bags in hand, heading towards the DECONTAMINATION CHUTE. MAESTRO: This is it, Case, the big time. CASEY: Great, our first duty--ferrying Piranhas to some hi-tech bucket of bolts in a jerkwater system. MAESTRO: Perspective, Mr. CASEY. I've brought something that'll make the long cold nights here breeze by, especially with the right company ... MAESTRO produces a bottle. CASEY: Altairian Brandy! Isn't that contraband? Where'd you get it? MAESTRO: Call it a diplomatic perk. From the Consulate General's private reserve. CASEY: Well, put it away, Stoop, before we end up in the brig. MAESTRO: What are you worried about, CASEY? This ain't flight school anymore. He begins to pack the bottle back into his bag on the deck. STILETTO: (OS) TEN-HUT! They stand abruptly. MAESTRO's bag falls open and the bottle rolls forward across the floor--only to be stopped by a black boot. A hand reaches down and picks up the bottle. They follow it from the boot ... into the eyes of STILETTO. She studies the bottle for a moment . STILETTO: Second Lieutenants CASEY and Garrett, I presume. CASEY nods STILETTO: First Lieutenant Jean Talvert, callsign STILETTO. I'm acting commander of the Diamondback Squadron ... your initial assignment here on the Midway. She glances down at her hand-held ICIS, checking their orders. MAESTRO: (aside to CASEY) How'd a First Lieutenant rate a whole squadron? STILETTO: (not looking up) Because I'm that good, Mr. Garrett. (something catches her eye on the ICIS) Apparently your reputation proceeds you. It seems the CAG would like to discuss that little incident with the Altairian Consulate's daughter. CASEY: (aside to MAESTRO) So, it really was his private reserve?! Eyes cold, STILETTO turns her attention to CASEY. STILETTO: And you ... Mr. CASEY, if you think that having a famous father will cut you any slack around here, you're dead wrong. CASEY: Respectfully, I'm here on my own merits. STILETTO: Let's hope so, because around here you live or die by your flight stats. Understood? CASEY: I collected the highest scores of any cadet at the Academy-- She cocks an eyebrow. CASEY: --Sir. STILETTO: Along with the most demerits, as I understand it? (she moves closer) This is a make or break shakedown cruise for us ... and I don't have time to play babysitter. Got it? Now get yourselves registered on the system and-- (she tosses MAESTRO the bottle; he almost drops it) --stow this swag before the CAG sees it. You're in enough trouble as it is. STILETTO shoots them a hard glare, but almost smiles to herself as she turns and walks off. CASEY: Well ... that went well. MAESTRO: Welcome to the Midway. Main credits end. CASEY just shakes his head and turns to log in to the system. He hits a few switches on the console.
CASEY logs in. In an ANGLE from screen, they gather their gear. CASEY:: Let's check out the rest of the ship MAESTRO:: Great-- STILETTO:: (OS) (from a distance) The CAG's waiting, Mr. Garrett. MAESTRO winces. CASEY pats him on the back as they both exit.
CASEY enters and sees a wall of people gathered around a table. Three older pilots--MANIAC, HAW~, and SPYDER--are at the table. A couple of YOUNG PILOTS, along with ZERO, sit with some OTHERS at another table nearby. Maniac, his back to CASEY, holds forth to some excited ND YOUNGER PILOTS standing in front of him. Spyder and Hawk exchange bored glances. MANIAC: Bam, I take out the Cat on the right, then bam, bam, bam his Wingman is kitty litter ... The rookies are impressed. Maniac eats it up. CASEY: (to Hawk & Spyder) This seat taken? CASEY looks around for someone to acknowledge his request, but Hawk doesn't seem to notice him as he continues to sharpen a large knife. CASEY sits noisily. MANIAC: So then, I come in on the third Cat and fire an Image Rec' straight up his stovepipe! As the Rookies cheer, CASEY,extends a hand to Hawk. CASEY: Name's CASEY. HAWK: doesn't acknowledge him ... in fact, he gets up and leaves. CASEY turns his attention to Spyder, who also ignores him and exits towards the bar--walking right in front of Maniac. From the bar, ZERO notices CASEY and just sort of shakes his head. MANIAC: (continuing in BG) Meanwhile, the Chief Cat, a priest in the local cult of Furball or something, decides to come after me ... CASEY makes a final interruption that gets Maniac's attention. MANIAC: Woah, woah ... hold it! What's that awful stink? My eyes are watering. There's only one thing in the universe could possibly smell that bad ... (he spins in his chair and "discovers" CASEY) ... a plebe. Fresh off the Recovery Deck and still reeking of the Academy. (Maniac holds his nose) Get lost, peasant. This table's reserved for the big boys, members of the Black Widows Squadron, to be exact. He is about to start in on CASEY when ... PAVO: Major Todd Marshall, report to the Briefing Room at once. In the lull, his "audience" slowly begins to talk amongst themselves. MANIAC: Oh, man I was just getting to the good part ... (trying to keep the crowd's attention) Don't worry, I'm saving my best stuff for later anyway. They're not listening, already caught up in conversations of their own. Maniac leans into CASEY. MANIAC: Don't be here when I get back, Plebe. He exits. ZERO approaches CASEY, slams a drink in front of him and slaps him on the back, startling him. ZERO: Congratulations, you've just met, and pissed off, Maniac ... a legend in his own mind. They laugh. As they shake hands ... CASEY: Name's CASEY. Just shipped in. ZERO: O'Hearn. They call me ZERO. Since you're new here, let me show you around Pilot Country! CASEY nods in agreement. ZERO: You're currently in the Rec Room-home to malcontents, drunkards, and trouble-makers. CASEY: My kind of people. ZERO: Self-serve bar is there and the Flight Simulator over here. C'mon, there's more ... They exit through the door.
INT. READY ROOM (PLAYS)
The door opens and ZERO and CASEY walk in. ZERO opens a locker and pulls out a flight suit. He hands it to CASEY. ZERO: Your locker's here. This is where you'll find your flight suit and gear. CASEY: (re-hangs his flight suit and looks around) Homey place ... ZERO: All neat and shiny. Just like us. ZERO makes a face; his sarcasm is apparent. Then ZERO indicates a computer. ZERO:: And, of course, what state-of-the art carrier would be complete without Big Brother? From the Flight Log Computer you can run stats, check your scores ... just like in flight school, only for real. ZERO turns to go. ZERO: Why don't you get acquainted and come find me in the Briefing Room when you're ready? CASEY nods as the door opens and ZERO exits. CASEY examines the room more closely.
The door opens and CASEY comes into a big room with amphitheater style seating. There's a LARGE VIEWSCREEN at the front, with SMALL SCREENS (the ICIS) on each pilot's desk. ZERO is at ANDERSON:'s console, his feet propped up. ZERO: Behold, the Briefing Room! Look around you, CASEY, my man ... billions of Confed credits at work. This is the nerve center of our work on this ship. ZERO crosses to podium as CASEY indicates the screen in the front with a SPINNING LOGO. CASEY: No map table? ZERO: (shakes his head) Ancient history. This is the ICIS system. Brand new. It's tied into all the ships computers--it'll show us where we're going and what we're doing according to the brainiacs upstairs-- sorry, the Tactical, intelligence and Science divisions. Finally, it all gets distilled down to the screens on our desks. It's easy ... point and click. You know. He points to ICIS on front row. DALLAS: (OS) Call it our window to the world ... if it works, that is. The large high-backed CAPTAIN's chair swivels around to reveal a young man rapidly tapping on a hand-held ICIS. ZERO: CASEY, meet DALLAS, our resident voice of doom and general naysayer. He's probably writing another letter to Senator Taggart as we speak. DALLAS: Not so, ZERO. I am, in fact, tracking my investments. Five more years at this rate and I can retire a wealthy man. ZERO: You see, DALLAS does it for the cash. It's not just a job and all that. DALLAS: (sighs) You see conspiracy in everything don't you? Cash is what it's all about. How much money do you think Confed saved by building a standalone carrier force, namely this behemoth of a ship, with no need for additional support vessels, eh? ZERO: God. Who cares? If this tub gets hulled, what then?! They've put all their eggs in one basket with no backup. Besides Confed has its greedy little fingers in everything. What's a few credits here and there? DALLAS: Don't tell that to Commodore Blair. After all, the Midway was his idea. CASEY: Oh, not Blair again! They both look at him, puzzled. CASEY: (CONT. ) For years all we heard at the Academy was Blair this and Blair that. ''Savior of the Confederation '', "Most decorated pilot", Blah, blah, blah. What is he about four thousand years old by now? God, I am sick to death of hearing about Blair. Believe me, I think I've heard it all-- CASEY breaks off as he finally realizes a tense DALLAS and ZERO are looking behind him. CASEY slowly turns to face: CHRISTOPHER BLAIR stands at the open entrance door, glaring at CASEY. CASEY: --except that he was personally on board the Midway. CASEY swallows hard. ZERO: Attention on Deck. The young pilots stand rigidly. Blair moves in close to CASEY. Dangerously close. BLAIR: Have we met, Lieutenant? CASEY: CASEY, Lance R. Second Lieutenant. Confed Number C26354. BLAIR: CASEY. So, you're the Iceman's kid, huh? I heard you were coming on board. I flew with your old man, you know. He was a good pilot, followed orders ... (angry beat) ... and knew when to keep his mouth shut. CASEY's saved from Blair's wrath by The CAG's entrance into the Briefing room. Blair glares a final time at CASEY, then joins the CAG--immediately launching into a WHISPERED, yet heated, discussion. ZERO and DALLAS cluster around CASEY as he exhales heavily. CASEY: Good-bye career. ZERO: Don't feel so bad ... I hear there's always openings in the diplomatic corps. C'mon, let's get you a drink to put those flames out. They exit out the door leading to the Ready Room.
