My team is growing and evolving. Physically for the most part, alas, although I wish there was an uptick in brainpower. Still, smarts aren't what matters in the military. What is, you might ask? Why, the size of your weapon, of course!

We're ready to tackle open space on our terms, for we are Space Troopers now, you see. Ostensibly, the proud elite of the armed forces, although we intend to alter that perception. There are a few differences between recruits and Troopers. For instance, dying is a great deal more costly for the latter. Oh, and it has become a lot harder for the enemy to avoid us. And on top of everything else, we can now carry more loot.

Our training's done, and not a moment too soon. The Universe is neck-deep in a mess—a massive, malodorous, green mess. If there's anyone to clean it up, it's us. At least, I don't see any other takers…