Admiral Tolwyn’s Office, Confederation Headquarters.
Tolwyn: Your performance is not what I counted on, Colonel.
Maverick: Yes, sir.
Tolwyn: Perhaps the time away from the cockpit has taken its toll, perhaps there are other reasons. I wouldn’t know.
Maverick: None that I’m aware of, sir.
Tolwyn: Well, you understand that I have no choice here. A fighter craft is a very valuable piece of equipment. It has to be under the command of someone who can fit into it like a glove. The glove hasn’t been fitting, has it Colonel?
Maverick: Perhaps some more time in the flight sim, sir?
Tolwyn: Little too late for that. I’m afraid I have to take far more drastic steps. I am stripping you of your commission. Your days in the Space Force are over. You’re no paper-pusher, so I won’t insult you by offering you a desk job. It wouldn’t do for the great hero of the Kilrathi War to have sunk to such depths. I think it best to make a clean break, sever all ties. Thank you, Colonel.
Star port canteen, Nephele II.
Bartender: So you’re back again, huh?
Maverick: Yeah, looks like for good this time.
