2067 was the year I died for the first time. It was painful. Had I known how often I'd be expected to die over the next several millennia, I might have made a stronger effort to stay dead. The year actually started off rather nice. I finished my PhD in high energy physics and was promoted to lieutenant commander in the United States Air Force. My first posting after the promotion was to the Lunar One Air Base where I worked with my father, Dr. Robert Kimbridge, on "The Project".

Wars with aliens make for strange bedfellows. Five hundred years ago I died. In most cases that would have been the end of it. The thing is, I didn't stay dead. Well, actually I did, but more to the point my mind woke up in brand spanking new, state-of-the-art cloned body custom built by the Imperium to fight the B'dar. This is my story. This is the future history of me.

By any reasonable definition, this was a bad day. My parents and sister were on Mars when the planet died. I watched it happen and could do nothing. That type of thing changes a man.

Opportunities there are few and far between…that is unless you're willing to put on a uniform. For ace-pilot Deborah Allen Riker (a.k.a “Admiral Dare”), life had never been easy. She's defended Earth against countless enemies, both alien and human alike. Now a civilian and academic living on the fringes of civilized space, she has committed herself to a life of solitude and studying a race of long-dead aliens. Everything was great…until she finds herself dragged into a new conflict. A conflict she never saw coming.

It’s odd the way some things work out. You expect to wake up dead, and instead, you wake up to the beautiful face of your wife. I was understandably confused. I had died…or at least I sure as heck thought I had. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I’ve been alive for a number of years now, and to be honest…I’m quite fond of it. I just didn’t understand "how" I was alive. My name is Fleet Admiral Jeremy Riker…but my friends call me Dog. This is my story.