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Irene Mincine

Sunrise

Joint log by Irene Mincine and Cptn Swain

“Yo, Val, CAG wants to see you,” said a pilot as he walked by an open but darkened bunk room. 

A groggy voice came from the room. “You’re always bringing bad news, Alvar.” 

***

The briefing area of the Excalibur flight deck was, out of sorts. Desks were still randomly strewn about the room. The main display board had cracked down the middle of the screen and flickered back and forth. Pictures of each of the pilots littered the floor, having fallen from the wall. 

Constance d'Aubigné sighed deeply. There was little she disliked more than messy breifing room, but given that her crew had spent the entire – however many hours it had been – time since arriving in the past just trying to get the flight deck operational enough to launch a combat air patrol she would have to live with the messy briefing room. 

She took a swig of decidedly fake coffee and glanced up as she heard boots. “Oh good, Val. I have a mission for you. You might need some sunglasses though.”  

***

Twenty minutes later, Valerie Carillon was suited up and climbing into the cockpit of her Lancelot fighter. Her fighter.  

She had been flying shuttles and cargo carriers in the transport wing for years, ever since the battle at Chin’toka that cost the Federation an entire fleet, and cost Val her eye and forearm. Both fleets and limbs can be replaced these days, but confidence and regulations can’t. And both confidence and regulations said she’d be on the bench for the rest of her career. 

It took her over ten long years to get back here, back where she belonged. Who cares if it was a science mission? If she pulled it off, she might make it out of the transport squadron for good! 

The subspace radio clicked on. “Lancelot 45-Beta, Excalibur control. Clear for departure, hangar bay 2.” 

“Roj.” 

Val’s gloved hand pushed the throttle forward. Her fighter blasted out of the Excalibur’s hangar bay. Val’s small frame was pushed tightly back against the seat before the inertial dampeners cancelled out the acceleration. Once the fighter hit cruising speed, she locked in a course toward the system’s yellow star and kicked in the autopilot while she did a customary systems check, making sure the science package was online. 

With her fighter on automatic, she took a look around outside with her augmented-reality visor. Nothing but empty space ahead of her and the crippled mothership orbiting Sarras behind her, with the gas giant behind slowly shrinking. She was at home in the void. 

The scientific analysis pod, attached to the underside of the fighter, locked onto the star as it grew closer. Energy readings appeared on the main viewer, which she began to transmit back to Excalibur. 

Val decided to take manual control as she got closer to the star. She stretched her wings, flying in parabolic arcs to prevent too much heat buildup – or so that’s what she told the CAG over the radio. She wanted to see what her fighter could really do. See if she still had it. 

She got in close to the star – as close as was safe. As she began to round it, she pushed the throttle lever fully forward. The impulse engines glowed brightly as the fighter performed a slingshot, the gas giant and moon rising in her viewer. If this was her last chance to fly one of these Lancelots, she was going to make the most of it. 

She came around the other side of the star, pulling 6 Gs and accelerating beyond the maximum speed of the impulse engines thanks to the gravity assist. She could barely lift her hand to command the engines to full reverse. As the gravity dropped, she let out a cheer while sweat poured down her face. That was the most fun she had in years! 

The Excalibur contacted the fighter - the readings were solid – she’d collected loads of the gravimetric data the Excalibur would need to figure out a slingshot maneuver. Time to head home. 

***

By the time Val had returned, the brief room had been brought back to something resembling the standards that d'Aubigné could find tolerable. A briefing for the first CAP was well underway as she slid into the back of the room. 

“Fairly straight forward,” d'Aubigné said in her lightly accented standard, while motioning to the still cracked, but less flickering display. “Our primary objective is to keep eyes on the perimeter. The asteroid belt and ambient radiation should keep passive sensors of the era from seeing much, but if someone does drop by Captain wants to know ASAP. 

“The asteroid belt is as far as you should be flying unless approved by flight ops. Even though I know you’re all skilled pilots – well except Tarheel back there,” she said to a brief outburst of giggles, “but we don’t have the ability to support any kind of rescue mission and we’re short on parts so no playing in the belt. Am I clear?” 

The levity quickly dropped and the gathered pilots responded in near unison. “Yes, ma’am!”  

“Very well,” she said motioning them off. “Get to it.” 

Once the briefing had dispersed, d'Aubigné turned her attention to Val. “I see you managed not to sunburn yourself, Cyclops. How was it?” 

“It felt good, ma’am,” Val said with a smile. “Most fun I’ve had in a long time.” 

Lifting an eye-brow, d'Aubigné smirked. “Don’t get too used to fun on this ship, but good. Take a break and then I’ve got you up for the second CAP rotation.” 

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