Embers

[Omi]

Capitaine Katsuko KOMATSU

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Cloaked in the shadow of a gas giant, the Resurgent hung in space like a ghost, silent as the grave. Its cavernous hangar bays and kilometres of corridor rang hollow and empty, each and every footstep inside those metal halls echoing into nothingness. She had left the shipyard some fifty years hence as the Castillon, another mighty weapon for the Gallic war machine -- but now, half a century later, she cut a dim shadow of her former self. Her hull was pockmarked and scarred from decades of war, her weaponry was hopelessly out of date, and the fervour of her crew was long spent. To be the last Valor flying the Crown's colours was a dubious honour indeed, and the vessel bore little resemblance to the proud warship it had once been. Her striking silhouette now only promised a fraction of the same menace it had had those many years ago.

The hangar bay in particular was a sorry sight -- berth after berth lay conspicuously empty, with only a scattering of aging strikecraft still littering their various pads. The XJ-series of fighters and bombers had always been renowned for their rugged construction and overall reliability, but every patrol flight added precious hours onto craft already well past their expected service lives. Bit by bit, their numbers were dwindling, and that was why the woman found herself alone on her way to her craft today.

The sight of her Lynx was enough to quirk the corners of the Kusarian's mouth upwards, her lips curving into a wry sort of half-smile. At this point, there wasn't much left to do but laugh, and take the small joys in life where she could find them. Her zeal had burnt itself out years ago, and the fires of hope had themselves been extinguished not long afterwards, but throughout it all a Lynx had always been her constant companion. This one was a tired, worn-out example of its type, but still its angular fleur-de-lis design comforted her somewhat. A hand stroked its hull, almost reverently, as she climbed her way into the cockpit.

Day by day, she'd felt herself slip away into a kind of numbness; she flew, she fought, and against all odds she had survived while the Royal Navy proper crumbled to dust around her. At times, thoughts of desertion had gnawed at her like rats in the night, but always fear of the unknown had curbed her ambitions. At least here, she knew where she stood -- no matter how bad things became, anything had always seemed better than the hold of a refugee transport bound for parts unknown. It seemed like a sure-fire path to poverty, a way to trap herself forever without wings in a sector that lived and breathed through spaceborne means.

Her pre-flight checks were reflexive by now; as easy as breathing, as long as she ignored the ever-mounting list of failures scrolling up her display. The cockpit hissed shut above her, sealing her into her craft.

Reunification had been the death knell for all but the most inexplicably extreme elements among the Enclave's faithful, but even then Komatsu had found herself pinned by circumstance. For her, a Legionnaire, no offer of amnesty had been forthcoming. Ten years she'd given to the Crown, lured in by promises of residency, pensions, and a better life once the war was put to rest; all of which had long since turned to ashes. Now, there was nothing left for her but a crushing, tragic finality, and after the sickening reality had finally slammed home for her, acceptance had weighed her down like an anchor about her neck. The last, desperate vestiges of hope that somehow, some way, everything might some day work out had slipped through her fingers again like so many grains of sand. They were doomed now, each and every last one of them, and all any of them could do was fight it out for one reason or another. For the majority of her compatriots, it seemed to be blind fanaticism or outright madness that kept them energised; but for her, a Kusarian, it was something else entirely.

Above her, the launch crane scooped her Lynx up like a toy, swinging it out wide and lowering her into the airlock's anti-grav cushion. The fighter thrummed to life as it prepared for launch, its whole chassis reverberating around her. Even after all these years, the sensation still set her teeth on edge. It was like an electric buzz in the pit of her stomach.

Death would find her soon enough, she reasoned. That was the fire burning at her core now; the caustic, grim excitement that coursed through her at every soft blip of a new contact on her scope. Every time she gunned the throttle wide, g-forces pushing her hard against her seat, the same breath of hope sputtered into life:

Maybe -- just maybe -- today's the day.

All at once, the doors beneath her Lynx swung open. The fighter dove, spiralling out of the bay before streaking off into the void. Its engine trails grew smaller and smaller, until they were just another blue dot among the countless stars.

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