Itineris

[Vogel]

The faintest of beeping noises could be heard in the cramped confines of the cockpit. The fighter rolled haphazardly through the vacuum, its sole occupant unconscious. Had he ever been conscious? Perhaps, in some form or another.

Air was going to his lungs via the fixture in his helmet. Slowly, easily it slipped in and out. He was alive, of course. Unconscious, but alive.

So was the ship, miraculously, drifting even still towards some unknown point across the edge of infinity. Its power core was functioning, plasma engines on standby, weapons, used by human hands, still armed; missiles locked into firing position, decoys ready to deploy. For all intents and purposes intact, pristine, preserved.

As was he.

He was here.

He was where?

The single coherent thought burst through his mind, jumpstarting his waking self. His eyes shot open, his chest heaved, his hands clenched around the controls, the air was sucked in forcefully.

Where was he?

Scanning out the canopy, he could see nothing but stars, with a bit of colorful gasses in between. Alien, unknown to him. Where was this place?

The fighter kept spinning; he didnt feel it, the inertial dampeners were still functioning, but the moving stars gave it away. He hit the gyro-stabilizing function on the yoke and the fighter halted its motion in all directions, using the present position as a reference.

Instruments. What did they say? Well they were all in the green when he looked at them, but that didnt tell him much; so it was all working, that was good, almost a given, but what about his position? He was in a fighter, not some fancy science vessel. What good would a fighter have with scanners like that?

His eyes shifted up to peer out the canopy again. The stars were so strange; he could recognize no constellations from here. He couldnt recognize anything.

He couldnt see any ships either.

The ships, the two armadas, where were they? Werent they staring each other down? Wasnt he all that stood between them and that little ball of rock they were defending?

They were here.

They were there.

He was there.

He wasnt anymore, that was for damned sure. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise? Or the worst curse conceivable? He figured hed find out, soon enough.

Easing the throttle forward just a little bit, the fighters engines started humming, propelling it forward at a marginal speed. The yoke was much more responsive now that it didnt have to rely entirely on thrusters to rotate the ship.

So he rotated it. And there it was.

So beautiful to him. Not monstrous. So nostalgic, so lovely, so precious, yet so detached.

Was that Earth?

Well if it was he might be in trouble.

But if it wasnt, then he was in even more trouble. And at this rate, he didnt have much to lose, did he? He lost his fleet, his objective, his bearing, what else?

His life? Even theyd have use of prisoners by the end of it all.

And so he keyed his comm. unit, broadcasting across all channels into open space, hoping with all his might that some human voice would greet him in return.

This is Lieutenant James Doyle of the 92nd International Volunteers Squadron, is anybody reading me?