Tides of Change

[qwertypp7]

Captain Leigh smacked the side of his radar display in an attempt to stop it flickering. In Alaska, where collision hazards were thick on the ground, a working radar display would be essential for travelling at cruise speed. Warning lights flashed all over the controls as the Bastet moved slowly through the eerie expanse of Alaska, trailing a steady stream of coolant and a small trail of debris drifting from the weapon impacts that pockmarked the fighter. The ship's cruise engines had cut out several times on the return journey and the systems damaged during the battle with the Bounty Hunter had deteriorated to the point of near uselessness. Only one out of the ships four Reapers was still capable of firing, the radar had begun to malfunction and damage to the engines and the leaking coolant ensured that only short bursts of cruise travel were possible before the engines shut down from overheating.

Giving up on his radar, the captain opened a secure comm line to mission command.

"Mission command, this is Captain Leigh," he said, "my radar is failing and my coolant levels are critical. I can't keep up cruise speed any longer, any chance of recovery?"

The usual crackle of static came before the reply.

"Negative Captain, all recovery vessels are currently occupied around Minor. No definate guess on when they will be available."

The captain sat back and swore to himself. Travelling to the Omicron Minor jump solely on impulse engines would take longer than his limited oxygen supplies would last. He closed his eyes and considered his options. He was considering breaking radio silence and putting out a general distress call when there was a sudden bump on his cockpit's canopy and he jerked his eyes open. Staring out into the dim light of Alaska, Leigh was face to face with the floating body of an Order ensign, her hair splayed out in the weightlessness of space and her face frozen in an expression of terror.
The captain shivered and jerked the control stick sharply to the port side to dislodge the body from the front of his vessel. The frozen body had convinced him of the only course of action left open to him. A distress call would alert every LSF and Navy vessel in the system that he was there and it wouldn't be long before they organised search wings to hunt him down. Still, he reasoned, being shot down was better than dying slowly in his cockpit or in the confines of his pod waiting for recovery. The floating body had been a painful reminder of that fact. And there was always the chance that a friendly vessel would reach him before the authorities.

Opening a system wide comm broadcast, he spoke into his helmets microbead.

"This is Order patrol alpha two one, requesting assistance on my transponder. I have critical damage and my engines are non fuctional, over."

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Dublin Miner: I am Gallic admiral earning money in Bretonia.

True story...