"Vagabond to Avalon, things seem fine among the heavies and the civilian ships. Permission to sweep the forward quadrant?" His voice carried a static-ridden sense of boredom across the wireless.
A dull, almost irritated, "Permission granted" came back.
He shifted his weight a bit, and made a few adjustments to his sensors before opening the throttle up ever so slightly. The agile Mark VII zipped ahead, reaching the forward point of the fleet in seconds.
"What do ya say, Cupcake? You got my six as we sweep a whole lot of nothin'?" It was almost possible to hear the grin on his face as he called sardonically called to his wingman across the wireless.
Vagabond relaxed with an easy sigh as he looked out at the endless star line. Somehow, here, behind the stick of a Mark VII, it all made sense. The fighter moved like a dart of mercury through the whale-like capital ships of the fleet. Vagabond took a kind of arrogant joy in the fact that as long as he was in the cockpit he was in control. He could outrun, out fly, and and out perform any other ship in the fleet and he knew it. This wasn't the time to stand on his soap box, though. That would come when the details of the 'military action' that had the fleet on edge were revealed. For now this was just another day, another cubit - a standard BARCAP.