Kobol's Legacies

“Frak, what have I done?” she said as she looked at herself in the mirror above the sink in the empty uni-sex rest room.  Her little talk with Lt. Lancelot had accomplished no favor. The pilot was one of those who still believed in the honor code, like Jilleen once had before the start of the war.  Her view changed after the start of the war and her experiences on the ground back in the Colonies.

If honor was so important, she should have stayed behind on Leonis with the un-selected and let someone else do the dirty work. Instead, she did her duty, like the rest of those with her on the ground to follow orders and to move on to the next assignment. Be that assignment to gather supplies or round up survivors to be rescued. There was no honor in what they had to do, nothing noble about leaving the un-selected, those un-important people. It did not make up for the fact that they did indeed rescue a good deal of people. Jilleen chose to live with that disappoint of having to leave.

How could a viper pilot understand that, one who saw things from a cockpit way above the ground, they did not have to live in the dirt. Lt. Lancelot and others can live with their honor intact.

( Solace )

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.

"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.