Relics: Lost in Transit

[Captain Tahmores]

Red Moon
Approaching Takodana

Tristan picked idly at the Rogue Squadron patch stitched onto his ragged old jumpsuit. It had once been pristine and perfect, a shining beacon of his pride in the military service that had consumed most of his youth, but by now the edges were beginning to fray, the dyes faded, stains and smudges that refused to be removed now an irrevocable part of the design. Still, it clung on for dear life, force of will and die-hard sentiment the only things stopping it from being torn away and discarded.

It was symbolic, Tristan supposed, as he tugged hard at a loose thread and ended up with far more of it than he'd expected before it broke. The patch was as past it's prime and redundant as he was; a pale shadow of a memory of past glories that didn't count for much any more.

He sighed as he slumped back into the pilot's couch, staring out at the void of hyperspace as the range-to-destination ticked away painfully slow. This was what he was reduced to now: this dull, monotonous existence. He had been so determined, so desperate to avoid the fates of his fellow pilots, promoted to commands and desks and boredom that he had clung to the seat of his cockpit with all his strength; but when age had snuck up on him, when Republic protocols had taken a crowbar to his grip, he'd found himself with no place to go. No prospects. No experience at anything other than how to hurl a starfighter around space. It was this knackered old fighter, or some feeble desk job or instructor job at one of the flight academies. Tristan still wasn't sure if he'd picked the lesser of those two evils.

The sigh continued to roll out, gaining force and volume until it became a frustrated growl, a blast of annoyance to knock his voice awake and spur his vocal chords into motion. He reached out above him, grabbing the comm handset, poising it beside his mouth before he clicked and spoke.

"All hands, this is your Captain speaking," he uttered to the handful of passengers aboard; trips like this were usually made alone, might as well make the most of having an audience while they were here. "We are currently on our final approach to Takodana. Please find your way to the nearest available seat, and brace yourself for deceleration."

The comm was clicked off and returned, overhead switches flipped in a barely paid attention to sequence. A hand reached out, hovering a few microns above the hyperspace controls and then, the split second the descending digits cycled over to zero, slammed down on the lever and plunged the Red Moon back into realspace.