On December 10, 1954, a human by the name of Dr. John Paul Stapp volunteered for an experiment in which he was propelled horizontally down a track by nine rockets reaching the equivalent of 40,000 lbs. of thrust. During the experiment, he accelerated from standstill to 630 mph in five seconds reaching 20 Gs before coming to a complete stop within 1.4 seconds. During that time, he experienced the equivalent of 46.2 Gs and his body was estimated to have weighed around 7,000 lbs. at the point of greatest force. He survived the experiment with minor injuries including the complete hemorrhaging of both eyes, which he fully recovered from with only minor side effects.

Captain Vir peered out the doorway and into the hall. He was about 99.9% sure he was not supposed to be here and another 70% sure if the doctor found him, he would probably be sedated again. However, he was more than willing to take these risks. He was where he wanted to be after all... in a roundabout sort of way.

When he had pictured arriving on this planet, it had definitely been grand: descending from the heavens in glory backlit and silhouetted against the interior light of the ship when the docking ramp was lowered. He probably would have stood there for a few seconds, for dramatic effect, before finally walking down the ramp and greeting the dignitaries or welcoming party sent out to meet them.

It would have been pretty badass.

Instead, he had stumbled in bloody and incapacitated like some sort of jackass.

What kind of moron loses an eye?

Congenital defects and visual problems aside, but he was born with 20/10 vision and had never required glasses in his life. Now, he was fifty percent more blind than your average person, and, as a fighter pilot, that was kind of an issue. He was definitely riding on the hope that he could get a new eye in the near future.

Using his right hand to steady himself against the wall, he stepped from the room allowing the door to seal shut with a hiss behind him.

Phase one accomplished. It was time to begin phase two: see cool alien stuff, and phase 3, complete the actual mission. Ok yeah, he had added phase two in himself just a few seconds ago, but that was beside the point.

He squinted through his remaining eye like he was going to be able to see better and made his way up the hall.

There was something really disconcerting about missing a good twenty percent of his visual field, and it was very hard to avoid being frustrated or angry when he accidentally rammed his right foot into the edge of some sort of medical cart positioned in the hallway.

It didn't hurt as it was he robotic leg that made contact, but he did let off a string of expletives as he nearly fell over almost plowing the –mostly intact—rest of his face into the cart as well. Eventually, he righted himself with only a few strange looks from passing aliens and continued to make his way up the hall.

To be honest – not discounting his eye—he was having the time of his life. This planet was teeming with cool aliens, and awesome alien technology: the use of which he couldn't yet fathom. He couldn't have come up with any of this in his wildest dreams; though as a kid he had definitely tried. Who would have thought he would truly make it here?

What was the wall even made out of, was it metal? No, it definitely felt too soft for metal, and the architecture was cool too, no sharp edges. It was all smooth and organic, just like he had expected from aliens.

And even more exciting were the aliens themselves, all of which he knew by heart. In fact, he knew way more than he let on, mostly because his extensive knowledge was actually a bit creepy. He had worked with Tesraki and Rundi before, while the rest of them were new --technically.

Vrul, Gibb, Tesraki, a Gromm: cool but also kind of gross; was the slime trail really all that sanitary?

Ah...ha, he had found what he was looking for. He reached the end of the hallway and pulled to a stop just short of what appeared to be a circulation desk waiting politely as the Vrul clerk, or nurse, busied itself with another doctor. However, his lurking didn't go unnoticed, and the two turned to look at him shrinking back against the desk with wide eyes.

Doing his best to look less threatening, he made his way forward, only to be immediately surprised as the doctor tore off in the opposite direction and the clerk hid below the desk with a squeak. He was confused until he realized he was smiling.

Whoops.

He frowned, at least Dr. Krill hadn't cut and run when he had first seen the "smile" though he had definitely thought about it.

"Er, sorry about that. I didn't mean to scare you, but I do have a quick question. It will only take like five seconds of your time, no more than few minutes."

No answer.

He sighed and leaned over the desk, "Promise I won't hurt you if you help me."

His threat worked, though he couldn't have said he was particularly pleased. Eventually the little creature looked up at him. It was shaking like a leaf, and it could barely speak He pressed his lips tight together to avoid showing any teeth.

"Hello, my name is Captain Vir of the UNSC on loan to the GA, and I am looking for this man." He had to wait longer than he would have liked for the little creature to actually turn its head and look, but by the time it did he had engaged the implant on his lower left arm and was projecting an image onto the nearest flat surface.

A human face stared out at them from the depths of the picture.

"Seen him?"

The little creature fumbled, "N-no humans here...."

"Clearly there are because I-"

"No humans here... just you. Now please. I have...work."

The little Vrul scrambled about pathetically for a moment before giving up inflating its helium sack and making its escape over the desk and down the hallway.

He was left standing, nonplussed in the middle of the hallway by an empty circulation desk.

"Okaaayyy..." he flicked his wrist dismissing the projection before venturing down the hall showing the image to anyone who wasn't too terrified to look.

Either everyone was too scared to recall, or they really hadn't seen the human in the picture or any of the other humans (forty-one in total) that he could have shown them, and eventually he had run out of people to ask. With a defeated sigh, he followed his feet through the last door, surprised to find himself outside under a blanket of stars and the mind-blowing sight of a massive gas giant dominating the sky above delicate blues and greens awash over its marbled surface; the labor of love of some cosmic painter.

He paused, overcome with admiration.

Wow.

He lifted his hand, engaging the implant and snapping a picture of the sight before him. He looked down at his hand once more then, "What the hell." He turned his back to the amazing sight and held his hand up: out and away from himself. With the other hand he gave a thumbs up as he snapped the image.

That was one for the album labeled "awesome pics of awesome places."

Picture stored and camera shut off, he turned back to the view arms crossed.

The missing humans weren't here and probably never had been. He hadn't had high hopes but he had to begin somewhere and a single measly clue might have been nice. Every day they didn't find anything was another day that the 41 missing military personnel could be dead, or worse. Then again, some of them had been missing for over two years, and the likelihood of them being alive was slim to none anyway. Space was a big place, and it had taken the 41st missing person to alert the UNSC that anything was wrong in the first place. Either way, UNSC personnel were going missing and no one could figure why.

With a deep sigh he tilted his head back gazing up at the sky in all her shadowy glory winking at him from the darkness like the flirtatious teasing of a distant lover. He let himself relax. She had always managed to calm him, even as a child when her velvety darkness seemed so remote and cold. And even now, when he could visit her often, he could still remember her first embrace, like it was yesterday.

***

Five Years Earlier

A low, early morning sun lorded over the North Carolina coastline, painting the surrounding sky with a bold wash of red, orange, and peach, untouched by the blemish of cloud cover. UN flags hung listlessly towards the ground as the sun cast her reaching fingers across the landscape.

Adam Vir could see them just beginning to reach through the wide panes of glass, stretching across the upper east wall of the flight hanger.

He tilted his head listening to the idling of the engines as six F-90 Darkfires were wheeled onto the runway just outside the hanger. The sound sent a thrill of excitement and nervous energy through his chest.

The sky outside was changing from a light peach to a bright blue, not a cloud in the sky.

The perfect day for flying.

He leaned over his little hand-held notebook and checked off another mark as he examined the breathing hoses in his suit. Around him, five others were doing the same.

"Captain Palmer, glad you could make it,"

The group of young pilots lifted their heads, alerted to a conversation across the room, which bounced and rolled off the corrugated steel roof.

"As am I. Tell me, what else is there to know about the program? Some of my superiors are more than a bit skeptical."

Adam Vir craned his neck trying to get a better look at the speakers.

"Of course, what exactly are your superiors' concerns?"

"Well, on paper they're just kids."

"I think you'll find they are a little more than that, Captain." Adam tilted his head a little further to the side recognizing the voice of their program's commanding officer. Boots echoed across the floor, and he finally got a look at the approaching visitor: a man in his late thirties or perhaps early forties, with a stern, but not unkind, face and two captain's bars pinned to his uniform.

Their commanding officer led him across the floor, stopping not a few feet away from their assembled group.

"Cadet Vir."

He stood quickly nearly tripping over the edge of his tarp as he did so blushing slightly at the look that passed between the two officers.

"At ease, cadet," the officer ordered, and he dropped his hand.

She stepped off to the side of the tarp, "Captain Palmer, this is Cadet Adam Vir: one of the first and youngest cadets to pass through the program. Cadet Vir, this is Captain Palmer; he has flown at least 10,000 flights in his career, the vast majority of them being trans-atmospheric and will be the observing instructor on your flight today."

Adam Felt another rush of nerves run through his body, "Captain Palmer, it'll be an honor to fly with you." He tried to keep his handshake firm, like his father had taught him.

Captain Palmer nodded to the notebook Adam held in his left hand, "What's this?"

"This, sir?" He raised the book, "preflight checklist. It helps me check things off." He instantly cringed inside.

It's a checklist, helps me check things off... no shit genius.

A small smile tugged at the corner of the man's mouth, "How old are you, son?"

"Nineteen, sir, twenty next week." Wow, even he wanted to roll his eyes at himself.

"Nineteen, that's pretty young. You finish high school?"

"Yes sir, the program covers that."

Off to their side his superior officer nodded, "By the age of 18 these cadets have the education and training to more than equal a bachelor's degree in aviation, flown over 1,000 hours of specialized flight training, and completed survival, astronomy and specialized in a STEM field." She lifted her head in a gesture of pride Adam had never seen from her, "My cadets are the most well-trained aviators in the world, and many, if not all, are more than passable as foot soldiers."

Captain Palmer grunted skeptically, "That remains to be seen. I'll be stepping in for one of your instructors today. I want to personally see what your recruits can do."

"I'm more than confident they will be up to your superiors' standards."

Off to the side, Cadet Vir was only growing more nervous.

Captain Palmer nodded to him, "Don't let me get in your way."

He didn't get in the way, but watched closely from a distance as Cadet Vir examined his gear. Knowing he was being watched, he made sure to extra-scrutinize every last step. It was kind of reassuring as it didn't really change much of his usual routine.

An hour later, they stepped from the hanger and out into a deluge of orange sunlight, the sun having risen over the distant horizon, painting the tarmac with molten fire. Together, they cut an impressive figure, rigged with the leading edge in military flight technology, which included but was not limited to polyester, neoprene, Gortex, Mylar, Normex, Dacron and Kevlar.

Cadet Vir adjusted his helmet nervously humming the theme song from "Top Gun" to himself as they walked.

Reaching the jet, two ground technicians were waiting to assist with pre-flight and take-off. Cadet Vir mostly ignored the captain turning his attention to an examination of the aircraft, jotting notes in his little notebook as he went, desperately juggling his helmet and almost dropping it on one occasion.

"Do you mind holding this for me, Captain?" He eventually asked, sheepishly proffering the helmet. The relief on the man's face was obvious, glad that he wouldn't have to explain the destruction of an expensive and cutting edge piece of equipment.

Cadet Vir was thinking the same thing as he climbed the waiting ladder and released the canopy. He had done pre-flights like this hundreds of times now. He started a check of ejection systems, pulling pins and adjusting levers to his specifications. Another ladder had been brought around to the other side of the aircraft for the Captain, who slid into the rear seat with the practiced ease of a man who spent more time in the air than he did on the ground.

Adam slipped into the front seat, a tight fit but not too tight, and started with the set of buckles. The flight master stepped up the ladder to help him adjust the shoulder harnesses as he pulled the others into place with the satisfying click, click, click. He then adjusted the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, fitting it snuggly into place and making sure the coil didn't get caught in his helmet. That done, both men pulled on their helmets, listening and waiting for the soft hiss, accompanied by a pop in the ears as the suit sealed into a completely pressurized system.

Adam listened as the flight master gave his little speech: going over any complaints or issues the jet had had during its last flight, though the list was short. Once done the man retreated down the ladder.

He adjusted a switch, waited for a light and then started the engine, allowing it to idle to twenty percent. Even inside his helmet, the power of the engine was practically deafening. He adjusted a few more dials, checked the engine lights and fuel flow before slowly accelerating the engine to fifty-five percent. The roaring only grew louder, rattling his bones and with it came a wave of excitement. He checked the controls, side mounted, instead of forward.

The sky outside was a pastel blue mutating towards eggshell as the sun continued to rise over them. Cadet Vir engaged the canopy, watching as it lowered slowly over his head and sides leaving him with almost 360 degrees of sight and a full console of controls. The burning light of the sun was somewhat dampened by the polarized barrier, but he still lowered the internal visor of his helmet. The landscape darkened around him, taking on a strange orange tint.

"Internal radio check?"

"Loud and clear," came Palmer's reply, voice somewhat metallic over the line.

He moved onto the altimeter and altitude indicators, before moving across a familiar pattern of flight instruments, all reading as expected. Signals were passed, and the two ground technicians removed the wheel chocks.

Vir toggled the radio switch for ACT, "Clearance, Delta 1 trans-atmo novice flight to Lunar 1."

He released the button, listening for instructions, "Delta 1 cleared, depart runway 3 right."

The engines rumbled below him as he made a few minor adjustments before continuing his conversation with air traffic control. The skies would be clear for him today, at least near the ground.

"Delta 1 ready for taxi."

"Delta 1 roger, taxi 03 left, hold short of Delta Sierra"

"Roger, hold short at Delta Sierra." A familiar pressure grew, seriously? He had peed three times before putting on the suit. This always happened. The ground began to move below him as he urged the jet into a slow taxi. The engines were somewhat more muffled than before, but still deafening; the sound was familiar, almost comforting. Inside his suit, his palms were beginning to sweat. His breath was coming heavier than normal, and he had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself. A steady stream of cool air passed over his face from the mask.

"Delta 1 taxi into position 03 right."

"Roger, into position"

"Delta 1 clear to takeoff runway 3 left..." He barely heard the rest of the communication over the pounding in his chest. He momentarily squeezed his eyes shut taking a few more deep breaths before pushing the thrust lever forward feeling the power of the machine as it began to accelerate, slow at first, and then faster and faster and faster until he was being pressed back into his seat. The roaring of the engines seemed to dampen to a rumbling static that was hardly comparable to the screaming roar those on the ground would be hearing.

The plane rattled and bounced around them as if threatening to tear herself apart, but he kept steady, waiting as the power of lift became more than the power of gravity, and then...lift off. He felt as the landing gear left the runway and the rattling evened out until they were hurtling smoothly into the deepening blue sky above.

He gritted his teeth tightening the muscles in his legs and chest, breathing in sharp bursts to combat the G-force. Through his seat and flight suit, he felt the soft thud as the plane's landing gear retracted into position.

His heart slowed and his breathing evened out. His hands grew steady about the controls as he accelerated them into a vertical push. He could feel the G-force, the ground pulling at his body as he continued his breathing exercises. Looking out the canopy he was vertical between both ground and sky. Ahead was only the darkening blue of a thinning atmosphere.

This was the most dangerous part of the journey, the transition into space. The atmosphere was holding them up now, but when there was none, the engines wouldn't be strong enough to make that last push into orbit. At Mach 2 they were not going nearly fast enough to reach escape velocity. Completely vertical now, he watched as their altitude gage climbed steadily and the horizon and sky began to blend together into a hazy white line as the curve of the earth became visible from inside the canopy. It grew in his vision expanding out towards infinity on his right and on his left like the unfurling wings of a massive mythical bird or celestial angel. Above him the clear eggshell blue of the sky's feathered underbelly deepened. The light of the sun condensed and whitened growing hotter and hotter and sharper and sharper.

Warning lights began blinking next to the altitude gage. He let them go for the next few seconds, steeling himself for the next and most dangerous step. As hyper aware as he was at that moment, it seemed as if he could feel the very particles of air expanding inside his lungs as he took a breath, held it and then......

He cut the engine.

For a few precious moments, they were carried upward by the vestiges of their momentum and then for an instant suspended in space and time, hung between earth and sky in a bubble of surreal silence, blue blackness above them, distant blue-tinted ground behind them.

With a practiced flick of a dial and compression, he felt the familiar ca-chunk as the jet engine seamlessly switched places with a smaller more powerful thrust engine. The Victor class 62 fusion engine, so much power in such a small package that it was against military regulations to allow its deployment in the lower atmosphere.

They had reached the apex of their momentum, and he could feel the gut churning pull of gravity as the jet began to slide backwards, quickly swallowed by the scattered blue light of the atmosphere.

With his right thumb, he toggled the gage for the fusion engine, and then with an intake of breath, pressed the hand-control forward. The response was like being fired from a gun. Inside the fusion engine, two hydrogen atoms collided, sending the jet they were in hurtling heavenward. The sound it produced was nothing short of awesome. The screaming of heaven and hell roaring at their heels, threatening to rip them apart with godly power if they didn't move fast enough.

His body rocked and rattled, his bones mimicking maracas as they shot skyward. He could barely see as his eyes rattled inside his skull. Mach 1, Mach 2, Mach 3. The numbers climbed faster and faster as the Earth receded behind them. They reached Mach 33, traveling faster than a bullet.

A thin ring of black threatened the corners of his vision and his legs grew numb as the suit's gear worked furiously to squeeze blood back into his head. As the darkness still threatened, he tensed the muscles in his stomach and chest, forcing the blood where he wanted it to go.

The curve of the Earth morphed from a flat horizon to a delicate parabola. The sky above blackened with each increasing second, and the sun brightened until, despite the protection of the canopy, the controls were lit up with a fiery white light, casting eerie shadows all around him. The sky above, no longer blue but a massive expanse of black touching the Earth's hazy, electric blue atmosphere that was, in that moment, the most beautiful color he had ever seen.

Everything grew silent.

The Earth rolled behind him into the blackness, its elegant curve growing tighter and tighter, the further they flew. Inside his chest, his heart hammered, his breath came in short, deep gasps. Behind him, the last, visible, vestiges of Earth's blue-tinted atmosphere was tossed away like a cloak leaving him with nothing but the blackness above and the ground, a distant marble of blue glass, behind.

He toggled a switch on the outside of his glove and his pre-flight navigation plan popped into his helmet. He was nearing LEO (low earth orbit) and would slow there to gain a proper trajectory to the moon and make contact with inter-space ATC. He followed the plans to the letter cutting into LEO and reducing the engine's output capacity to match required orbiting speed around 17,150 mph. He completely cut the afterburners and allowed Newton's laws to do the work for him, coasting at required orbital speed and only firing the engines when course correction was needed. Aside from the occasional rumble of the engines, traveling through the structure of the jet, all else was totally silent, and for the first moment, he allowed his mind to fully comprehend where he was and what he was doing. Earth hung below him like a painted Christmas ornament, the sky above was black, and the sun was approaching its zenith over Earth.

Out the right side of the canopy, there was only darkness, a vast abyss of space stretching out beyond comprehensive eternity. He blinked hard against the prickling at the corners of his vision. His face—no, his whole body-- erupted in pins and needles. He felt as if he were about to cry, or scream or...or laugh. He chose the latter. It started in his chest bubbling upwards through his throat and past his lips in gleeful exaltation. His heart was going to rupture.

He couldn't stop the muffled whoop of triumph that broke from his lips driven by a celestial high granted to him by ... the universe? ... God? He didn't know.

Adam's face hurt, his chest ached, and his entire body trembled, but it was a good ache, from absolute and complete joy, better than any drug or lover. If he could just stay in this moment forever, live out eternity like this, suspended in this moment like a drop of water frozen on a pane of glass.

"Unknown aircraft, this is LEO Orbiter 9 requesting immediate verification, Acknowledge."

The moment tarnished as he opened the radio channel. "Roger Orbiter 9, this is Delta 1 trans-atmospheric novice flight from Fort Harmony requesting lunar route on grid Bravo One One, over." He had an immense amount of trouble keeping the grin out of his voice, glancing back at Earth's beautiful, marbled surface.

There was a moment of static before, "Delta 1 cleared, lunar route on grid Bravo one one. Alter course right 90 degrees lateral and 50 degrees vertical from your position, and continue course on the blue marker."

He acknowledged the call and fired the engine positioning the aircraft in a horizontal plane with the Earth as the sun dipped back behind Earth's horizon, darkening the space around him before his vision was filled with a thousand yellow glimmering lights, like stars or fireflies. It was with another incomprehensible rush of glee that he realized, those weren't stars, those were cities. Somewhere, someone down there was looking up at the sky, and unknowingly gazing at him!

The marker on his instruments blinked, and again, he adjusted the engines to bring the aircraft around in a slow curve away from Earth and further into the blackness of space. The moon glowed like a distant cosmic jelly-fish floating in the darkness.

"Delta 1 be advised, coarse adjustment two degrees vertical from your current for debris removal on course 2.1 degrees left and vertical of your position. Trans-space conditions have debris field warnings at a level 5, please proceed with caution."

"Roger, Orbiter 9 course corrections for acknowledge debris removal advisory."

He slowly adjusted, bringing the jet into a slow acceleration, avoiding the G-forces that would come with any abrupt acceleration. He would cut the engines when at speed to conserve energy. In the vastness of space, it seemed as if they were snailing across the expanse.

He keyed the mike on his suit, "Status, Captain Palmer?"

"Just fine cadet."

Everything around him had stilled, bringing with it the eerie silence of space. Past the distant, and occasional humming of the engines vibrating up through his suit, he could hear the throbbing of his own heart.

"May I ask a question?" He could hear his own voice over the speakers, and thought the experience to be rather unpleasant. Was his voice really that high?

"Shoot."

"Debris removal? I didn't think they did that out this far."

Their speed was slowly increasing. Earth was falling away behind them at a rate their ancestors had only been able to imagine.

"Over two thousand years of space travel, millions of satellites, rocket pieces, debris from accidents, establishing a base on the moon, and the colonization of Mars. There has been a ton going on up here for quite a while. A lot of people think since space is so vast, it's not a big deal to leave things floating up here. Problem is, trying to tap and track it all so we don't accidentally run into it. With exponential addition of debris comes exponential likelihood of collisions."

"I see. How bad is a level 5 advisory? I mean, I know theoretically, but..."

"Level five is pretty serious, expect to see heavy clusters, and expect multiple course corrections. Point is, keep an eye on the short range radar, no.... just keep an eye on everything."

"How far are they into the cleanup?"

Captain Palmer snorted, which came as a burst of static over the line. "Not even close. The UN only advised the cleanup fifty maybe sixty years ago, and they've been struggling with funding. A lot of the barges haven't been serviced since they were put into service, and most are barely maintained to proper specifications."

"I've read all the intel, but what dangers I should most expect?" At speed, he had cut the engine and allowed them to coast through space on his pre-planned trajectory.

"This is space kid, nothing more dangerous, but if you want a short list: space debris, solar flares, coms outages etc."

Vir spent the next hour squeezing the more experienced man for information between periods of course correction. He wasn't kidding about the debris problem. This place was an equipment graveyard and all around him hung the bones of unnecessary or outdated technology.

He kept an eye on his instruments as the captain had suggested, not that he would have ignored them otherwise. In between occasions of instrument examination, he couldn't help but slip into his initial ecstasy. This felt like a dream.

He was in space. The only place he had always wanted to go, and the one place that always seemed so far away, physically and metaphorically.

A light blinked on his dash, and he looked down to find the small green light blinking on his radar indicator.

Following the prompting from his equipment, Cadet Vir switched comms frequency and sent out a hale, "Acknowledge, unknown aircraft, be advised this is Delta 1 closing in on your airspace."

He waited, and waited, and waited.

"Acknowledge, unknown aircraft"

Still no answer as the craft was growing closer. From the trajectory maps, he noted a slight deviation of the aircraft from its planned course, not to mention the densely packed debris field which took up a surprisingly large chuck of space directly in across their trajectory.

He opened the com prepared to repeat his hail when.

"Delta 1 this is Skywake, go."

He took a deep breath in relief. He could see the barge no: it was an old model, a dragger by nickname, using a programmed magnetic field on a drag chain to collect junk and send it in the proper direction, but at this current moment it simply idled in space with its drag chain suspended uselessly behind and slightly to its left.

"Skywake this is Delta 1, advising course correction 1-degree horizontal right, or advise ATC course correction."

"Negative, Delta 1, course correction impossible experiencing technical difficulties. ATC has been notified."

Reaching the edge of the debris field, Vir used both sight and radar to plot the best course through the field firing the engines after rotating the rear thruster forward to slow his progression and then taking a wide detour to the side. As far as space went, there was a lot of room between him and the junk, but large spaces meant nothing at high speeds.

"What the hell are these guys doing?" Captain Palmer cursed from the back.

Whatever technical difficulties the barge was having had now caused it to drift heavily to its left leaving the craft positioned dangerously close to the nearest cluster of junk. Adam had studied flying for six years now, non-stop from morning until night, and he knew proper procedure on piloting a drag barge even though he had never performed a flight.

He knew what too close looked like.

Adam opened the com again intending to warn the pilots of their course drift in case their interior emergency had distracted them from their piloting duties.

It was then he noticed a light blinking in the darkness. The light at the end of the magnetic drag chain popped on for a moment. As it did, a chunk of wreckage popped off the outer skeleton of the nearest wreck like the sloughing of skin. It twirled idly through space gaining momentum towards the drag chain where it was likely to stop and stick, but as it grew closer, the light at the end of the chain shut off, and the bit of wreckage bypassed the chain.

"Shit!" Adam scrambled for the coms, "Skywake Coll-"

He wasn't able to finish his sentence as the piece of junk went tearing past the drag chain, severing a side bumper before plowing into the back of the ship near the engine bank. Something ruptured, blasting through the outer hull, finding fuel by way of the oxygen within. The explosion was silent but violent as fire consumed all the available oxygen in the interior, melting metal and rocketing shrapnel into the surrounding space. The fire died almost instantly, but shrapnel hurtled recklessly through space, not slowing down and not stopping. The explosion itself had been enough to blast the closest wreckage sideways, which was now being pelted with discharged shrapnel from the charred remains of the barge.

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

As space junk crashed into space junk, a chain reaction was initiated, and the field about them quickly turned into the grinding blades of a blender as shrapnel flew at explosion speeds, nearly 3,000 mph, in all directions transferring its energy into anything it touched. They could have easily outrun the explosion, if it weren't for the minefield of debris ahead of them.

The small sub wing engines fired to their back and sides. The rear engine engaged, and the jet cut a tight spiral downwards and then up, sheering past a gargantuan sheet of metal which had blasted from the original wreckage. They were so close to imminent death that it cast a shadow over them as they rolled upright.

In the pilot's seat, Adam had gone very still. Outside hellfire rained down around them, yet Vir was a rock against the impending onslaught. He thought about nothing, he felt nothing, but he saw everything. The skeleton of some long decommissioned shuttle sliced past them as he rolled in a counterclockwise circle spinning over and around the speeding shrapnel.

There was a moment, a lone slice of time when Adam found himself looking up, technically down, at the object, watching as light from the distant sun cut razor edges along its sheer metal ribs. He could have reached out and touched it. His body was launched right as the jet continued its tight roll, immediately diving downwards as a metal beam careened past and into the darkness. He thrust forward and his body was thrown back against his seat, limbs screaming in protest as they rolled into an immediate vertical climb. He groaned against the force, feeling the apparatus around his legs constrict.

Adam's hearing was completely gone, space around him had slowed. He yawed left, barely avoiding losing one of his wings to an unrecognizable ball of melted metal.

Rolling over the top of the second skeleton, Adam plunged down on the other side, forcing his body to take as many Gs as it could handle The contraption around his leg squeezed until his thighs went numb. The muscles in his chest and abs were as taught as steel cables.

He cut left and then right, rocking upwards and then sinking down below the next obstacle like he was riding the trough of a wave. A short acceleration and tight turn to the right pulled them away from another collision followed by a short vertical dive which rolled them up between two jagged teeth of metal finally bringing them slicing into the first open space they had seen since the disaster began.

For a moment it seemed as though they were safe, but a sudden jolt sideways, throwing the right wing up and the left wing down towards vertical brought them perpendicular to one piece of trash Adam had not initially seen. Time jolted to a stop for him as he lifted his head and looked through the top of the canopy...coming face to face with a partially charred corpse, every excruciating detail of scarlet and white blistered skin seared into his brain. Light from the white hot sun behind them cast the charred skin into sharp relief highlighting its raw edges in razor intense light and casting the rest into deep black shadow. White bone glittered from a hole torn in the throat, and a single eyeless socket peered at him from the blackness.

Then it was gone.

He pulled the jet vertical just in time to roll right.

At one point, he flipped the engine, forcing them to slow so fast that he nearly blacked out despite all their technology and safeguards. He feared the worst when his vision cleared, but somehow, he had managed to roll the jet in a tight backwards loop and under the refuse before them.

Ahead of them, the moon glowed white in the sharp, unforgiving light of the sun.

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Lunar 1; this is Delta 1 F-90 Darkfire, in immediate danger of debris collision requesting ground to air support, position 75 degrees vertical, right 20 degrees heading course correction to grid bravo one one with two persons on board, do you copy?"

"Delta 1, this is Lunar 1 authorizing immediate ground to air assistance."

Another roll to the right, as a chunk of metal ripped past.

They could see the lunar station now, a strange atmospheric bubble kept in place by a grid of gravity generators and life support systems as wide as a sizable city, on the bright side of the moon. Somewhere just outside the atmospheric field, an anti-air gun locked onto a target and triggered release. A piece of debris was vaporized instantly.

After that came a volley of similar explosions reducing the space debris to ash, creating ethereal powder clouds. The AA guns were not effective at distances much outside their current position.

Adam adjusted the plane's position catching the moon's orbit. They were close enough now that he could see the craters and pockmarks on her surface. The closer they got, the more detailed the surface became until they were in a LLO, low lunar orbit, not much further than 70 miles from ship to surface. Distantly the flashes of the rail guns were bursting forth in the darkness, but they were out of the field of danger.

"Lunar 1, this is Delta 1, requesting permission to land runway 2 left."

They waited for a moment, cutting over the lunar horizon slowly angling down into landing position.

"Delta 1 you are cleared to land runway 2 left, proceed at current heading and reduce speed."

He did as he was directed, descending closer and closer and closer to the lunar surface. The moment they connected with the atmospheric bubble was more violent than anticipated. Sudden friction due to air pressure slowed them with a jolt and the sudden entrance into the gravity field dragged them downwards, but he forced the jet into submission, and guided her gently towards the ground, reducing speed throughout. All around his instruments were malfunctioning in confusion based on the man-made magnetic field which companioned the analogue atmosphere.

Their landing left...something to be desired. It could have been prettier but being jarred a couple of times was better than being dead. Sound had returned with the presence of air and the roaring of the wind against the flaps was deafening as they came to a slow stop.

"Delta 1, you are clear to taxi."

The jet didn't have to idle far before they were given the command to stop. Their wheels were immobilized, and ladders were brought to each side of the canopy, which released with a loud hiss.

With stiff limbs Captain Palmer was first out of the cockpit maneuvering himself onto the ladder and turning probably expecting to see the cadet already unbuckled, but Adam was still sitting in position inside the cockpit.

Adam's chest heaved as he gasped desperately for air. Hands, once steady on the controls, began to shake: tiny oscillations at first, then morphing into bone rattling tremors that probably would have registered on the Richter Scale. With stiff hands Adam struggled with his helmet, but his fingers refused to cooperate, growing more desperate every moment.

Captain Palmer grabbed him by the shoulder to steady the horrendous shaking and released the helmet, pushing it into the arms of one of the waiting technicians. With a clawed hand, Adam managed to rip the oxygen mask from his face with clumsy fingers and gasp at the air like a dying fish, quick and shallow forever grateful some scientist had managed to rig up an atmosphere on the moon.

Captain Palmer gripped the back of his head and forced Adam to look at him "Hey, hey! Look at me! Look - at - me!" Adam could barely breathe as adrenaline tore through him, but he locked eyes with Captian Palmer, green to brown.

"That was some DAMN good flying, damn good, now take some deep breaths...there you go...relax." Adam complied, but shakily. "We made it. You got both of us out alive, now come on let's go get out of these suits, maybe get something to eat."

"C-captain p-p-Palmer.....I c-can't feel... m-my legs." Though his entire body was also numb.

Captain Palmer looked up at him and sighed, "Delayed response." Palmer ordered one of the technicians into place on the other side and then had another ladder brought over. Together the two men managed to help Vir from the cockpit and down the ladder where his knees gave out. Captain Palmer caught him around the middle and walked him to a sitting position on the ground. He knelt next to him as a team of paramedics rushed from the bay doors.

"He's fine, just a little post-panic is all. Can you feel your legs yet?"

Inside his boot, Adam flexed his toes, "I...think so."

"Good," he felt Captain Palmer pat him reassuringly on the back as the paramedics looked him over. "Like I said kid, that was some impressive flying, and you kept it together until we landed. See this," he held up a hand, "I'm shaking too."

His breathing was feeling a little better, "Captain Palmer, can I ask a favor?"

"Anything you want kid,"

"Can I call my parents?"

Captain Palmer barked a laugh which filled the analogue atmosphere on Lunar 1, "Cadet, if you asked to call the president of the UN, I'd find her number and hand you the phone."

He gave a shaky and nervous smile, breathing unevenly past the last of the panic.

Overhead, the sky was filled with millions of stars, and below him.... Below him the moon was a hard pressure against his hands, reassuring under, the not-so-distant black sky.

***

Now where the hell was his room? He had definitely planned on getting back before anyone noticed his absence, but the medical center was larger than he expected, and aliens didn't seem to have a habit of labeling walls with room or floor numbers. He thought he was on the same hall as his room, but somehow he had managed to get himself turned around. He wasn't actually sure how he managed to get lost, but he was just going to go with it.

So he just walked down the halls nodding and giving a friendly greeting to most of the aliens he passed, trying to avoid smiling but finding it extremely difficult to override his social programming.

Hmm, did this look familiar?

He was just turning around another corner when he caught the sound of a distant voice coming at him from down the hallway. He recognized that voice, and backpedaled hefuriously upon seeing the little Vrul surgeon making his way down the hall.

Dr. Krill hadn't seen him yet, but any moment he might look up and catch him standing there walking around directly against doctorly orders. He didn't know what it was about the little creature that caused him to make a very scrambling and undignified exit into the nearest hospital room, but he had a feeling that he was going to experience a very unpleasant chewing out. Back against the wall in the new room he listened, head cocked, as the doctor passed on the outside.

"The very gal of him. Clearly I have responsibilities, things I have to do here for my own planet, and my own society. I can't just go prancing off across the-"

Krill's voice faded into the distance, and he was about to leave when the room's occupant caught his eyes. He paused, his sole eye widening as he approached the bed and the pitiful figure that huddled there.

For all Krill said about human survival, he was honestly surprised this Tesraki was alive. The creature, usually covered from head to toe in a coating of thick fur, was a mangy, patchy mess. The exposed skin was enflamed and covered in bandages. The emaciated body ended with a tail at least three times thinner than it should have been. He couldn't help his horrified fascination as he stepped closer.

The Tesraki must have heard his approach because as he moved closer it opened its eyes. Somehow he could tell it wasn't entirely there. It turned its head to face him blinking slowly.

"Human," it muttered.

It didn't seem surprised.

He paused at its bedside staring down at its horrible wounds with an expression of sympathy. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but unable to contain the overwhelming need to do something, he reached and gently took the hand of the creature in his, "Do you...need me to find a doctor or something?"

The creature didn't respond but the fingers of its hand curled a little around his, which he saw as a good sign.

"Human," It muttered again.

"I..." he paused, confused and intrigued. "Have you met humans before?"

The Tesraki's head lolled, "Everything is on fire," it muttered.

"I should probably get a doctor." He went to step away, but the creature held him tighter. "No, the planet is on fire. The sun lights it on fire." Its eyes were wild and the breathing was frantic.

"Ur, no, no, you're ok. The planet doesn't light on fire."

"Orange everywhere."

"Shhh, you'll be ok, let me just call a nurse or something."

But the more he tried to pull away, the harder the hand gripped around his. The creature's eyes locked onto his with a sudden strange lucidity, "You can see it in their eyes!"

"Okay, okay! You should rest, and I should get you a doctor." The Tesraki continued to protest, but Captain Vir managed to pry his hand away turning towards the door and .... immediately freezing.

Dr. Krill stood in the doorway, and man did he look pissed. Now, Captain Vir didn't know a whole lot about Vrul facial expressions, but he would recognize a body posture like that anywhere.

"Shit...." he rubbed the back of his head, "You know you are pretty stealthy, like a ninja."

"What-are-you-doing-here?" Dr. Krill demanded.

"Er-"

"I gave you strict instructions to stay in bed while your injury healed! And I am failing to determine what part of do not move isn't translating."

"The not moving part, I guess." He trailed off as two medical assistants stepped into the room behind the doctor.

"Return him to his room."

"Don't you think that is a bit excessive? I feel f-"

That was when the gravity field enveloped him, lifting him off the ground and immobilizing his body.

The technology here was seriously cool as hell, but it was also a serious inconvenience.

Ahead of him the doctor stormed out of the room muttering to himself, "Idiotic, reckless, moronic, lack of self-preservation."

This time it was Adam's turn to float after, and as he did he couldn't help the small smile that crept across his face. Of course, he knew it was a long shot, but still maybe if he planted a seed.

"You know doc, if you did happen to join my crew, you could probably help me deal with that particular character flaw."

Up ahead the doctor stalwartly ignored him.

He shrugged.

Oh well, not like it was going to work anyway.