Aftermath
03 May 2018Garlana
Garlana didn't know how long he'd remained in the cockpit, gripping his controls and staring unseeing at the hangar walls outside. As though he were still there, he continued to watch the burning debris and bursting munitions, turning, waltzing endlessly around a cauldron of ruin. Finally, he blinked. They'd shunted his Asp Explorer, Hasufel, into a less busy section of the rescue ship, but Garlana still felt a pang of shame when he realized he'd been sitting idle. But he wasn't the only one. From his high vantage in his Asp he could see lines of refugees waiting in dismal queues around the exits, standing transfixed as he'd been, or sitting propped against bulkheads where the lines hadn't moved. At least the flood was slowing now, though considering the size of Sturckow Port and the amount of destruction, Garlana suspected the rescue would go on for days. But he couldn't, which pained him. There were others on the job now, flying t7s and Cutters, who could do the job better and faster than comparatively tiny Hasufel, and the ship was just getting in the way. At least three federation contacts had already thanked Garlana for his assistance in the kind of way that implied he was finished, but it was hard to stop. There were so many still over there...
Gradually, Garlana became aware of a pain in his left palm. He released the deactivated throttle and carefully removed his glove, uncovering a wide line of blistered, red skin. He stared at it, confused, until both the pain and the memory of its cause returned in earnest. He unhooked from the seat and went for the aid-kit, recalling how the first time he landed at the burning station he had been foolish enough to brace himself against the hull while helping an injured passenger aboard. For some reason he could remember the first batch vividly, but nothing from the last few runs.
He finished treating his hand as best he could, adamant not to trouble the doctors on the rescue ship with such a minor issue, and then, replacing his glove, returned to his seat, and fired up the power plant. It looked like this war was just beginning, but Garlana was still far from ready. That luxury was over; he'd seen the consequences, and felt somehow that his own apathy, his meager combat experience, were responsible. It would take time, too much time, but he would find what he needed, learn and practice all he could, until he could help stop this from happening again.