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Indefinite Slumber. - Printable Version

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Indefinite Slumber. - Chuba - 04-05-2019

A combat ejection. Just a few moments earlier laser and plasma bolts were flying over his head. But now, everything was calm. Not for long. A low-pitched sound, echoing in his head shook him out of it. The sound being just a notification beep, turned the pod's display light up with a status report;

Life support status: Nominal.
Hour count: One hour since destruction of the Sabre.


Damn it [static], you should have done more... Valdez depended on you. Why did I have to get taken out so quickly?

...

Hours later, the display lights had turned on alongside the pair of low-pitched notification beeps, showing the pilot his status report;

Life support status: Nominal.
Hour count: Twelve hours since destruction of the Sabre.


They sure are taking a while, however, I am convinced that they will recover me promptly.

...

A familiar scene. Two loud and irritating notification alerts. The display was on and a status report was presented;

Life support status: Nominal.
Hour count: twenty-four hours since the destruction of the Sabre.


Been in this sarcophagus for a full day cycle. Lady Valdez surely has appointed a squadron to scout the system for me.

...

The old and repetitive sound went off once again. Two low alert beeps. Status report on the display as always;

Life support status: Nominal.
Hour count: Thirty-six hours since destruction of the Sabre.


Any time now. I know you better than this Valdez, I am sure you remember your [redacted]. Sure of it. They are just a few clicks out, right?

...

Another day, another notification and yet another status report on the bright display;

Life support status: Nominal.
Hour count: Forty-eight hours since destruction of the Sabre.


I ponder... how far have I drifted away from the original location? It only has been a few days... I cannot be that far away from it.

...

Change. Two high pitched alerts struck the mind of [redacted], the display lights were on, however, this time they have become dimmed and the status report showed;

Life support status: Low.
Hour count: Six hundred hours since destruction of the Sabre.


This is [static], I am repeating, this is [static], is anyone out there at all? I have not yet lost my faith in you, Lady Valdez. I am positive of the fact that you and the rest are just occupied with overwhelming work currently, I know you will look for me when resources and time will not be so scarce. I am waiting patiently.

...

The life-pod had barely made any sound. The low-pitched notification alerts do not play correctly anymore. Even the gut-wrenching sound of an alert notification would comfort this lost and forgotten Outcast soul. The display screen flickered and with great effort, showed the status report shortly before cutting out completely.

Life support status: Critical.
Hour count: One thousand two hundred hours since destruction of the Sabre.


Fifty days. Seems like that is the limit for both of us, is it not? You have served me well. I still do not know whether I want to curse at this machine or thank it. I will not accept this kind of death for I have some more in me. I know you will find me, Valdez, I know you have not forsaken me. I will rest a little right now, En Servicio de Malta...

The last monologue of his. The nameless pilot put himself into cryosleep after he had finished recording. He only uttered one more sentence as the life-pod turned silent.

It's cold.

...

No sound was produced anymore and the display didn't light up either, all reserve power was designated to keep the cryo up and running.

Life support status: Unknown.
Hour count: Estimate of ~3643 since destruction of the Sabre.


There it was. A life-pod turned to a cryo-pod floating peacefully in the absolute nothingness. Emitting the tiniest possible beacon strength imaginable.


...


Life support status: Unknown.
Hour count: Estimate of ~4080 hours since destruction of the Sabre.