Even after my escape from that void - the 'Deep Omegas', as I've started to call them—my mind felt adrift.
I had this deep, pulling urge to return to familiar space, so I took to my heavy fighter, needing the comfort of the constellations I knew.
I think I flew through Omicron Gamma and into Theta on autopilot, my thoughts replaying the same loop... the faces of my team, the silence on the comms.
I had to leave them behind. I swear I will mount a rescue, just as soon as I can find a stable path back into that abyss.
My patrol took me through the Sigma systems. It wasn't a quiet journey - I had... encounters.
A few GMG patrols, some opportunistic Core fighters, and even a wing of Outcasts. In Sigma-13, however, I found something more valuable than any bounty.
A memory surfaced, sparked by a note in the logs of my battleship, a Murmillo. I inherited her from a dear, departed friend, Sacramento Serrano.
I can still see the flash of his Valkyrie exploding... He wrote about finding damaged, drifting Valkyries during a patrol in this very system.
I logged the fighter's position and burned a trail straight back to Omicron Gamma.
I gathered my best crew, boarded my Murmillo - her fighter bay was the key - and we made all haste back to Sigma-13.
It was still there, a ghost floating in the black. We were all in awe, but our reverence was quickly replaced by a rather humbling problem.
How, exactly, were we to get a crippled fighter into the battleship's hangar? In my sentiment and haste, none of us had considered the logistics.
It was an embarrassing oversight for a commander.
As time slipped by, a lone utility ship drifted past. We hailed them. Their captain was understandably skeptical, keeping his distance.
As commander of my Murmillo, I opened a direct channel and gave him my word.
I explained that this was a personal mission, a matter of honor, and that no harm would come to him or his crew.
He agreed to help, on the condition that his name be redacted from my logs.
After a few tense attempts, we did it. The Valkyrie was secured in my Murmillo's bay.
We set course for home, and I sent a secured long-range communication ahead to Tripoli Shipyard,
requesting they prepare a private berth for a special project.
We've just finished unloading her into a secure workshop here at Tripoli. Now, the real work begins.
I need to analyze the damage, see what can be salvaged, and what we must rebuild.
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