67 Over Light 1

Donovan had signed on to the pilot's course of specialized education at the ripe old age of ten.

He had imagined many a fantasy as he flew amongst the stars. He wondered what it would feel like. Many a dream included him being the first person to exceed the speed of light. Many more placed him as the hero of a space battle, alone against a swarm of enemies. Sometimes, he even envisioned a tragic end, succumbing to the overwhelming firepower of the swarm, but not before giving time for his fleet to escape.

He was twenty now, twice the age with three times the experience, and such fantasies had been beaten out of him by the academy instructors. Ambitions of fame and honor had been dashed by the reality of combat doctrine and how battles unfolded. The fire of hope in a last stand snuffed by the realization of just how fragile a deployable craft is.

The cold truth of the matter is that a single pilot, no matter how experienced, cannot have a drastic impact on the course of the battle. Certainly having fewer and lesser trained pilots might contribute to a defeat, but the potential for damage of a single fighter is far too low to have drastic effects over the course of a single engagement.

Donovan, like all other pilots, was groomed to abandon foolish fantasies of glory and fame.

And yet the situation Don found himself in was so far removed from the wildest fantasy that he, and perhaps anyone of his era, could imagine. What sane person would actually believe that the Sun would grow spikes and turn empty space into a real life bullet hell game?

Don had to wonder if he was still unconscious.

Perhaps this was all a dream. That would, at the very least, provide some explanation for the light show displayed on screen.

Worst case scenario, he was dead. If this was some sort of afterlife, then it was either hell or purgatory, or something along those lines. No 'Good Place' could possibly permit the possibly literal brain crushing headache he was under.

Head trauma was not to be trifled with, hence why most fighter and bomber pilots wore helmets.

Donovan, reasonably not expecting to have been thrown around like a leaf in the wind by some unknown force, was now regretting his decision to forego that accessory.

As the edge of a colossal cyan beam buzzed by, Don was acutely aware of the fact that the only two things keeping him from a likely instant death were adrenaline and methamphetamine, and he had no idea when either of those two would run dry.

He didn't even have to lose consciousness to die here. A momentary lapse in attention spawning from his headache or loss in blood flow to the brain could send him floating into the path of oncoming traffic.

The only upside to the situation, if it could even be called that, was that these projectiles did not curve.

This, in tandem with the fact that the sun was so far away, meant that he didn't need to think about a third dimension of movement too much. He could keep on the plane going directly towards the Oberlux to minimize the amount of time he wasted dodging.

Sixty minutes in and a solid 3 hours out, Don finally took note of the oddity that had been bothering him.

"Is Mercedes alright?"

A dog, especially one left unsecured, would be going nuts from the maneuvers Donovan put the Noah through. In one of the lapses in the concentration, Don pushed 7 G's for about two minutes to cut as much time from transit as possible.

Seven gravities was about the limit of what he could handle for an extended period of time without passing out. Even if the seat was designed in part to help withstand this level of force, this was pushing his capabilities.

Seven gravities might be enough to tear a dog's organs if it had recently eaten, which unfortunately Mercedes had.

Given Donovan's completely justified hyperfocus on the task at hand, it would not be unreasonable to assume she is collapsed in that corner, crying. She could be bleeding and barfing her intestines out and he would be none the wiser.

"I am taking care of her. She has lost consciousness and has defecated on the floor, but she is not in danger. I have temporarily integrated the solid and semi-solid portions of her body into the inertial frame of the ship. Trust in me to handle her, focus on surviving."

"Thank you ARC. How long do you give me until the chocolate wears off?" His time limit was not how long it took to get there, but how long he could stay awake.

"Given your estimated intake and previous ingestions, 2 hours."

Not enough.

That was no where near long enough.

At the current pace he would need 3 hours, likely more, to reach the safety of the Oberlux. Taking the time for another dose wasn't going to be an option, the Sun wasn't exactly bound by the conventions of reloading.

Somehow, he needed to shave a third of his travel time.

Don was going to have to change up his battle plan.

"ARC, if we are going to have any chance at making it in one piece, I'm going to have to pick up the pace."