Left Behind   by Rune Lai

The door to his small office aboard the Stellarship Explorer slid open with a quiet hiss. A
young woman with long sepia hair entered and saluted him from across his desk. She
dressed in a plain white lab coat and her ID tag identified her as Dr. Eleanor Davies, a
xenobiologist under Dr. Page. As with most of the scientific staff, she performed other
tasks as well. Her specialty did not come into play without a new planet to explore, so she
often assisted the medical staff, which she held the qualifications to do.

"Commander Hawkins, sir," she said.

He looked up from his contemplations on his desk. "So how is she?" he asked.

"Ginger is still unconscious but her condition has stabilized. She was very lucky, sir. If she
had pulled her ship up a moment later we would have lost her." Davies turned to go, then
stopped herself halfway. She looked back at the commander. "Permission to speak
freely, commander."

He inclined his head. "Permission granted."

"Permanently loosing a member of the Voltron Force is always a risk, and loosing one of
them is one of the greatest disasters that can happen to us. We need every one of them
and from all outward appearances they seem to be irreplaceable. Why is it that we do not
have spare pilots in the wings?"

"That's a very good question, Dr. Davies, and one I'm afraid I can't answer. It was Galaxy
Garrison's decision, not mine. I suspect it was because a close knit team of fifteen would
work better together than if the roster rotated on the fly. The pilots are intimately familiar
with their machines, and nearly every one of them handles slightly differently. It requires a
lot of precision to fly the way they do. We wouldn't want pilots changing ships regularly,
and an entire secondary team would take up more space than the Explorer can afford to
carry."

"I would imagine, sir." She inclined her head. "But Ginger will not be ready to fly again for
several days. She's sustained severe trauma to her head. I can forward the medical
report to you if you'd like. In the meantime the Drule are still out there and so are their
magnetic mines. I admit I don't feel safe knowing that our pilots are unable to form
Voltron."

"Neither do I," said the commander, "but that's a concern you should leave me to worry
about. As long as the Drule keep from using one of their robeasts on us I think the team
can handle them with just the fourteen ships."

She shook her head. "They always have a robeast though."

Hawkins stopped her protest with a motion of his hand. "That's enough, doctor. Your
concern should be with your science division, not command. If most of your colleagues
share the same opinion as you do, get Dr. Page to speak with me."

"Sir." She nodded curtly, saluting. Davies left, leaving Hawkins with additional
considerations.

The commander propped his elbows up on his desk, hands clasped before him. Several
days. The team couldn't afford to be without a fifteenth pilot for several days, not with the
direction they were taking into Drule territory. The enemy outpost on the nearby planet still
existed as well. Without Ginger the team could not finish the mission they had started.
Hawkins could feel the beginnings of a headache develop.

A light blinked on his desk, signaling the comm. He wearily pressed the button beside it.

"Commander," said the voice of Ensign Sparks, "you're needed on the bridge. The
enemy has resumed its attack."

"I'll be there," he replied. "Assemble the members of the Voltron Force except for Ginger.
Tell them that they are to launch at once."

"Yes, sir."

Hawkins stood, releasing his pressure on the comm. Everything he said to Davies was
true, but that did not make the situation any easier to swallow. He marched from his office
and swiftly walked down the long hall towards the bridge. Though he thought chiefly of the
matter at hand, old feelings rekindled at the need for another pilot.

Hawkins was not old by most forms of measure, but past retirement for a combat pilot.
He survived numerous battles in the cockpit of his own sleek fighter, which made him
invaluable as a tactician and coordinator of a group such as the Voltron Force. He
remembered all the courage and skills he called up with every flight into battle. So much
of him echoed whenever he looked at the Voltron Force. They held to the same standards
as he and his wing members did, but while they had yet to loose a pilot, Hawkins vividly
recalled the deaths of those who had served with him.

He could not fly Ginger's ship for her, no matter how pleasant the fantasy. All he could do
was guide the active team members and hope that they would make no gross
misjudgements of their own.

The door to the bridge appeared before him. Hawkins knew that unlike him the Voltron
Force would have raced to their ships, charging through the Explorer's halls in some
frenzied race to stand for their beliefs and the people of their worlds. He missed the
active feeling of bravery in himself, of being able to directly live or die by his actions. It
was a senseless urge, he knew, but he was not as old as he could have been. The other
officers Galaxy Garrison evaluated for the position of command of the Voltron Force were
older than he. Only his record as a pilot and the knowledge of his level decisions landed
him the assignment aboard the Explorer. He could no longer be the flyboy--only the
commander.

The door slid open, revealing the darkened setting of the bridge. A dozen techs managed
their instruments at the various stations around the room. Their displays flashed vivid
lights. Captain Newley sat in his chair, giving him the full view of the bridge and the
battlefield outside. The long runway of the Explorer stretched from the base of the ship's
command tower to several hundred of meters forward. As Hawkins came to stand beside
Newley he caught sight of the Voltron Force lifting off in their small ships. He wished them
luck.

"Sparks, can you give me a brief assessment of the situation?" Hawkins asked.

The blond young officer nodded. "Yes, sir. The Voltron Force is heading down for the
surface. The enemy outpost is sending out more magnamines, but the team thinks they
can handle it."

The commander nodded and folded his arms across his chest. He looked through the
wide window of the bridge, watching the dance of lights in the distant. He imagined that
the Voltron tactical net rang with the words of command, reassurance, and fear, but so
long as they all survived they would keep their spirits up for the next time. Hawkins did not
wish to loose a single one of them, not under his command.

"Keep monitoring their systems," he said.

"Sir!" called another tech. "Vehicle 5 has launched from the loading bay!"

"What!"

The rear view of a sleek red fighter rose before the window of the bridge, surging forward
swiftly to join the other fourteen ships. Ginger!

"Shall I patch you in to her, commander?" asked the tech.

Hawkins nodded. "Yes."

A bleary-eyed young face dotted with freckles appeared on the wide hexagonal monitor
above the window. "Commander," she said weakly.

"Ginger, I want you to get back here immediately," said Hawkins. "You're in no condition
to fly. Out there you'll only be a liability to the rest of the team."

She shook her head; the barest of motions. "I'm sorry, sir, but I've got to go. You don't
understand."

"Ginger..." he began, but the pilot shut her communications with the bridge.

Hawkins planted both his hands on the console in front of him and leaned his head down.

"Are you all right, commander?" asked Newley.

"Yes. Yes, sir," he said after a moment.

Hawkins looked up as the monitor changed its display to reveal the positions of the allied
and enemies fighters in the combat zone. Ginger was wrong, he did understand, but that
did not make his decision any easier. There was a time when he would have applauded
Ginger's concern, when he would have gladly done the same thing in her place, but not
anymore. Perhaps Galaxy Garrison had been right to bump him behind a desk. He wasn't
the same as he was ten years ago. He had only the memories, not longer the feeling.