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Buck Rogers confidently entered the monorail station near his apartment. He settled into a perfectly molded seat, tailored to his body and temperature. Lost in thought, he peered out the window as the monorail swiftly carried him into the bustling Inner City.
The avant-garde buildings along the monorail line captivated Buck's attention. Recovering from his five-hundred-year orbit in suspended animation, he marveled at their soaring domes, shimmering surfaces, graceful roadways, and splendid plazas. These architectural wonders were a stark contrast to the grime and pollution of 20th-century Chicago, Buck's hometown.
Familiar with the Inner City's wonders, Buck found it as ordinary as Houston's sunbaked buildings or Cape Kennedy's whispering palmettos to astronauts of old. Exiting the monorail, he swiftly navigated the luminous corridors and reached the elevator leading to Dr. Huer's floor.
Buck exited the elevator, walked through bright corridors, and turned a familiar corner. Doors opened silently into the wall, revealing a spotless, white-walled anteroom. A white desk and chair were standing at the center. Behind the desk sat a figure, also white. Everything seemed carved from a single block of shimmering white plastic, except for Buck, who added a touch of color.
He entered the room, and the door closed. The figure at the desk spoke with an eerily natural voice, generated by its positronic brain. "He's busy," the figure said.
Buck found a chair and focused on the white figure. It was a secretarial robot, designed to resemble a human. They were proven through psychological testing to be the most efficient choice for Inner City executives. This particular robot was one of the Dominque 5 series, designed with elegant lines to resemble a young lady. Its programming emulated the mannerisms and voice of an educated woman from a bygone era.
The robot stared at Buck, waiting. "I'll wait," Buck growled.
"You're not on his calendar," the robot said.
"I'm not on his calendar," Buck grinned. "I'm on his bench.
The robot receptionist sat in puzzled silence. "That does not compute, Captain Rogers," she said. "Perhaps there's something wrong with my circuits."
"Nah! You've got a great set of circuits, kiddo," Buck wisecracked.
The robot scanned her anatomy uncertainly. "Thank you."
"The pleasure's all mine," Buck said more to himself than to the Dominique 5. "Everything looks good to me these days."
The Dominique five resumed her work, swiftly inserting a paper into a 25th-century super-typewriter. Her fingers became a blur as she typed at incredible speed. As Dominique 5 typed, she swiftly removed the finished page from her typewriter and slid it to a hidden slot in her desk. In an instant, the paper disappeared, whisked away to its destination.
"Who taught you to type?" Buck asked the female robot, amazed by her typing speed.
"Typing programs are inherent in all Dominique 5 secretarial robots from the factory," the robot replied calmly.
Buck leaned across the desk, whispering. "After your shift, let's grab some 3-in-1 oil." As he spoke, he discreetly activated the intercom button on her desk.
Before the robot could respond, a hidden panel opened in the wall. Inside was Huer, the science wizard who had evaluated Buck after his return from the Draconian Star Fortress. Huer had sympathized with Buck, sided with him, and helped him through his trial with the Inner City's ruling Computer Council.
Huer glanced at the bustling outer chamber, his expression stern. "Dominique, what's happening?" he asked the robot secretary.
Before Dominique could respond, Buck interjected. "Dr. Huer, it's my fault. Can we talk?"
"Of course, Buck. My door is always open," the scientist said, motioning for Buck to enter.
The young spaceman entered the office, and the wall panel closed behind him. Alone at her desk, Dominique 5 prepared to type. Before starting, she glanced towards the inner office where Buck had vanished.
"Why not '4 oil'?" the robot pondered.
As Buck sat comfortably in the science wizard's office, he couldn't help but ponder the robot's question about "4 oil." However, his thoughts were interrupted as the door sealed behind him, ensuring their privacy. Dr. Huer then broke the silence by asking, "Did you like Wilma's party?"
"Oh, wow!" Buck laughed and shook his head. "You guys are the most. Better than any party I crashed in the '80s."
"But...." Dr. Huer asked, concerned, "Do you have a complaint?"
"To put it briefly," Buck started, "it's a request."
Huer's face showed concern. Why was Buck suddenly asking for something? He had never asked before.
Buck hesitated, aware of the importance of his response to Dr. Huer's inquiries. John's warning echoed in his mind, urging him to guard the truth about his mission. After a brief pause, Buck exhaled sharply and managed to utter, "A leave of absence."
Dr. Huer forced a smile. "Flight duty? Talk to Colonel Deering, not me."
"No," Buck scoffed. "Not flight duty. I have to leave the Inner City, Doc. It's Anarchia for me, maybe a year or more. I need to find an old friend."
Huer's fake smile disappeared as the inconsequential atmosphere vanished. "Anarchia? I can't allow it," he said firmly. "It's like suicide. Once you leave the Inner City, anything could happen. You might need help that won't arrive in time."
"But I must," Buck insisted fervently. "The man I seek is not from now, but from the past! He's like me, a lost soul in an unfamiliar era, five hundred years away from his own."
Huer's expression turned serious. "Another man from the 20th century, revived now?" Huer raised an eyebrow. "Tell me more, Buck."
Buck paced the office, sharing with the scientist about the Icarus. "They left Cape Kennedy in '72," he said. "Colonel Taylor commanded, Major Landon co-piloted. Dr. Dodge and Lt. Stewart were mission specialists on a colonization mission to Betelgeuse."
"Earth's first interstellar expedition?" Huer asked.
"Yes," Buck said. "Before Colonel Taylor's flight, we'd only reached the Moon. Traveling at light speed to another star system was a sudden and revolutionary breakthrough."
"That explains the time dilation," Huer said, connecting the dots. "Primitive interstellar travel, according to Einstein's theory of relativity, means if you ever return home, you'll be thousands of years older.
"No longer a problem in this century," Buck proudly stated.
"Their ship's propulsion method?" Huer inquired.
"Based on Otto Wolfgang Hasslein's time-curvature theories," Buck replied briefly.
"Do I have the luxury of talking to him?" Huer's smile outshone Buck's.
"No," Buck said, sinking into his chair. "The crewmembers' deaths were never confirmed, and the fate of the Icarus was unknown in my time. I believe they could still be alive, lost, and helpless beyond the ruins of Old Chicago."
"If you go out there, Buck----you won't come back until you find them, will you?"
"No way," Buck replied.
The scientist warned Buck, "It's too risky. You're too valuable to the Inner City, especially with your knowledge of 20th-century Earth. Plus, you're an exceptional starfighter pilot. We can't let you risk your life."
"Why do you let me risk my life in outer space?" Buck snapped back angrily. "Am I not valuable enough for that risk?"
"That's not the same thing," Huer replied, almost pleading. "You risk your life for the good of Earth, for all of civilization."
"Oh, forget it!" Buck's emotions were spiraling out of control. "Prioritize the many over the few or the one? Is that how we live in the 25th century?" His face flushed with rage. "Well, I disagree!"
Huer's shock was palpable. Openly expressing selfishness was an offense that carried severe consequences in his society.
Buck, however, took a more direct approach, demanding, "Will you release me or not?"
Dr. Huer shook his head. "Buck, it's not just my distaste for you going into Anarchia that's a factor here. The Computer Council's official position is that until we establish contact with intelligent humans or communities, the Inner City remains Earth's last stronghold of life. They discourage Inner City residents from leaving the dome to avoid the danger of encountering mutants. Would it reassure you to know that we all genuinely care about your well-being and the welfare of our city?"
"No, it wouldn't," Buck admitted, standing up and heading for the exit. "Hasta la vista!"
As the door slid open, Dr. Huer noticed Buck's determined expression.
Huer, an astute observer of human behavior, sensed that Buck Rogers was determined and would not accept rejection easily. The closing of the office panel did not signify the end of their conversation. Buck Rogers was notorious for his relentless pursuit of knowledge, even willing to venture into a volatile Venusian volcano to uncover unique insights.
As Buck stepped out of Huer's building, his mind was already racing with the possibilities that awaited him on his next adventure. The monorail station stood just a few blocks away, its sleek silver structure beckoning him to board and whisk him away to his destination. With a determined stride, Buck made his way towards the platform, eager to continue his pursuit of knowledge in the vast expanse of space. As he settled into a seat on the monorail, he couldn't help but reflect on the incredible journey that had led him here. From battling alien creatures in distant galaxies to unraveling ancient mysteries buried deep within Earth's own history, Buck had always been driven by an insatiable curiosity. And now, as he gazed out at the sprawling cityscape passing by outside the monorail window, he knew that his next endeavor would take him even further into uncharted territories.
As the monorail came to a halt, Buck Rogers felt a surge of excitement coursing through his veins. The doors slid open, and he stepped out onto the platform, ready to embark on his next great adventure. The bustling atmosphere of the Earth Directorate spacefield greeted him with a sense of anticipation and possibility.
With each step he took towards the spacefield, Buck couldn't help but marvel at the advanced technology surrounding him. People in 25th-century attire hurried past him, their eyes filled with determination and dreams of exploration. It was clear that this place was a hub for those who sought to push the boundaries of human knowledge and venture into uncharted territories.
As he made his way through the spacefield, Buck's mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead. He had always been drawn to the unknown, eager to discover new worlds and unravel mysteries that had eluded mankind for centuries.
The spacefield was a sprawling complex, bustling with activity as various spacecrafts came and went, their engines humming with anticipation. The air was filled with a mix of excitement and urgency, as pilots prepared for their missions and technicians scurried around conducting last-minute checks.
As Buck stood there now, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. The spacefield was a testament to human ingenuity and progress, with its sleek architecture blending seamlessly into the futuristic landscape. Towering structures housed state-of-the-art hangars where starfighters were meticulously maintained and readied for interstellar journeys.
Rows upon rows of starfighters were parked in perfect formation, gleaming under the artificial sunlight that flooded the spacefield. Each one was a marvel of engineering, their streamlined bodies painted in vibrant colors representing different defense squadrons.
The other squadron pilots were gathered, along with Buck, for a technical briefing by their commander, in which she explained to them the features of a new quantum flux propulsion system that the power engineers had finished installing, just an hour before, on their starfighters.
As the holographic projection flickered to life, displaying intricate schematics of the quantum flux propulsion system, Buck's eyes widened with anticipation. Wilma’s voice resonated through the room as she delved into the advanced functionalities of this 25th-century marvel.
The pilots included women and men, representing a diverse array of backgrounds and cultures. Among them were courageous individuals hailing from various interplanetary civilizations that had united against the oppressive regime of Draco. In this remarkable display of unity, the civilization of the twenty-fifth century not only managed to reclaim the ground lost during the devastating Third World War five hundred years prior but also succeeded in turning the long-held dream of a truly multiracial society into a tangible reality.
As Earth Directorate starfighters soared through the vast expanse of space, their pilots were not only humans but also beings from distant worlds. Alongside human faces, one could find extraordinary non-human entities among the ranks of these valiant pilots. Some had shimmering scales that reflected hues unknown to Earth, while others possessed ethereal forms composed of pure energy. These non-human faces served as a testament to the inclusivity and acceptance that had become ingrained within this advanced civilization.
Wilma, also known for her expertise in advanced propulsion systems, leaned forward and cleared her throat. "So the new energy pods," she began, his voice resonating with authority, "harness quantum entanglement principles to generate an unprecedented level of energy output. This will enable our fighters to not only achieve Star Warp capabilities but also sustain them for extended periods."
Most of the pilots remained silent as they assimilated the new information, their minds racing with possibilities. However, Buck, always eager to push the boundaries of what was known, couldn't help but respond with a sharp question that echoed through the cockpit.
"What are the outside limits on speed and duration?" Buck inquired, his voice laced with anticipation. "I'm talking about velocities that would make even warp drives tremble and durations that defy the very fabric of time itself! Are we talking about achieving near-instantaneous travel across galaxies or bending the laws of physics to explore distant realms?"
"I think I already covered that point, Captain Rogers," Wilma replied, her voice laced with a hint of impatience. "The council has ordered us not to exceed 42,000 QFUs or to remain in Star Warp for longer than 140 TS," she continued, her gaze fixed on the holographic display before her.
"That isn't exactly what I asked, Colonel," Buck shot back, his frustration evident in his tone. He had been hoping for a straightforward answer to his question, but it seemed like the Colonel was deflecting. "That's a policy directive from the political leadership. I was asking about the technical limitations of the new gear."
The eyes of Wilma and Buck locked in an angry, sparkling duel of wills. The tension in the room was palpable as their gazes bore into each other, each refusing to back down. As they stood there, locked in this silent battle of wills, memories flooded Colonel Deering's mind. She recalled countless instances where Buck's rebellious nature had caused tension and disruption within their team, yet she couldn't deny the undeniable spark and brilliance that he brought to their missions.
"The answer I gave you is the official position of the defense squadron," she answered in a voice like cold steel, her words cutting through the air with unwavering authority. The room fell silent as if her presence alone commanded respect and obedience. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, scanned the faces before her, daring anyone to challenge her statement.
Captain Rogers remained unplacated, his furrowed brow and clenched fists indicating his growing frustration. But before he could speak again, the briefing room was jolted by the strident sounds of a siren's wail, its piercing tone cutting through the tense silence like a knife through butter.
After a few seconds of ear-splitting wailing, the siren dropped away, and a voice spoke through the loudspeaker. "Alert Level Gamma," the voice announced urgently, "Alert Level Gamma. Omega Station tracking unidentified spacecraft emerging from StarGate at coordinates 7-9-2-1. It appears to be hurtling along a hyperdimensional vector, aimed directly towards Earth's celestial sphere. She's traversing at an astonishingly sluggish pace, barely inching forward within the confines of conventional subspace propulsion. The elite fighter squadron shall promptly initiate an interstellar interception to ascertain its nature. Immediate action is required. Repeat---Alert Level Gamma, Alert Level Gamma.”
Within seconds, the constant training of almost daily drill scrambles of the defense squadron came to the fore. The pilots, who had been honing their skills for countless hours, were well-prepared for this moment. As if in perfect synchronization, they sprinted across the spacefield tarmac, their footsteps echoing through the air. With unwavering determination etched on their faces, they vaulted into their fighter rockets that were already warming up under the watchful eyes of razor-sharp groundcrews.
The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as the pilots settled into their cockpits. They could feel the hum of power coursing through their bodies as they prepared to take flight. The engines roared to life with a rumble of deafening thunder, sending vibrations through the air and rattling nearby structures. The sheer force generated by these mighty machines was awe-inspiring.
As if possessed by an insatiable hunger for speed and adventure, the fighters blasted off from their launching pads with an explosive roar of thunder.
Colonel Deering swiftly grabbed the radio transmitter, her voice filled with urgency as she relayed a crucial message back to base. "Squadron approaching the suspect location," she announced, her tone laced with determination. "We have scoured the area extensively, but there are no other spacecraft within range for visual sighting or instrument detection. We are alone out here. What are our instructions?"
As the words left her lips, Colonel Deering couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping up on her. The vastness of space seemed to stretch endlessly before her squadron, their mission becoming increasingly daunting with each passing moment.
The voice of ground control, filled with urgency and a hint of curiosity, crackled through Wilma’s headset. "War Room, here. We request that you immediately attempt a visual sighting of the unidentified object and report your findings at once. We suggest you engage the advanced scanning system installed on your spacecraft to thoroughly scan coordinates 14-14 in the C Sector."
"14-40," Colonel Deering swiftly replied, her voice filled with determination. "C Sector, initiating scan protocols. Check, War Room. Brace yourselves, we're about to dive into the heart of it all."
Wilma Deering, a seasoned pilot with nerves of steel, skillfully maneuvered the controls on the dazzling array of electronic scanners and computer readouts that dominated the cramped cockpit of her formidable starfighter. The panel emitted an ethereal glow, casting an otherworldly ambiance within the confined space. With unwavering focus, she meticulously adjusted the coordinates displayed on the eerily glowing telescreen to align them precisely with those radioed from ground control.
"Attention all Starfighters!" she radioed to all her pilots, her voice filled with urgency and determination. The mission was about to begin, and every second counted. "Set astrogation computers to coordinates 14-14, C Sector," she commanded, her words cutting through the static-filled airwaves. The pilots swiftly adjusted their instruments, their fingers dancing across the control panels with practiced precision.
As the astrogation computers hummed to life, calculating the intricate calculations required for interstellar travel, a sense of anticipation filled the cockpit of each Starfighter. They knew that this mission was not like any other they had embarked upon before. It was a pivotal moment in their fight against the forces of darkness that threatened to engulf the galaxy.
With unwavering focus, she continued her instructions, her voice steady and resolute. "Execute an 18-degree turn," she ordered.
In a display of precision team flying that would have set the Navy's Blue Angels and even Buck Rogers himself agape with envy, the starfighter squadron executed a breathtakingly graceful maneuver. Their sleek silver vessels sliced through the vast expanse of space, their synchronized movements flawlessly choreographed. As they weaved and looped, each pilot expertly adjusted their trajectory to align with the precise coordinates dictated by their commander.
With unwavering focus, the squadron zeroed in on the designated space coordinates, their trust in one another and their training evident in every calculated move. The pilots' hearts raced within their chests as they approached the critical moment of convergence. Anticipation hung thick in the air as they awaited confirmation of their successful mission.
Then, at that identical instant when time seemed to stand still, a faint dot materialized dead center on the glowing telescreen within each cockpit. The dot glimmered with an otherworldly luminescence against the backdrop of infinite darkness.
"Colonel Deering," a pilot's voice crackled over the intership radio. "I have visual contact with the target," Lance Corporal Williams reported, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and urgency. The young pilot's hands gripped the control stick tightly as he maneuvered his sleek starfighter through the endless void.
Wilma nodded. “Good. I scan it also. Any idea what it is?”
“Negative,” Williams replied.
Another pilot's voice cracked across the ether, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the cockpit. "Can't tell from here either," Sergeant Bennett exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.
"Buck, are you seeing this too?" Wilma asked, her voice filled with a mix of astonishment and disbelief.
"Sure am," Buck Rogers radioed, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and determination. The vast expanse of space stretched out before him, beckoning him to explore its mysteries. Without hesitation, he made up his mind - he was going in for a closer look. As always, Buck's impulsive nature drove him to take the initiative, refusing to wait for orders when faced with a thrilling challenge from the depths of the unknown.
The pilots of the elite squadron skillfully manipulated their control panels, deftly adjusting the intricate mechanisms that governed their powerful engines. With a flick of a switch, they expertly reduced the roaring propulsion systems to a state of half-idle, creating an eerie calmness in the cockpit as they awaited further instructions from their esteemed leader, Colonel Deering.
Amid this tense silence, Colonel Deering's authoritative voice crackled through Buck Rogers' communication device. "Negative, Rogers," she commanded with unwavering determination. "Cut to half power immediately. All ships must stabilize in perfect formation on my command. We cannot afford any deviations or errors. Ready... mark!"
The squadron moved in on the unfamiliar object, carried through the virtual vacuum of space by the relentless momentum of their velocity. As they ventured closer, it became apparent that this enigmatic entity was nothing more than a mere dim speck, blending seamlessly with the myriad of stars scattered across the vast cosmic canvas. Yet, undeterred by its inconspicuous appearance, Buck and his comrades pressed on.
With each passing moment, the once minuscule speck gradually expanded before their eyes, defying its initial insignificance. Its contours began to take shape against the backdrop of infinite darkness, revealing an unmistakable silhouette that could only belong to a spacecraft. The squadron's excitement grew palpable as they marveled at this unexpected encounter in the boundless expanse of space.
The craft stretched out before me, its elongated form exuding an air of elegance and power. Its sleek silver-white exterior gleamed under the sunlight, reflecting the surrounding starscape with a mesmerizing brilliance.
As their eyes traced along its streamlined body, the pilots marveled at how it tapered towards the front, converging into a sharp triangular point that evoked a sense of purposeful aggression. The windows that adorned this cockpit region were not mere portals; they were like watchful eyes, providing a glimpse into the inner workings of this odd vessel.
The metallic surface seemed to ripple with hidden energy, hinting at the immense power contained within. Every curve and contour had been meticulously crafted to maximize efficiency and speed through space. It was as if this spacecraft had been born from the very essence of interstellar travel itself.
The sight of the bizarre craft sent the pilots into a frenzied verbal cacophony, their voices overlapping in a mix of awe and alarm.
"I've never seen a ship like that!" one pilot exclaimed, his voice filled with astonishment.
"Boy, is it coming in hot!" another pilot chimed in, his tone laced with concern.
"It's not Draconian!" a third pilot shouted, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar vessel.
"Nor Gregorian!" the fourth pilot added, his voice trailing off as he realized the name didn't quite fit the magnitude of this extraordinary encounter.
"Nor... AEONIAN!" he finally exclaimed, his voice trembling with a newfound sense of urgency. The word hung in the air, resonating with an otherworldly aura that matched the enigmatic spacecraft hovering before them.
As they continued to observe the alien craft's descent towards Earth, their minds raced to comprehend its origin. The pilots knew they had stumbled upon something far beyond anything they had ever encountered, and the weight of their discovery settled heavily upon their shoulders.
Suddenly the design struck a chord with Buck, resulting in a yell: "Don't anybody fire on it!" It was an American spacecraft all right. The words UNITED STATES were stenciled on a vertical column from bow to stern. "It's one of my people's spaceships," Buck said, his heart pounding with excitement. He couldn't believe his luck - if this spaceship belonged to whom he hoped it did, then his long-awaited reunion might finally be within reach.
As he watched the spacecraft glide gracefully through the vast expanse of space, Buck's mind raced with possibilities. Memories flooded back to him - memories of his childhood spent dreaming about the stars and galaxies beyond Earth's atmosphere. Growing up, he had always been fascinated by space exploration and had even considered becoming an astronaut himself.
But life had taken him on a different path. Buck had become a skilled pilot, navigating through treacherous skies and dangerous missions. He had seen things that most people could only imagine, but deep down, he still longed for the vastness of the cosmos and the thrill of venturing into the unknown.
"As you were, Rogers!" Wilma thundered, her voice echoing through space with an undeniable authority.
"Sorry, Wilma," Buck said, his voice filled with determination. "If this ship came from the twentieth century----like I think it did-----then I've got to know which one it is." He leaned forward in his seat, his hands gripping the controls of his starfighter with unwavering focus.
The hum of the ship's engines reverberated through the cockpit as Buck's eyes darted across the array of blinking lights and holographic displays. His mind raced, recalling every detail he had learned about twentieth-century spacecraft during his extensive training as a spaceman.
Her voice was rising to an angry pitch, Colonel Deering almost shouted into her radio: "Captain Rogers, I'll give the orders here! Now listen to me and follow my instructions precisely!" The tension in her voice was palpable as she struggled to maintain control of the situation. The weight of responsibility bore heavily on her shoulders, and she knew that any misstep could have dire consequences.
But even as Wilma desperately tried to call him back, Buck Rogers's sleek spacecraft flashed away from the rest of the squadron, its powerful engines propelling it at an exhilarating speed along the enigmatic trail of the unknown craft. The stars streaked past in a blur as he pursued his mysterious quarry, determined to uncover the secrets hidden within.
As he closed in on the unidentified vessel, Buck's scanner hummed with activity, revealing crucial information about its occupants. With a sense of urgency, he radioed back to Wilma and his fellow pilots, relaying his astonishing discovery. "I got it," his voice crackled through the intercom. "My scanner shows there are three life forms aboard that craft."
A momentary pause followed, filled with anticipation and intrigue. Buck's mind raced as he processed the implications of this revelation. "My scanner also reveals that the occupants of this spacecraft are in a state of heavy suspended animation. However, what's intriguing is that it appears to be a deliberately induced state, unlike what I experienced myself."
"Thank you very much for sharing that with me, Captain Rogers," Wilma Deering almost screamed into her microphone, her voice filled with a mix of urgency and concern. The tension in the control room was palpable as she desperately tried to make sense of the situation unfolding before them. "But I'm ordering you not to even lay a finger on that ship. You may not be reading the markings right, and it's probably nothing more than one of our old deep-space expeditions that's finally coming home."
As her words echoed through the cockpit, Captain Rogers furrowed his brow, his eyes darting between the mysterious vessel on their radar and Wilma's determined face on the screen. He had never seen her so adamant about a decision before, which only fueled his curiosity further.
"I don't buy it," Buck grated, his voice laced with skepticism. "Please, just one more minute," he pleaded, his tone softening slightly. He knew he had to make Wilma and the other pilots understand the doubts that were gnawing at him.
"In one more minute, I'll have you court-martialed! Rejoin the fleet now!"
Buck's frustration grew as he glared at his communicator. He clenched his right hand into a tight fist, ready to set the switch. But then, after a moment's hesitation, he simply shrugged and stretched out his left hand to activate the rocket boosters of his sleek starfighter. The powerful engines roared to life, propelling him forward with an incredible force, pointing his starfighter in the general direction of the squadron.
