Turning Back Time

1102 Hours, March 3rd, 2552

Museum of Humanity, Earth There it was. Alex Vens could nearly cry. There it was, in all its glory. He reached a withered hand up, and touched the aircraft's fuselage. In the climate-controlled environment of the museum, the metal, painted with a mixture of mottled green and brown colors, felt freezing cold. Just like it did on cold New Belgrade mornings he thought to himself. He looked up from the fuselage, up towards the cockpit of the AT-65. There were two lifelike mannequins in the cockpit, below the open canopy. Both were dressed in outfits he remembered all too well. Gun metal gray colored civilian flight helmets with tinted visors locked in the up position, with similarly gray oxygen masks hanging off them, adorned their heads.

They wore sage green flightsuits, with survival vests that looked like they had just gotten pulled out of Aircrew Equipment Issue back at New Belgrade Airfield back when the Gilgamesh Free State still existed. Back when I was still able to go back home to Glabetov, he thought bitterly. Examining the 'pilots', he saw the one in front was looking down, presumably supposed to look like he was going through his checklist, and again saw himself in that same position over a half a century ago, a young student pilot fresh out of the Glabetovan Aerial Training School, stressed out by the idea of going from slow general aviation aircraft to high-performance trainers. The one in the back seat could have easily passed for his old instructor pilot, looking outside of the aircraft, seemingly carefree, but watching his every move.