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Damage Control
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by rabbi-tom
Perhaps two cycles into her report, the stylus dropped from Varan’s hand.
Rather than fall to the deck, however, it drifted away. The artigrav was still down, and would remain that way until the ship and its wounded fellows could get to a proper dock for repairs and refitting. At least the damaged areas had been sealed off, so lights and atmosphere were available.
Varan watched the stylus drift away before her tail looped up, coiled around the object and brought it back to her. She lifted a hand to take it and paused, staring at the hand as it trembled.
The vir balled her hands into fists, closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down. She had to complete the ship’s action report and its damage report, part of her new and unwanted duties as the Kith’s captain. It was simply the aftermath of spending the last two days on stress-hormones, with a small meal or a drink of something non-alcoholic to keep her going.
Unwanted?
She had to be honest with herself. She wanted to make Captain, and have a ship of her own.
But not like this.
***
Halfway to the repair ship the primary links to the main sensor suite had been severed when the Terran hull fragment that had impaled the ship shifted. Secondary links had taken over the task of feeding data to the command center’s crew. The Weapons Officer was keeping a close, almost paranoid, eye on the tactical display, assisted by the Pilot and the Sensor Officer.
The battle had passed them by, and the Kith was joined by several other heavily damaged ships making their way for repairs. Following doctrine, those ships that still had working weapons formed a screen for the more heavily damaged ones.
Repairs had begun as soon the ship had been hit, and once they were clear of the debris field Varan said, “Sensors.”
“Ma’am?”
“How did that thing manage to hit us?” The vir was looking at the image of the object. It had speared the cruiser from underneath and to the right, burying a third of its length into the Kashlanin ship. Rescue and recovery efforts were ongoing, and the number of missing and dead was changing as damaged sections were accessed.
The Sēmchāni-kestin smiled despite himself, understanding that Varan was on edge. “The computer is still analyzing all of the sensor data,” the kam said, “but the tentative answer is that it came at us point-on, giving the sensors a minimal aspect.”
“Aka. So it appeared smaller than it actually was?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Until it was too close to evade. The shields succeeded in slowing it, or it would have – “
“Chopped off the entire bow forward of Frame 50,” Varan finished. She made a note; sensors would have to be recalibrated.
“Yes, Ma’am.” A schematic of the ship appeared, and the entire command crew stared at it.
The tip of the hull fragment had punched upward through the primary command center at a point just behind and to the right of the captain’s chair, and moved leftward diagonally until it penetrated the deck above it.
Varan took a deep breath, her tail shivering. “Has – have we succeeded in getting to primary command yet?”
“Not yet, Ma’am,” the Duty Officer replied quietly. She’d relieved the previous one two cycles earlier, while noting that Varan had only stirred from her seat twice; once was to use the garderobe, and the other was to visit the injured in the Infirmary. “The latest casualty report is on your repeater.”
The number of missing had gone down, and several of the injured had died of their wounds. That still left thirty unaccounted for, or dead. The injuries had run the gamut from bumps and bruises to amputations and vacuum exposure.
Varan sighed.
She had a lot of notifications to make, no matter what the final count would be.
The Communications Officer said, “Ma’am, signal from the repair ship. We’re fourth in line.”
“Very well. Acknowledge the signal. Pilot, move us to a guard position. Weapons, status?”
“Shields still at seventy percent. Secondaries fully charged, primaries forty percent, missiles are safety-locked.”
She still had a fighting ship under her feet. Good.
The battle reports coming from the Lalande System were showing that the Terrans had apparently tried to trap the Imperial division. The Confed’s initial two divisions were now down to one, and their reinforcing units were heavily engaged by the Imperial Sixth Fleet.
The Duty Officer interrupted her musings. “Ma’am, damage control parties report that they’ve made it into primary command.”
“Yes?”
The Yōzhim-kestin’s tail drooped. “The entire command crew is dead, Ma’am.”
The Sensor Officer put a hand over his eyes.
Varan wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to drink herself insensible.
Instead she said quietly, “Understood, Duty Officer.” She stood up. “I’ll be in my quarters. Inform me if anything happens.”
The Duty Officer gestured comprehension. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said.
Varan paused at the door. “Inform the command staff that there will be a briefing in – two cycles, unless something happens before then.” She left the secondary command center and headed back to her quarters to start her action report.
***
Now she looked at her hand, and let a deep breath out slowly as the trembling subsided. It was confirmed that Yezhef k’Jen was dead, and now she was in command of the Kith. Her promotion and assignment would have to be approved by the Fleet Commander, but given her record that approval was almost a formality. She had a good ship and a veteran crew.
She took the stylus from her tail, noting that she was no longer shaking as her stress drained out of her, and continued writing her report, linking sensor logs, damage reports and casualty lists to the relevant parts of her narrative. She was hungry and thirsty, but those could wait until she’d completed and submitted the report.
Her body craved sleep, and she’d get around to that eventually.
The repair ship would enable the cruiser to phase into hyperspace, and the docks at This Far would enable the Kith to be fully repaired and refitted. Part of her hoped that Meredith would be there.
A greater part of her yearned to have the mare embrace her.
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by rabbi-tom
Perhaps two cycles into her report, the stylus dropped from Varan’s hand.
Rather than fall to the deck, however, it drifted away. The artigrav was still down, and would remain that way until the ship and its wounded fellows could get to a proper dock for repairs and refitting. At least the damaged areas had been sealed off, so lights and atmosphere were available.
Varan watched the stylus drift away before her tail looped up, coiled around the object and brought it back to her. She lifted a hand to take it and paused, staring at the hand as it trembled.
The vir balled her hands into fists, closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down. She had to complete the ship’s action report and its damage report, part of her new and unwanted duties as the Kith’s captain. It was simply the aftermath of spending the last two days on stress-hormones, with a small meal or a drink of something non-alcoholic to keep her going.
Unwanted?
She had to be honest with herself. She wanted to make Captain, and have a ship of her own.
But not like this.
***
Halfway to the repair ship the primary links to the main sensor suite had been severed when the Terran hull fragment that had impaled the ship shifted. Secondary links had taken over the task of feeding data to the command center’s crew. The Weapons Officer was keeping a close, almost paranoid, eye on the tactical display, assisted by the Pilot and the Sensor Officer.
The battle had passed them by, and the Kith was joined by several other heavily damaged ships making their way for repairs. Following doctrine, those ships that still had working weapons formed a screen for the more heavily damaged ones.
Repairs had begun as soon the ship had been hit, and once they were clear of the debris field Varan said, “Sensors.”
“Ma’am?”
“How did that thing manage to hit us?” The vir was looking at the image of the object. It had speared the cruiser from underneath and to the right, burying a third of its length into the Kashlanin ship. Rescue and recovery efforts were ongoing, and the number of missing and dead was changing as damaged sections were accessed.
The Sēmchāni-kestin smiled despite himself, understanding that Varan was on edge. “The computer is still analyzing all of the sensor data,” the kam said, “but the tentative answer is that it came at us point-on, giving the sensors a minimal aspect.”
“Aka. So it appeared smaller than it actually was?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Until it was too close to evade. The shields succeeded in slowing it, or it would have – “
“Chopped off the entire bow forward of Frame 50,” Varan finished. She made a note; sensors would have to be recalibrated.
“Yes, Ma’am.” A schematic of the ship appeared, and the entire command crew stared at it.
The tip of the hull fragment had punched upward through the primary command center at a point just behind and to the right of the captain’s chair, and moved leftward diagonally until it penetrated the deck above it.
Varan took a deep breath, her tail shivering. “Has – have we succeeded in getting to primary command yet?”
“Not yet, Ma’am,” the Duty Officer replied quietly. She’d relieved the previous one two cycles earlier, while noting that Varan had only stirred from her seat twice; once was to use the garderobe, and the other was to visit the injured in the Infirmary. “The latest casualty report is on your repeater.”
The number of missing had gone down, and several of the injured had died of their wounds. That still left thirty unaccounted for, or dead. The injuries had run the gamut from bumps and bruises to amputations and vacuum exposure.
Varan sighed.
She had a lot of notifications to make, no matter what the final count would be.
The Communications Officer said, “Ma’am, signal from the repair ship. We’re fourth in line.”
“Very well. Acknowledge the signal. Pilot, move us to a guard position. Weapons, status?”
“Shields still at seventy percent. Secondaries fully charged, primaries forty percent, missiles are safety-locked.”
She still had a fighting ship under her feet. Good.
The battle reports coming from the Lalande System were showing that the Terrans had apparently tried to trap the Imperial division. The Confed’s initial two divisions were now down to one, and their reinforcing units were heavily engaged by the Imperial Sixth Fleet.
The Duty Officer interrupted her musings. “Ma’am, damage control parties report that they’ve made it into primary command.”
“Yes?”
The Yōzhim-kestin’s tail drooped. “The entire command crew is dead, Ma’am.”
The Sensor Officer put a hand over his eyes.
Varan wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to drink herself insensible.
Instead she said quietly, “Understood, Duty Officer.” She stood up. “I’ll be in my quarters. Inform me if anything happens.”
The Duty Officer gestured comprehension. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said.
Varan paused at the door. “Inform the command staff that there will be a briefing in – two cycles, unless something happens before then.” She left the secondary command center and headed back to her quarters to start her action report.
***
Now she looked at her hand, and let a deep breath out slowly as the trembling subsided. It was confirmed that Yezhef k’Jen was dead, and now she was in command of the Kith. Her promotion and assignment would have to be approved by the Fleet Commander, but given her record that approval was almost a formality. She had a good ship and a veteran crew.
She took the stylus from her tail, noting that she was no longer shaking as her stress drained out of her, and continued writing her report, linking sensor logs, damage reports and casualty lists to the relevant parts of her narrative. She was hungry and thirsty, but those could wait until she’d completed and submitted the report.
Her body craved sleep, and she’d get around to that eventually.
The repair ship would enable the cruiser to phase into hyperspace, and the docks at This Far would enable the Kith to be fully repaired and refitted. Part of her hoped that Meredith would be there.
A greater part of her yearned to have the mare embrace her.
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Alien (Other)
Gender Female
Size 71 x 120px
War is never a clean or easy thing, except to those that hide far behind the lines and throw the lives of others away for their own goals.
<Small grin> I could see a certain mare being allowed onboard. One who tells Kith's second in command that she is taking their captain offline for a bit. The only real question is if they make it to said captain's quarters without making too much of a scene ...
<Small grin> I could see a certain mare being allowed onboard. One who tells Kith's second in command that she is taking their captain offline for a bit. The only real question is if they make it to said captain's quarters without making too much of a scene ...
Well, Meredith *did* serve aboard the Kith, and she's an (at least technically) ally.
I think a leopard hide rug would look good in her cabin, don't you?
Na, even if she skinned it she'd offer it to her emperor - who might then offer it back.
Nor I think would they give the hide that much honor. Maybe made into doormats to clean their paws on - or hung by a string for the cubs to attack/chew on/shred.
"We're outta TP!"
"Hey, tear this into strips!"
"Just don't flush it - we don't need him clogging our drains and being a pain in our tails one last time ..."
"Hey, tear this into strips!"
"Just don't flush it - we don't need him clogging our drains and being a pain in our tails one last time ..."
Yeah; he was crushed in his armor between the deck and his command chair.
Admitted, several members of the command crew died the same way; the Weapons Officer died of vacuum exposure after his armor was ripped open.
I imagine an illustration of the carnage in command would put me off my appetite.
Unfortunate, but not unexpected. Hullmetal is surprisingly soft and squishy under low speeds and large momentum. 5 knot collisions in cars are fenderbenders at worst. With ships, they cause major damage.
Her report and all appended reports will, of course, be scrutinized closely. Always room for improvement.
in times like this, it is so important to have that love you can turn to... well done Walt...
V.
V.
you are more than welcome... I haven't been this involved in a story (not my own) for a long time...
V.
V.
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