Testing
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


The captain’s insignia on her shoulders felt heavier than her former rank, the rat thought. Of course, it was purely a psychological weight. Sander Haruko had been confirmed in her promotion as the Ublyudok’s commanding officer by the Admiralty, and she was confident that she could do a far better job than the ship’s former master.

Still, the rank flashes felt heavier, bearing as they did the corpse of the stallion she’d shot.

Of course, with a Vicar of the Order and the entire bridge crew taking her side, the court of inquiry into the events leading up to the mutiny and murder was largely a formality. Sander’s promotion had taken longer than the investigation.

Her new Exec was a red panda. In the short amount of time they had before their first briefing with the other raider command staff her curiosity overcame her.

“Sander Haruko,” she said, leaning over and offering her paw to the man.

He looked at the paw, then at her, and finally took it. “Naipaul Jassan.”

The rat femme cocked an eyebrow. “Any rough with having me in charge?”

“Fuck no,” he replied immediately. “You’ve been in combat, I checked, and I’m just happy to be able to fight.” Naipaul smiled. “Replenishment ship duty’s boring as hell.”

Sander grinned. “I can guarantee you some combat experience – “ She broke off and rose from her seat as an aide entered the room and shouted for attention.

The vulpine admiral waved the raider commanders to resume their seats and a holographic display appeared over her head. “Your assignment’s been changed, people. Admiral-General al-Sakai wants us to stop going after freighters and hit the shlani.” She indicated the display overhead, which showed the extent of the Imperial incursion into the Terran Sphere. “This station here,” and the area enlarged, “acts as the central command, control and supply point for the fleet currently at the forward edge of the battle zone.” The vixen paused, her brush flicking back and forth.

“Your job is a simple one: Attack that base.” Simulated warships entered the display near a schematic of the station, and were met by differently colored symbols. “You’ll be reinforced with two squadrons of heavy cruisers. Now, we do expect a response from the Imperial defense forces, and this is not – I repeat, not – a suicide mission. Jump in, engage, cause as much trouble as you can, and run.”

“We’re a diversion, then?” A camel a few rows back said.

“Exactly.” The fox reached a paw up toward the station. “If you can get close enough to engage the station, by all means take a shot at it. We want to tweak the Critters’ tails, and maybe make them yell for help. The Fleet will be attacking this salient here,” and the display zoomed out to highlight a pseudopod of the Empire’s reach toward Terra, “and if the diversion works we can lop this off and drive them out of this volume. More detailed instructions are being uploaded to your ships as we speak.” She put her paws behind her back and scowled. “Questions?” Without waiting more than five seconds for a response, she pivoted and walked out of the room.

“Looks like I get my wish,” Naipaul said, rubbing his paws.

“Just remember what she said,” Sander admonished. “We get in, raise as much hell as we can, and get out.” The red panda nodded, looking eager.

Sander found his mood a little infectious.

As they boarded the Ublyudok, the rat said, “Welcome aboard, and here’s your first orders.” He looked at her attentively. “Get your gear stowed, and study the operational plans the admiral sent us. Senior staff briefing in an hour.”

He saluted and took off at a jog for his quarters, by tradition on the opposite side of the ship from hers.

Sander took her time getting to her cabin, acknowledging members of the crew as they either saluted or nodded to her. They knew her, and knew that she had saved them from being destroyed or captured by killing Nguyen. They also hoped, she knew, that she wouldn’t put the ship and crew in danger simply out of a need for personal revenge.

She wasn’t going to squander that goodwill.

The rat femme also knew that she was under a microscope, with the Admiralty, the Order, and her crew watching her to make sure that her performance in command met their expectations. As the door to her quarters opened, she allowed herself a toothy, almost predatory smile.

She wasn’t going to meet their expectations.

She planned on exceeding them.