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Base Florian
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
ahro
“Two . . . one . . . outphase,” Vinzen Garry said quietly, the Scottish Fold’s ears twitching slightly as the main display cleared and ship ID beacons began to appear. It wasn’t the A Quiet Life’s job to shepherd the rest of the convoy – that’s what the Naval escorts were for – but it seemed that some of the freighter captains were following Meredith’s lead.
Based on everything that had happened, he wasn’t certain if that was a wise move on their part.
The two engineers on his shift rechecked their consoles as the power that had shielded the ship from and propelled it through hyperspace was shunted to the ship’s small defensive suite and to sublight propulsion. “Where’re we at, Vinz?” one of them, a weasel, asked.
“Florian, one of the Navy bases,” the feline replied.
The other engineer, a terrier, asked, “We stopping?”
“Only if we have to refuel, and there shouldn’t be anything there to justify a layover.”
“Shit,” the canine muttered. He sat back and craned his neck to see the main display. “Where is it?”
Garry obligingly magnified the image, still some thousands of kilometers away. The base was a huge octahedron with a belt of framing around it for dockyards and berthing spaces. A lot of the docks were occupied by warships. “Whoa,” the terrier said. “Big honker.” He glanced away to look at his supervisor. “You know this place?”
The cat nodded. “Served on her when I was in the Navy, and the tour convinced me to get the hell out as soon as I could.”
“Why?”
“It was boring,” Garry declared matter-of-factly. “Nowhere to go, nothing to do, and you can see that there isn’t shit for a parsec in any direction. I wanted to go places and do things, but I figured if that’s what Navy life was like, well, fuck that.”
“So you quit and became a merchanter,” the weasel observed.
“Yup. Go places, do things, get paid more for doing both,” and all three mels chuckled, “and up till recently I didn’t have to get shot at.”
“Yeah,” the terrier said. “Damned Confed.”
A nod as the feline moved the ship closer to the base. An inset appeared listing needed cargo items. “Yeah, so be thankful for the Empire.”
“Oh?”
Garry nodded. “If they weren’t on our side, we’d be losing.”
“So are we winning?” the weasel asked.
“Dunno,” the cat said with a shrug. “That’s above my pay grade.” The others chuckled as another inset opened, and he read it. “Hmm.”
“Yeah?”
“Message from the Hammer, relayed from the Fleet commander,” Garry said. “We’re supposed to load up with whatever we missed loading at This Far and join the Fleet. The Confedders were met outside the Faraway System.” He acknowledged the message and forwarded it; the inset vanished.
“Shouldn’t you tell the Boss?” the weasel asked as the feline sat back in his seat.
Garry eyed the ship’s chronometer. “No need. She’ll be awake in another couple hours, and we’ll be docked and loading by then. She’s got enough things on her mind without me waking her up for everything that comes across my board. Unless it’s marked urgent, of course,” he amended.
“Oh. Well, I’m up for coffee. Anyone?” the terrier asked. The other two nodded, and the canine left for the dining area.
Later, a steaming mug of coffee in one paw, Meredith stepped into the command center and sat down in the captain’s seat. “We’ve docked, Vinz?”
“Yeah,” Garry replied. “Loading started at 0527, nothing explosive. Food, water, medical supplies; other ships are carrying the weapons reloads.”
“Good,” the golden palomino mare said after taking a deep sip of her drink. “Any messages?”
“One, on your repeater.”
Her ears perked as she read it. “A fight in the deep dark,” she muttered. The staging area for the transports was at the fringes of the system. She didn’t ask Garry for a course to that point, as Jax would be relieving the feline soon. “That fight’s going to be ugly, I think.”
“What fight isn’t?” Vinzen Garry asked rhetorically.
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
ahro“Two . . . one . . . outphase,” Vinzen Garry said quietly, the Scottish Fold’s ears twitching slightly as the main display cleared and ship ID beacons began to appear. It wasn’t the A Quiet Life’s job to shepherd the rest of the convoy – that’s what the Naval escorts were for – but it seemed that some of the freighter captains were following Meredith’s lead.
Based on everything that had happened, he wasn’t certain if that was a wise move on their part.
The two engineers on his shift rechecked their consoles as the power that had shielded the ship from and propelled it through hyperspace was shunted to the ship’s small defensive suite and to sublight propulsion. “Where’re we at, Vinz?” one of them, a weasel, asked.
“Florian, one of the Navy bases,” the feline replied.
The other engineer, a terrier, asked, “We stopping?”
“Only if we have to refuel, and there shouldn’t be anything there to justify a layover.”
“Shit,” the canine muttered. He sat back and craned his neck to see the main display. “Where is it?”
Garry obligingly magnified the image, still some thousands of kilometers away. The base was a huge octahedron with a belt of framing around it for dockyards and berthing spaces. A lot of the docks were occupied by warships. “Whoa,” the terrier said. “Big honker.” He glanced away to look at his supervisor. “You know this place?”
The cat nodded. “Served on her when I was in the Navy, and the tour convinced me to get the hell out as soon as I could.”
“Why?”
“It was boring,” Garry declared matter-of-factly. “Nowhere to go, nothing to do, and you can see that there isn’t shit for a parsec in any direction. I wanted to go places and do things, but I figured if that’s what Navy life was like, well, fuck that.”
“So you quit and became a merchanter,” the weasel observed.
“Yup. Go places, do things, get paid more for doing both,” and all three mels chuckled, “and up till recently I didn’t have to get shot at.”
“Yeah,” the terrier said. “Damned Confed.”
A nod as the feline moved the ship closer to the base. An inset appeared listing needed cargo items. “Yeah, so be thankful for the Empire.”
“Oh?”
Garry nodded. “If they weren’t on our side, we’d be losing.”
“So are we winning?” the weasel asked.
“Dunno,” the cat said with a shrug. “That’s above my pay grade.” The others chuckled as another inset opened, and he read it. “Hmm.”
“Yeah?”
“Message from the Hammer, relayed from the Fleet commander,” Garry said. “We’re supposed to load up with whatever we missed loading at This Far and join the Fleet. The Confedders were met outside the Faraway System.” He acknowledged the message and forwarded it; the inset vanished.
“Shouldn’t you tell the Boss?” the weasel asked as the feline sat back in his seat.
Garry eyed the ship’s chronometer. “No need. She’ll be awake in another couple hours, and we’ll be docked and loading by then. She’s got enough things on her mind without me waking her up for everything that comes across my board. Unless it’s marked urgent, of course,” he amended.
“Oh. Well, I’m up for coffee. Anyone?” the terrier asked. The other two nodded, and the canine left for the dining area.
Later, a steaming mug of coffee in one paw, Meredith stepped into the command center and sat down in the captain’s seat. “We’ve docked, Vinz?”
“Yeah,” Garry replied. “Loading started at 0527, nothing explosive. Food, water, medical supplies; other ships are carrying the weapons reloads.”
“Good,” the golden palomino mare said after taking a deep sip of her drink. “Any messages?”
“One, on your repeater.”
Her ears perked as she read it. “A fight in the deep dark,” she muttered. The staging area for the transports was at the fringes of the system. She didn’t ask Garry for a course to that point, as Jax would be relieving the feline soon. “That fight’s going to be ugly, I think.”
“What fight isn’t?” Vinzen Garry asked rhetorically.
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Housecat
Size 71 x 120px
File Size 38.9 kB
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