First Patrol
© 2026 by Walter Reimer


Gromov Feranq finished washing his paws and studied his face in the mirror as the driers ruffled his fur, driving the last of the water off. The face looking back at him appeared pleased, which matched his mood. The tiger had some reason to be pleased.

The ship all around him thrummed with what he fancied was equal contentment; a slight vibration under his booted feet, a soft and almost imperceptible sigh of recirculated air coming from the vents, the gentle and familiar tug of the artigrav.

ITS Righteous Lightning was the fifteenth and newest of the Righteous Sword class of Terran battleships, built using lessons learned from the recent conflict with the Kashlani and equipped with the most up to date engines, weapons and defenses engineers, designers and AIs could create. Its name had belonged at one time to one of the Mars Ultor-class monitors, but the name was available when that ship had been destroyed during the reign of Markus the Cruel.

His paws dry, Gromov stepped back to examine himself in the mirror. Gray duty uniform with the five black stars of his rank on each shoulder, not a speck of lint in sight. He rechecked his zipper before leaving the bathroom and stepping out of his quarters.

Despite his position as the overall head of the Empire’s military, the tiger had made a point of getting out of the office, off Terra, and joining each of the new battleships for at least part of their first post-shakedown cruises. As he walked, he nodded to passing crew as they saluted him.

Getting a respite from Terra’s tainted atmosphere and the Imperial government’s more toxic environment was only part of his reason for taking these cruises. The other was therapy, on the advice of the doctor who had been helping him work through his trauma after the Battle of Tlath and the subsequent pursuit of his task force by the Kashlani.

It was working, too. He hadn’t had any nightmares in a while, and he was definitely sleeping better.

He straightened as the lift doors opened and the master-at-arms said, “Admiral-General in Command!”

“As you were, everyone,” Gromov said, and the bridge crew relaxed. The ship’s captain and political officer were studying the ship’s flag plot, located aft of the bridge proper, and they saluted as he moved to join them. The tiger returned the salutes and asked, “What’s going on?”

The captain, a burly mink named Alfsen, scratched one cheek. “Got a message from Fleet Central. We have a live-fire exercise upcoming.” The political officer, a squirrel femme, nodded curtly.

Gromov smiled. “What’s coming?”

Alfsen pointed at the holographic projection. “Has the sensor profile of a battleship, but it’s at extreme range. Our escorts are moving to defensive positions.”

The political officer added, “The communique stated that the ship is under AI remote control.” She smiled. “AI Avril has let us know it’s coming.” Gromov gave her a sidelong look and she added, “We can afford to expend one old battleship – “

“Yes,” Gromov said. “Now.” In response to the demands by the Kashlani, Terra had demilitarized. Of course, some of the ships had been dismantled and the materials used to build the ship he currently stood in and its fourteen siblings. “Captain, your ship. I’ll just observe.”

Alfsen grinned. “Yes, Admiral.” He turned toward the bridge and called out, “Battle stations! Intercept course with that sensor contact, and outphase when we’re within combat range!”


***


“Captain?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?” the kam asked quietly. He always spoke quietly, as if trying to reassure his crew that things were all right and there was nothing to worry about.

The scout ship was technically committing an act of war, willfully violating the Terran Sphere to spy on what their former enemy and currently not quite friend was up to. The ship was tucked within a hyperspace lacuna, extending its kilometers-long antennas and content to simply listen.

Care had to be taken, however, since even the act of listening could attract attention.

“Sensor contact,” the lieutenant said, and the kam handed his superior a padd. The display showed a 2-D representation of nearby space and several bright spots.

The captain touched one spot and a projection appeared above the padd. “Ernnh, five destroyer-type ships . . . and something new,” he commented, isolating the unknown contact and studying the data streaming alongside the image. “Power curve’s Terran,” he mused. “Different, though.”

Ears perked as a sensor alert chimed. “The ships have outphased, likely a battle simulation,” the Sensor Officer said. “We are still gathering data.”

The captain sat back. “Maintain contact on the new ship,” the kam said. “Let’s get everything we can before we must leave. Be cautious.”

“Yes, Sir.”


***


The former battleship Avril Makenzi had fought using Terran tactics but with deliberately weakened secondary batteries, inflicting several non-damaging hits on the newer warship’s escorts before its shields succumbed to the Righteous Lightning’s primary weapons. When the ‘enemy’ ship was rendered derelict and then destroyed, the bridge crew applauded.

Gromov Feranq nodded, a pleased smile on his face. The AI had renamed the ship it was controlling in honor of its namesake, one of the old Empire’s most feared and psychotic generals.

The tiger guessed the AI was playing some kind of joke, but the point of it eluded him.