Bral Ranyr chapter 1

         “Captain to the Gallery. Repeat, Captain to the Gallery.”

         Bral Ranyr looked up from the report he was reading to focus on the tac panel on the wall behind his desk. Not thirty minutes ago the Trikin had engaged and soundly defeated one of the remaining bands of resistance in this pitiful excuse for a system. As was his habit, he had spent the ensuing time looking over the combat log, seeing where he could have improved. All in all, it looked about as perfect as an engagement could be out on the fringes of the Empire. He felt that his fourteen years of service to the Fleet gave him some legitimacy in making that claim.

         Bral frowned for a moment. Whoever the voice had belonged to, it wasn’t to his first officer or any of his senior staff. Or any of the regular bridge crew, for that matter. But if something was important enough to page him this soon after the battle, he was not going to remain here because procedure was not followed.

         Putting the viewscreen on the desk, he rose from the chair and left his private room just off the bridge. Pausing for a moment to make sure that everything was in order, he looked up at the bank of windows and stopped short. Usually a security officer would be standing up there making sure that everything was kept in order on the bridge, but the men standing there now certainly had never served on the Trikin’s security detail. Bral was surprised to find himself thinking that this could not be good.

         Upon entering the Gallery, things got more strange. There were six men and two women waiting for him, though he only recognized two of the men. That was bad enough, in its own way. One was his direct superior, Fleet Admiral Angel Santos. Admiral Santos had command of the Imperial Fourth Armada, of which the Trikin was the flagship. Santos had his own command ship, the Adreali, but he was no stranger to the Trikin’s decks. Bral was even more surprised to find Santos here, as he was not informed of the Admiral’s arrival. Had Santos been alone, Bral would have asked what was happening. After all, the man was grooming him to lead his own Armada some day, and information was key to the process.

         What held his tongue was that he also recognized the other man. Bradley Holden was not young, but no Grand Admiral ever had been, let alone the Chief of Fleet Operations. For him to be this far from Home Sector, especially unannounced and with Bral having heard not even a single rumor, meant that lowly Captain Ranyr was far better off keeping his mouth shut. The man radiated command, and his unadorned black working uniform managed to enhance that instead of taking away from it.

         Grand Admiral Holden was rightfully the centerpiece of the room, as he was anywhere except in the presence of the Emperor himself, but Bral was still mindful of the fact that there were six others in the room. Three of the men and one of the women wore black jumpsuits with no insignia that looked to be designed for movement and flexibility, and none of them could be considered small. The men all looked similar enough to be cut from the same mold, differing only in their scar patterns, and the woman carried herself in the same self-assured way that the three others did. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was drawn back into a simple ponytail, but otherwise she looked very…plain. None of them made a move to speak, but all four of them sized him up as he looked at them. Bral did not think that he was capable of defeating any of them, and he himself was accounted as a fair combatant.

         The last man in the room was older than Santos, but younger than Holden. He was quiet, though his eyes spoke volumes. Bral did not know him by sight, but his black uniform marked him an Admiral, and the blue stripe running across his shoulders marked him as a Fleet Admiral. The unusual bit of his uniform, that Bral did not recognize, was a black strip set inside the blue, making the man appear to be wearing two blue stripes.

         The woman also wore the black of an Admiral, but her shoulder stripe was green. That marked her as a Sector Admiral, outranking both Santos and the other man but junior to Holden’s Grand Admiral rank. She responded with a small grin when she noticed the light of recognition in Bral’s eyes, and was the first to speak. “Captain Bral Ranyr, Imperial Fourth Armada Flagship Trikin. Young, to be holding such a storied command, don’t you think, Angel?” She laughed as the Fleet Admiral barely hid a scowl, though the other woman in the room laughed even louder. Strange, that a woman of no apparent rank would laugh at a Fleet Admiral. Stranger still that Santos wiped his face clean of expression at the woman’s laugh. The Sector Admiral continued. “I should hope you were worth the trip out here. What we’ve seen so far does go in your favor, I’ll admit.” Holden remained silent at that, though the other Admiral snorted softly.

         Santos raised an eyebrow. “You differ on that point, sir?”

         “You’re damn right, I do, Santos.” That was interesting: Santos deferred to the man even though they apparently held the same rank. The older man turned to Bral, looking him over. “Let’s hear your account of what happened, boy.”

         Boy? Bral held one of the most prestigious field commands in the Fleet. The man outranked him by at least three grades, but Admirals did not address Captains as boy.

         Holden spoke for the first time, in a very deep and rock-solid voice. “You must forgive Admiral Kurasawa, Captain. He is not one for formality, no matter how many times we have tried to drill it into his head.”

         “Sir,” Bral replied simply. One did not question a Grand Admiral.

         Kurasawa continued. “You’ve got the most powerful cruiser in the Fleet, Ranyr. You faced a numerically superior foe, however poorly trained he was. What did you do wrong?”

         Bral was confused. “Wrong, sir? We emerged victorious with negligible damage and no casualties. I do not think we did anything wrong.”

         Kurasawa smiled. “You certainly did that, yes. But it was sloppy.”

         Bral looked at Santos and mouthed, Sloppy?

         Santos quickly made a smile of his own vanish. “I suppose introductions are in order. The Captain deserves to know who he faces.” He waited for Holden to nod, then continued, gesturing to the man. “Grand Admiral Bradley Holden certainly needs no introductions.” That was one way to put it. Santos gestured to the woman. “Sector Admiral Jennifer Reynolds oversees Sector 14.” Bral had never paid much more attention to Imperial geography than he had to, but Sector 14 was about as far from this frontier as one could get. What brought her to the other side of the Empire to meet with a Captain?

         “And this,” Santos said with a gesture toward the third Admiral, “is Warmaster Sarusuke Kurasawa.” Well, that explained the attitude. But the addition of the Warmaster of the Empire to the Grand Admiral and a misplaced Sector Admiral made this truly bizarre. And even more so when it became apparent that Santos was not about to name the others in the room. Not to mention that the ones not named actually looked happy at that.

         “Tell me, Captain,” Kurasawa said with just a bit too much emphasis, “how could you have executed that scuffle better?”

         If the Warmaster said that there was a better way, then there quite simply was. But for the life of him, Bral could not see it. He knew that right away, from having spent the last half hour reviewing the combat log, but to give it a show he waited a few moments before answering “I don’t know, Sir.”

         Kurasawa turned to one of the men in black and told him to load up the combat log on the main screen. The Gallery had gotten its name from the countless hours that various officers spent studying ship logs, and the room had been geared toward that particular purpose. It was an ideal place for teaching combat lessons as well, which seemed to be something that the Warmaster excelled at. After all, the Warmaster of the Empire was officially recognized by the Imperial Throne as the best tactician and strategist in the Fleet.

         He pointed to the symbol on the screen that represented the Trikin, then drew a circle around it with his finger. A line appeared in his finger’s wake, marking the area he had pointed out. “Here was the perimeter you had deployed. Standard arrangement.” He tapped the playback control, advancing the log through its frames. “At time index point-oh-five, your sensors picked up a mass disturbance, similar to a pipeline opening up. At point-oh-five-three, fourteen ships materialized in a roughly spherical fashion around the Trikin, attempting to contain it. Following standard procedure, your crew was able to clear the board of threats by point-three-two, downing nine ships and sending the other five running.” Kurasawa’s voice flowed over the dance of various icons on the viewscreen, narrating the action. “Not bad, but you missed something.”

         “Sir?” Bral asked.

         “At point-one-oh, another contact showed up on the board. It was small, so it probably did not catch your tactical officer’s attention. It wasn’t much bigger than one of our patrol boats, either. The others were at least class three analogs in size, and rightfully held your attention.”

         Bral watched the playback again, paying attention to the unseen contact. It just sat there, outside of weapons range but well inside of the sensor curtain. It made no move, but the electronic signature showed that scanners were being used very heavily, and what looked like bursts of communication were being exchanged between it and the enemy ships. The contact disappeared again only a moment before the survivors. “What do you speculate about it, sir?”

         Instead of answering, the Warmaster deferred to Admiral Reynolds, who answered. “Not speculation, Captain. We have been studying this contact since the engagement ended, and it compares favorably to an incident in my Sector. I’ll spare you the details and tell you that we believe the ship is working on behalf of Corporate Alliance interests.”

         “And that brings you all the way out to the frontier? Surely Intelligence has their own units they can dispatch. I don’t see what that has to do with the Trikin.”

         This time it was Admiral Holden who responded. “Oh, that was just a coincidence, Captain Ranyr. The Alliance will be dealt with. No, we are here for you.”

         Bral felt his blood run cold. “Me, sir?” He looked around the room, noting the number of people. Eight. Seven were needed to hold Court, and there were only four flag offices present. Well, that was a load off his mind.

         “You, Captain. It’s long past time for--“

         The Admiral was cut off by the battlestation chime going off at the same time as the loudspeaker crackled into life: “Captain to the bridge! Battlestations! Captain to the bridge! Battlestations!” Bral looked at the Admirals in turn, waiting to be dismissed. After all, there were forms to follow with officers this important in the room.

         Holden nodded him away in dismissal. “Show us what you can do, Captain. Warmaster, if you would be so inclined as to join our Captain on the bridge?” Kurasawa nodded and turned to follow Bral back down the steps to the bridge.

         Some of the discomfort seemed to vanish as Bral came on deck. Here, at least, he was in his element, though he could feel seven sets of eyes on his back from the Gallery up above. “Report, Commander.”

         The Trikin’s first officer was Commander James Cheuvor, who had been Bral’s executive officer for the past four years. “We’ve got three squads of bandits coming in high hard port, sir. Looks like a pair of carriers coming down the pipe, too.”

         Bral looked over at his tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Dynem Tonach. “Tac, I want to know about anything bigger than my fist that pops up where it shouldn’t be.”

         “Sir,” Tonach responded.

         “Sensors, give me something.”

         “Sir,” said Lieutenant Jyss Sulild, “I’ve got thirty-eight, repeat, three-eight contacts at two-eight-five mark five-eight.”

         “Can you give me any more?”

         “Not yet, sir,” she said. “Solutions incoming, Tac.”

         “Aye, Sensors. Solutions incoming,” responded Tonach.

         Bral was in his command chair by this time, looking over his personal viewscreen. He could feel Kurasawa behind him, though the Admiral remained silent. “Helm, give them our nose.”

         “Coming about to two-eight-five mark five-eight, sir. In-line in eight seconds.”

         “Captain! Bogey almost dead aft in the wreckage,” Tac called out.

         “Reading one ship under power,” said Sulild. “I can prove eight life forms, and I think it’s closer to twelve.”

         Cheuvor chimed in. “Tac, keep an eye on them. Train our rear guns at them. If they move, I want them stopped.”

         Kurasawa chuckled under his breath. “Keep an eye to port, Captain. You’ll have company soon.”

         Bral turned to ask him when the three squads of bandits - enemy small attack vessels - came into visual range. Each squad was made of three flights of four each, for a total of thirty-six. In terms of raw firepower they were no match for the Trikin, but the size differential actually played into their favor. Luckily, for him anyway, the crew had plenty of experience in fighting off smaller craft.

         Tonach announced that he was feeding designations into everyone’s computers, a moment after which every ship in the three-squad group was labeled.

         “Comm, get me a broadcast on all frequencies.”

         “Aye, sir. Channel open.”

         “Unidentified ships, this is Captain Bral Ranyr of the Imperial Fleet Cruiser Trikin. You are in protected space and conducting potentially hostile maneuvers. Stand down or face the consequences.”

         No answer.

         “Unidentified ships, stand down. You have ten seconds to comply.” Chancy, since it would bring both sides into optimal firing range, but it seemed the best choice available.

         “Sir,” Comm called, “they are monitoring, but they don’t --“

         “Devil Dogs, open fire!” came a deep voice over the speaker. A moment later, every ship in the group unleashed beams of energy across the Trikin’s shields, sparking as they nearly overloaded them.

         “Direct hit to shields in thirty spots, sir. Two more glanced off for minimal. Nothing broke through.”

         “Cycle our shields, Tac.” That would bring the reserve shields online, giving the primary generators a few moments to breathe. “Lieutenant, anything on those two carriers?”

         The Warmaster took this moment to jump in. “There are no carriers, Captain. Tactical, concentrate fire on…Second Squad flight Three. There’s your leader. Take him down and the rest will scatter.”

         Tonach looked at Bral inquisitively before the Captain nodded his assent. “Aye, sir. Concentrating fire.”

         Kurasawa nodded. “Sensors, do a full scan aft. I doubt that mystery craft will be there.”

         Sulild nodded. “He’s correct, Captain. No carriers and nothing but scrap metal behind us.

         “Commander, have your aft portside gunners reorient to one-four-oh mark five. You’ll be shooting down their escape vector, but hold fire until they break.”

         “Aye, sir.”

         Bral had nothing to do but watch as Tonach directed fire across the bandits that the Warmaster had called out. It did not take long before the entire flight was erased from the board, and surely enough the survivors broke in the direction he had guessed. The gunners knew what was coming, and only seven of the original thirty-six limped away. Within four minutes, the entire ordeal was over.

         “Survivors, Lieutenant?” Bral asked.

         “None I can pick up, sir.”

         “Commander, bring in the wreckage. Let’s see what we can make of it.”

         “Aye. Tac, engage tractors at Bay Four.”

         “Bay Four, aye.”

         Bral looked at Kurasawa. “That was too easy, sir.”

         The Admiral simply smiled and said “You’re learning, boy.”

         Bral looked back at the Gallery, where the Admirals were standing in a circle conferring with each other. What were they up to out here?