Well, I don't know where this will go, but hopefully people like it. I write to entertain.
The marine sentry saluted as Commander Tristan Marieux entered the docking tube that extended to the waiting runabout. The commander saluted back, and handed his papers to the sentry.
"Hope you like your new ship, sir," the sentry said politely. "I hear the Forest Knight is quite a beauty."
Tristan nodded silently in reply, accepting his ID and formal papers back from the marine. He adjusted the black hat on his head and straightened his uniform jacket. "I hope you are correct, Sergeant." He quietly replied.
The hatch to the runabout opened, offering the young commander one final chance to walk away. Tristan shook himself slightly and entered the small vessel. 'Onward, brave soul. A new horizon awaits thee. I wonder what Admiral Cunningham has in store for me this time.'
A young looking Lieutenant stood from the pilot's chair and saluted. "Welcome aboard, sir. I'm Lieutenant Camille Angsten."
Tristan waved her salute down. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I suppose you're the one that was stuck with the duty of shuttling me over?" he asked the young woman.
Angsten smiled. "It's no trouble, sir. I will be in charge of auxiliary craft onboard the 'Knight, as well as working in the CIC as your flight coordinator. I'm sure you'll come to love her as we all have." She said, beaming.
Tristan gave her a half smirk, half smile. "We'll see Lieutenant. Let's be about it."
"Yes sir!" Angsten took her seat at the helm and disengaged the runabout from New Brussels' commercial space station.
Tristan stood watched as the mammoth construct started to get smaller. He could have chosen a seat in the spacious rear and waited as most commanding officers would have. However, he wanted to view the stars during the flight over, so he sat down in the copilot's chair. Angsten gave him a smile without looking at him, and he smiled back slightly. While it was almost imperceptible, Tristan noted that the Lieutenant's face shifted from a look of shock back to stoic when he smiled in reply.
'What the hell,' he thought, chuckling slightly. 'She'll know soon enough that I'm not what you'd call traditional.
To say that Commander Tristan Marieux was like other commanding officers would be similar to stating that a black hole had qualities in common with a planet. Sure, in theory, there were similarities, but for the most part, the young Commander and the traditions of the Lycean Navy were quite different.
'Perhaps, I should at least try to fit in with the 'respectable' captains of the Fleet.' He thought with a hint of annoyance. Marieux was an ex-fighter pilot, and therefore already a bit different from most people in the command school of thought. His severe allergy to those who ranked higher than he marked him as a bit of a rogue from the start. It wasn't necessarily his fault, or so he told himself. He had grown accustomed to commanding himself and others from the cockpit and flight deck.
While he was often required to take orders in multiple carrier operations in the Claxar war, those orders tended to be more like guidelines. Find the target and you figure out how to destroy it. That independence gave him a fairly good grasp for three-dimensional tactics and fighter operations, but it also meant that he became rather stubborn when it came to taking direct orders and dealing with superior officers. If a command went against the grain of what he thought would be best for the squadrons under his command, or the fleet at large, he protested greatly, often altering orders to as he saw fit.
Yet, for all his abilities and desire to keep his squadron mates alive, it didn't help when his squadron was ambushed by Claxar fighters while his squadron was on routine patrol. He fought long and hard to allow time for reinforcements to arrive. Seven members of his squadron lost their lives and he had his Lancer-class fighter shot out from under him. He was injured, and removed from the theatre of war. Yet word of his tactics reached someone.
'And that would be why I am being given this odd little ship,' Tristan thought wryly. 'At least it was Admiral Cunningham who gave the orders, not that fool Reichen.' He thought with a grimace. Admiral Cunningham had gotten him into command school while Tristan was recovering from injuries following the 3rd battle of Lorelei during the second Claxar war.
"It appears that we have some company, sir," Lieutenant Angsten reported as she pointed outward. "A pair of Edges off to starboard."
Tristan felt his heart flutter a bit at the sight of the two fighters. The human Lyceans were strangers to what was once known as the Gamma Quadrant of the known galaxy, but their fighter technology made them unique for a period of time. When they met the feline Claxar, the first War was one because of the fighters. Mind you the Cats figured out how to make fighters of their own, but in Tristan's mind, none reached the level of grace and aesthetic that the Lycean fighters had.
He sighed despite himself. The fighters performed dual barrel rolls before peeling off from the runabout and disappearing from sight.
He should still be in the cockpit. Why had he allowed Cunningham to talk him into not jumping back into the nearest fighter?
'Avignon . . . ' a dark voice reported from the back of his mind.
Tristan's mood darkened. Avignon was definitely the reason the Admiral hadn't wanted young Lieutenant Marieux back in the cockpit. During the final moments of the Claxar war, Avignon, his home, had been bombarded by a Claxar battle group. His family had survived unscathed, but she . . .
Tristan shook his head. No need to raise old ghosts, not with a new beginning ahead of him.
"Are the fleet yards silhouetting yet, Lieutenant?" he asked, peering out at what was starting to look to be a large set of cages suspended in space.
Angsten nodded. "Aye sir. Pride of the Lycean fleet, at least in the Dublith sector." She said, correcting the runabout's course.
Once Lycea had established itself as a transplanted human star-nation, the need to defend its boarder became increasingly pronounced. The original settlers had left the Earth Duchy to escape the chaos that was quickly becoming the outer rim colonies. Earth had made too many enemies, and had been in the process of destroying its own unity. So several thousand prominent families, along with several newly established colonies from the Lyce sector, built several mammoth colony ships and departed the Earth's sphere of influence. Decades later, the vessels found themselves within the known galaxy's Gamma quadrant.
Once the core planets had been colonized, the republic government Lycea, the name's origin stemming from a folk version of Lyce-A, took upon itself the need to get to know its 'neighbors'. It's foreign policy stressed diplomacy at all costs. Several small alien nations took to the Lyceans with open arms. Then they met the Claxar. The territorial felinoids did not take well to the youthful upstarts from across the galaxy. The first acts of war were swift and brutal. The first Claxar war was fought over several years, and finally ended in a draw. But the Lyceans learned, and built massive shipyards to create their fleets to defend their hard won home. They were quite prepared when the Claxar struck again a few years previously.
Tristan marveled at the massive vessels in their dry docks. The ships were quite beautiful, at least to him. The Lycean Navy chose to model their vessels after the old Earth nuclear submarines for their sleekness and the ability to build in massive broadsides. The grander fleet vessels were often built with tiers to mount the largest mass driver batteries.
The design drawback was created when the massive ion-impulse drive engines were mounted on the rear of the vessels. No weapons could be mounted aft of the vessel's three-quarter bulkhead, and the ion wake would sometimes create blind spots on vessels larger than battle-cruiser calibre.
Despite that slight flaw, Tristan, and most members of the Lycean navy, fell in love with the design. Even the massive fleet carriers had the basic 'submarine' look to them, with openings in the rounded bow to allow fighters to launch.
Tristan tried to not gawk at the new heavy cruisers and destroyers being built through the viewport. He knew his ship was out there somewhere.
"Sir, if you look up ahead, that's where they're working on the Imperial." Lieutenant Angsten said suddenly. Tristan stood and leaned forward to get a better look.
In the largest dry dock in orbit lay a partially constructed monstrosity. The Imperial was the newest dreadnought that the Dublith sector would soon receive. The immense mass of weapons and armour had an deadly aura about it, even in its half-constructed state.
"Beautiful, isn't she, Lieutenant?" Tristan asked, finally sitting down.
"Not quite as lovely as our Forest Knight, right sir?" Angsten asked.
Tristan smiled at the blond officer. "I should hope not, Lieutenant. Otherwise, I may find myself jealous."
"Then I hope not as well, Commander." She replied. "We're nearly there. You can just begin to see her now, sir."
Tristan again stood to catch a glimpse of his new command. He held his breath. Admiral Cunningham had told him it was an experimental hybrid of destroyer and light carrier that had been given the title of 'ranger', and was supposed to function much like a boarder cutter.
The dry dock came into view as the runabout rounded the hulk that would be the Imperial. Tristan felt his throat tighten. Would it be a beautiful ship?
Then, the Forest Knight revealed herself as best she could. Tristan's heart sank. What had they done to her?
Where the hull was normally nearly circular, the Forest Knight appeared as if it had been split in half and someone had placed a wedge in between the two halves. Also, two massive wing-like constructs had been haphazardly placed on the "ranger's" side. All in all, she was not the beautiful, curvaceous design Tristan had been dreaming of.
"Something else, isn't she sir?" Camille Angsten asked, beaming.
Tristan tried to not choke on his reply. "Well said, Lieutenant." He finally managed. "She certainly is . . . unique." He tried to not show his dismay in his voice or on his face. What had they done to his poor ship? He absently rubbed at the scar running lengthwise down his left cheek.
"I just can't believe they were able to fit a full squadron of fighters on board her. It really makes her versatile for her size, sir." Angsten continued.
Tristan's ego perked up at that. Fighters. That would make the vessel a bit more tolerable. And the Lieutenant was right about the ship's versatility. The Forest Knight appeared to be about the size of a good sized destroyer, and her fighter bay might explain the lack of aesthetic appeal.
"Do you happen to know what classes of fighters we currently have onboard, Angsten?" Tristan asked, turning in his chair to face the Lieutenant.
"Yes sir. We currently have a full squadron of Wyvern-class medium fighters, as well as two Archer-class scouts. The Wyverns are one of the newest fighters in the Navy, sir. They are . . . "
Tristan waved his hand, cutting her off. "I know all about the Wyvern's, Lieutenant. Ex-fighter jock." He said with a smile.
He peered out of the viewport as Lieutenant Angsten aligned the runabout with the main docking bay. The massive door to the landing bay slid open, and a faint blue tint covered the interior, courtesy of the atmospheric force field. He attempted to not look like an excited child as the runabout entered the ship, his ship.
Angsten brought the runabout into bay two, activated the attitude control thrusters and set the small vessel down.
"Welcome to the Forest Knight, sir." The Lieutenant said with a smile.