Space Cruiser Musashi: a space opera novel

by Dean Chalmers

  Or a mating rut, Brattain thought. The tigers aren’t battling; they’re humping each other.

  Oh, by the People…

  Brattain shook her head and took a deep breath.

  “Turn the music off,” Brattain commanded.

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” the pilot said, quickly touching her fingers to the panel. The din of the grating orgy music faded.

  “Who are you?” Brattain asked. “I don’t see your rank insignia, but that would probably be because you’re not wearing the top of your uniform.”

  “You must be the new XO,” the pilot said. Her voice was surprisingly husky for such a small woman. “I’m Ensign Cruz, Xue-Mei Cruz. My name means sweet ripe plum of spring—like juicy, you know?”

  Just an Ensign, Brattain thought. Well, perhaps that explained it.

  “I believe it customary to salute, Ensign Cruz,” she told the woman.

  The smaller woman just snickered. “Sorry, I didn’t know we were going to get into protocols and all that stuff until we got back in the ship, right?”

  “Right,” Brattain sighed, defeated. “Speaking of the ship, let’s get going.”

  “Sit down in the co-pilot’s seat here, commander,” Cruz said.

  Her lithe, tiny hand ran over her console, which nano-reconfigured to her touch. A joystick, throttle and other controls sprouting from the flat surface.

  Brattain took her seat, and hadn’t even had a chance to get her restraints on before Ensign Cruz eased the throttle forward.

  “Let me give you the tour, Commander.”

  She’d already disconnected the docking tube, and now, suddenly, Cruz jerked the throttle forward. The acceleration pressed Brattain back into her seat as they took off.

  They were between layers of the docking platform, and there were occasional openings above and below them.

  Suddenly, Cruz shoved the stick forward—and the shuttle dove down through one such opening.

  She straightened the craft out, and then only a moment later dove up through another gap, spinning the shuttle in space and taking it into a show-offy loop before diving back down into the superstructure of the platform.

  Despite the inertial compensation of the gravity spike, Brattain felt slightly queasy from the rapid and reckless maneuvering. She looked over at Cruz, who wore a bemused smiled on her black lips, whistling some little ditty to herself as she wrenched the shuttle through various harrowing maneuvers.

  “Ensign, what are you doing?” Brattain shouted. “Get us on a straight heading.”

  Up ahead, Brattain could see the hull of a massive ship getting closer. They were reaching the edge of the platform where one of the biggest capital ships was docked.

  Cruz pushed the throttle forward and they sped towards the hull of the big ship. At the last second they pulled up, nearly scraping the capital ship’s black, armored hull.

  “Ensign!” Brattain commanded. “Put us on a safe heading now.”

  Cruz shrugged. “It’s just a little barnstorming.”

  “That’s an order!”

  “Okay. Okay,” Cruz replied, shaking her head. “Don’t blow a circuit.”

  She straightened out their flight path.

  Brattain looked down. Below them at the edge of the platform, at one of the biggest docks reserved only for the largest ships, was the cruiser they nearly collided with: an elegantly sculpted shark-like vessel, black with blood-red trim.

  The Mars, Brattain thought. Wesley’s ship.

  Cruz noticed her contemplating the vessel.

  “Flagship, huh? Big. Lots of guns. Bet it steers like a slug.”

  Now the shuttle streaked into open space. Though they had appeared previously to be going quite fast in relation to the structure of the platform speeding by them, it was only here that Cruz was truly able to open up the throttle, gunning the ion engines.

  “What was the purpose of that display?” she asked Cruz.

  “Hard thrusting and skillful maneuvering, Commander,” she replied, “Just showing you what I can do. You gonna place me on report?”

  “I think I’m going to have to have a discussion with the Captain,” Brattain responded with a sigh.

  “Oh,” Cruz said, “Well, whatever.”

  There was a gray speck in space ahead of them, which grew as they sped closer into the roughly rectangular form of a ship—a ship with a squat main hall, squared but curved on the underside like the hull of a seagoing ship.

  The prow terminated into two spike-like projections: the booms used to generate psionic-friendly fields for wormhole jumps. The hull was the gray color of the older and largely outmoded form of carbon ablation armor. The hulls’ coloration was uneven, and the surface had been patched in places, indicated by darker squares and rectangles on the hull.

  Wesley said this ship was near to being scrapped, Brattain thought. I can believe it, to look at it.

  Still, it had a sort of quiet dignity, as most of these older vessels dating to the time of the second Corporate War did. The ship was much smaller than the Mars, perhaps no more than several hundred meters, and its sister ships had long ago been dismantled or been put on display in orbital museums.

  “I love a challenge,” Brattain whispered to herself.

  Had she been hoping this would be a quiet command, a way to rehabilitate herself with the rigors and rhythm of shipboard life?

  But if Cruz was any indication of what this crew was like…

  Was that why Captain Kane had hidden the crew dossiers from her?

  A low tone sounded, and a male voice spoke over the shuttle’s comm system: “Shuttle Otsu, you are clear for landing in starboard docking bay.”

  Brattain had half expected Cruz to pull something reckless; gunning the shuttle into the docking bay and smashing them into a bulkhead, perhaps.

  But the pilot’s landing was surprisingly gentle, and she easily sat the shuttle down into the crowded docking bay beside a second, nearly identical shuttlecraft.

  The bay doors closed, and Cruz opened the shuttle’s door which slid open with a hiss.

  Before Brattain could rise from her seat, Cruz was in the doorway. The petite pilot was leaning against the doorframe, smiling.

  “Ensign,” Brattain told her, as she approached. “I am placing you on report.”

  “Do you have to do that, Commander?” Cruz responded, her hand absently flicking at her cobalt forelocks. “If you’re unhappy with my piloting, I’d love to meet privately so that you can… correct me. Are you into discipline, Commander?”

  Brattain sighed inwardly. I’m not going to dignify that with a response, she thought.

  As she stepped out into the docking bay, the pale rectangle on the cuff of her suit flashed.

  She touched it. “This is Commander Lisette Brattain,” she said, “reporting for duty.”

  The male voice on the other end was cheerful and professional. “Commander Brattain, Sir,” he said, “This is Lieutenant Reynard. I am privileged to welcome to the Musashi, Sir. The captain will meet you in the gymnasium when you’re ready.”

  Finally, Brattain thought, a hint of professionalism from someone.

  Maybe this isn’t all as bad as I’d feared…

  4

  The Musashi’s zero-g gym was a large spherical room; however, as Brattain entered the doorway, gravity was on, with a circular platform anchored at the center of the sphere. Two figures fought there with swords, engaged in some sort of training exercise.

  Brattain assumed that part of the challenge was remaining on the platform. Though if they fell, at least the inner surface of the sphere was padded…

  The smaller of the two figures was a man of middle age with weathered skin and a nose and chin that were too sharp to be handsome. His graying hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and he was actually balding in front.

  Captain Kane, Brattain thought, recognizing him from his holo-images. He looked older in person.

  Captain Kane sliced a fierce pattern in the air with a gl
eaming steel sword that looked like some sort of antique. His strikes were defiantly blocked by his opponent.

  The other man wasn’t taller than the captain, but he was wider; a squat, barrel-chested hulk. His body was dominated by muscle. He had gray-blue skin, pale—almost colorless—eyes, and gray hair that had been trimmed in a pattern of stripes.

  A Drone, Brattain thought. Must be one of the grunts.

  Drones were specialist engineered at conception for high-g environments. They normally worked as miners, but sometimes also as soldiers: marines, dispatched for high-risk, critical missions.

  Captain Kane slashed again, but the big Drone jumped over his head, somersaulted.

  I didn’t know they could move that fast, Brattain thought.

  The Drone landed behind the captain—

  —But Kane spun, blocking the attack with a clang of the swords.

  Now the Drone seemed to be losing patience. He roared in frustration, tried to beat the captain back under a hail of sword strikes. Kane easily blocked the Drone’s sword again and again.

  The Drone added kicks, but Kane avoided these, also, with deft economy.

  “You’re progressing well,” Kane told the drone. “But impatience is your greatest enemy.”

  The Drone sighed and lowered his sword.

  Kane only smiled and tapped the Drone on his broad, bare chest, a gesture of reassurance. “Polish the blades of hardened mind,” the captain said. “Sharpen the swords of perception and sight. When the clouds of confusion melt away, there is the true Void.”

  But the Drone didn’t seem to find any satisfaction in the captain’s philosophy. He threw his sword down, and it clanged off the platform to land in the padded bottom of the sphere below.

  “It’s no use,” the Drone growled, his voice a gravely rumble. “I still don’t understand the strategic application of—”

  The captain shook his head. “It’s not a strategy. The Void is a place beyond human knowledge. It’s peace, truth. The certainty of one correct course of action.”

  The Drone snorted. “Well, it’s a place I’ll never get to.”

  Kane seemed unfazed. His dark eyes projected gentle, paternal confidence. “With patience you will get there, Sergeant. Maybe when you stop trying so hard.”

  Only now did the captain seem to notice Brattain, turning to glance over his shoulder at her.

  “Captain Kane?” Brattain said.

  Kane bowed at the waist to the drone in some ancient gesture of respect.

  “Duty calls, Sergeant.”

  The Drone bowed back and then walked across the platform to the opposite door, striding out.

  Brattain watched him for a moment, perplexed… But she snapped to a salute upon realizing that Captain Kane was approaching her.

  “Commander Lisette Brattain reporting, Sir.”

  Kane smiled. “At ease, Commander. After a relaxing workout, the last thing I want is protocol.”

  He was sweating profusely, and she realized that he was still panting a bit, trying to catch his breath. But then he’d had quite a workout with the Drone.

  He was clad in a loose-fitting linen tunic and trousers. She had hardly expected to find the Captain this way… But then after her experience with Cruz on the shuttle…

  Harrison Kane’s supposed to be a great hero, she thought. They say his actions saved half the fleet at the engagement at Shesha Naga. I have to respect that.

  But, still, the lack of discipline she’d seen so far frightened her severely.

  This might be a new crew, but the Captain set the tone for the entire ship. And if his leadership was loose, it would make her job as XO extremely difficult.

  “Sir,” she told him, “no disrespect intended, but having met several of the crew, I have some concerns about—”

  “Sergeant Molokos?” Kane suggested, nodding towards where the Drone had just exited.

  “Among others, Sir,” Brattain said. “Drones are effective soldiers, but I thought marine officers were almost always… well… persons of normal mental capability.”

  Kane sighed and shook his head. “I know it’s generally-accepted that Drones have a diminished intellect, but it’s not always the case.”

  She nodded, chastened. I hope that didn’t sound racist, she thought. The last thing I need is for him to start questioning my judgment already.

  “However,” Kane continued, “we can discuss this matter later. I think everyone is aboard, so we can get underway. I’ll let you handle the formalities. Why don’t you make your way up to the bridge?”

  “Sir, shouldn’t you be on deck for that?”

  Kane only shrugged and smiled. “I have to get changed into something more formal. Besides, I trust you, Commander.”

  There was a warmth and sincerity to his words, and something paternal in his piercing eyes that did seem to strengthen her…

  5

  The Musashi’s bridge was cramped and low-ceilinged. Crewmembers scrambled about, dodging each other as Brattain entered.

  The command chair was located at the top of the bridge. The entire chamber was on a slight slant, so that command personnel would be above the others. In the very front of the bridge, in front of the helm and the tactical officers’ station, was the main holographic display—which currently displayed a diagram of the Auris system.

  Brattain had wondered if, on an older ship like this, there had actually been a physical viewport there at one point. If so, it’d been covered up and reinforced. The current holographic technologies made such a window an unnecessary structural weakness.

  As Brattain entered, only one officer seemed to notice her: a tall, thin male with high cheekbones and delicately handsome features. His raven hair was trimmed very short, in a traditional military style that was no longer required on most ships, and hadn’t been popular in quite some time.

  “Officer on deck!” the man announced.

  A few of the younger crewmembers paused to salute.

  Brattain smiled at the one who had announced her.

  “At ease, Lieutenant—um—”

  “Jesus Reynard, Sir,” he answered. “Astrogation.”

  “At ease, Lieutenant Reynard.” She nodded to him.

  He’s the one who welcomed me on the comm, she thought. Have to admit, I feel better with him here.

  Brattain took her seat at a large command chair at the top of the bridge. Slightly below and to the right of it was the first officer’s station, and the chair which she would normally occupy.

  This is a test, she told herself. Captain Kane is probably watching me, wondering how I’m going to handle the crew.

  She leaned forward in her seat, taking up the command posture, and addressed Lieutenant Reynard.

  “Give me external, Lieutenant.”

  The hologram readouts covering the forward wall dissolved, revealing the starry blackness of open space. The illusion made it seem like they were perilously close to the vacuum outside.

  “Helm,” Brattain announced.

  The young female sitting at the front of the bridge, at the main control station, had yet to turn back.

  Now, she did so. Her hair was crimson red now, wavy curls falling down over her girlish face… But that face was strikingly familiar, locked in Brattain’s recent memory.

  She had time to change her hair already? Brattain thought, sighing inwardly. That’s her priority?

  The nano-tattoo around her eye was gone, probably turned off for the moment, but her eyes were now darkly shaded in an imitation of ancient kohl makeup. And her lips were still black, as she stared up at Brattain.

  Ensign Cruz.

  At least she wore a full uniform now, although the seam was undone, bare skin exposed between her breasts. The tattoo of the mating tigers had also apparently been turned off.

  Now, Cruz bit her lip and cocked her head, looking at Brattain. It was an expression that she couldn’t read and it bothered her. Was the Ensign anxious? Amused?

  I can't just sit here
staring at her, she thought.

  “Ensign Cruz,” Brattain announced. “Your nanosuit is thermally self-regulating, so please close all seams per regulations.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Cruz replied, rolling her eyes.

  However, she did slide her fingers up the seam of the suit, up over her chest and neck, sealing it.

  “Ease us out, Ensign,” Brattain told her. “Let’s take it slow at first, and with strictly regulation maneuvering.”

  Cruz sighed loudly; Brattain could hear it even from where she sat in the bridge.

  But the petite pilot’s hands flew over the controls, and Brattain felt an almost imperceptible bit of motion, pushing her back slightly into her seat at the ship began to glide forward.

  “All right,” Brattain ordered, “let’s get on a heading to the jump point. Don’t push anything. Acceleration within the standard parameters of—”

  There was a low, growling rumble that echoed inside through the ship’s hull. The whole of the ship shuttered.

  Brattain felt an odd tickling sensation flowing over her body…

  No sooner was she aware of it than a wave of transparent pink-purple energy swept over the walls of the bridge, the consoles and even the other crewmembers. The glow ran down the bridge to Cruz’s console.

  “Whoa!” Cruz shouted, jerking her hands away with the cry. But it appeared to be harmless.

  Passing over the front of the bridge, the display of space flickered for a moment, displaying the bare bulkhead before the energy disappeared and the holo-display returned to normal.

  “I didn’t do that!” Cruz protested. “That’s an Engineering issue, Commander.”

  “Communications,” Brattain commanded. “Engine room. I need to speak to the Engineer.”

  The Comm Officer tried to put her through: “Engine room, this is bridge. Engine room?”

  No reply.

  He turned to Brattain and shrugged. “Not responding, Commander.”

  Brattain sighed. “Give me a visual on the engine room, and patch me through directly.”

  A holographic image of the engine room, seen from above, appeared at the front of the bridge. The silo-like chamber was dominated by the glowing engine core at the bottom. Several levels of catwalk divided it into stories.