Being the captain of a warship was not dissimilar from being an infantryman, in a very vague way. There were long periods of nothing followed by an instant of terror that would decide the outcome. It was also very different from being a infantryman, as there were many things that simply did not require the captain to be present. As such the early morning briefing was an important part of the daily routine.
"And so, as per the guidelines set down by the System Defense Force, we altered course for an intercept." Lord-Lieutenant of the Ship Snorri Yaled finished with a minimal inclination of his head. The heavy built Voidborn officer was in the pressure-sealed armor that was the mark of station in the Calavar fleet, unlike his Captain who was merely in her Dress Uniform.
Dismissing the steward with a nod of thanks for bringing her morning meal Captain Ajra Kelaman stood. The posting for the very first warship produced for the developing Crusade had been hotly contested to a degree that was more than a little concerning. There had been one outright assassination that investigation had showed was motivated solely by greed for the position. And how could it not? Dynasties had been formed from humbler beginnings than starting the military tradition of an entire, new naval force.
She had been lucky enough to be the up and coming daughter of one of the existing SDF barge captains, who had the connections to properly lobby for her viability for the task. Was she some sort of prodigy? No. She was humble enough to admit that there were others who had greater knowledge and ability in the fields important for a ship captain, or even squadron commander.
But she was also grounded enough to know that she didn't need to be. Flag officers had staff for a reason and it wasn't just to fill in the details on their battle or war winning ideas for implementation. So she recruited the less likely candidates for inclusion in her command structure. This had the side benefit of giving her a not insignificant amount of political backing, and nearly broke her back when her father praised her for her shrewd political maneuvering that, frankly, had been an afterthought for simply preparing for the possibility of the job.
So here she was now, walking under the safely stowed defense guns to the command deck from her quarters. One of her father's social circle, having spent time on a Navy ship while it was resupplying for the trip out of Lativa, said that the bridge was cramped and under supported for a ship that was to get into conflict on a regular basis. To her it was not much different to the vessels she had spent a two decades preparing on. There was the command throne from which she could query any of the stations and get a feed to what they were working on, a pair of autocannon safely stowed away in their cradles against mutiny, possession, or a teleportation assault, and a reinforced bulkhead separating the command deck from the rest of the ship.
Basic it may be compared to the arts of dedicated shipwrights, it was functional. And it was hers.
"First Lieutenant Skar, what do we know of our guest?" Kelaman asked as she settled into the command throne and the pict-slates woke from their slumber.
"Vox-interrogation of their ship's Spirit has been denied." The Auspex-master grunted in disgust, as well he should. A ship that hid it's name and record was up to no good. "Yet they have not made to leave or push into the inner system."
"Looking for prey?"
"Nay." The Auspex-master responded instantly, gesturing at the readout before him. "None of our routes emerge or leave from within a quarter radian of that point. Unless it's hunting refugees it isn't trying to kill shipping."
"So a scout or cripple then." Kelaman concluded, raising a hand to her chin in thought.
"That would be my conclusion as well, sir."
To the best of her knowledge the only interesting thing that had changed about Calavar in recent years was the development of the Resolutes, so it was likely that this was a scout sent to see if it was challenged by a military ship. It could also be the harbinger of an invasion, serving as a psychic beacon to increase jump accuracy, but... No, she concluded, it was too far into the stellar gravity well for safe transitions. But even if it was there to see the new corvettes being produced, it was none of her concern. She was to maintain the territorial integrity of Calavar. If it was a cripple then she would verify it's intentions and then render aid as able.
Or call for ground forces to purge it's former crew should the case arise.
It was several hours before the contact broke it's silence, at a time when The Resolute was decelerating to match orbits with the now known vessel. Auspex returns identified the contact as a Sword class frigate, albeit one with significant surface disfigurement compared to a freshly constructed example.
"Approaching vessel, cease your approach." The dismissive order came alongside a transponder ping identifying the vessel as the Imperial Navy Escort Yell of Freedom, based out of-
"Gehault." Kelaman pursed her lips in distaste. They weren't Renegades, insofar as could be determined, but they were consumed with holding what they had rather than attempting to change things for the better. Despite the fact that their ships were on minimal maintenance and repairs, and were clearly decreasing in capability over time. And given the auspex signals the former Navy ship was following them with she almost expected to be able to best the intruding Escort.
Almost. The command crew would be experienced and the deck hands of mixed quality but better than her own yard-fresh complements.
"Come to see if the rumors were true no doubt." She concluded. After rapping her fingers on the armrests of the command throne she nodded sharply. "Inform them that they appear to be in distress and, as a commissioned vessel of the Calavar System Defense Force, it is our duty to ensure that they are on their way as quickly as possible."
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"Interesting. I had thought the claim of warships to be an exaggeration." Commander Pasek looked over the auspex readings with interest.
"It may have been at the time." Another finger jabbed off to the side of the collated and cleaned records of the local corvette. "Those're armed freighters if I ever saw'm. Must've 'ad some time to work up too, they're maneuvering in formations rather'n individuals tied together."
"That weapon arrangement is real weird." The weapon officer scowled at the actual target of the group's interest. "The crosshatch I get, allows you to make use of all your internal space, but they have to lose a lot of weight with the number of turrets."
"It's because their weapons are individually inferior." Pasek pointed out laconically, giving his officer a laconic grin. "For now, at least. Just be thankful we got our sensor masts replaced."
"Aye, because you stuck us on this mission." The thickly accented officer on his other side huffed. "Least the locals are reas'ble enough."
"For now." The weapon officer said darkly, echoing Pasek's previous statement. "How long until they decide to throw in with that ambitious lady down south? Or think enough of themselves to try their luck for a Fleet Bastion, and everything in it?" He glanced down at the intelligence they were bringing back home. "The Rear Admiral isn't going to like having a growing threat on his border. There's only so much we can have the heavies doing."
