Ilinara nearly dropped her datapad. Why the fuck was her new CO calling her personal code? How the fuck did he even know her personal code in the first place? She ran a crosscheck just to verify that the code was actually his (it was), then scrambled to check the personnel files.
"Commander.... Grayson, right? Well, you'll excuse my words, sir, I assumed you were a scammer." And also because no sensible commander would ever call their subordinates on personal comms, but she wasn't about to say that to the most dangerous species in the galaxy. She was stressed, not suicidal, thank you very much.
His chuckle was sending shivers through her spine and down to her claws. It was both terrifying and fascinating to hear such a distinctly Terran sound. "Well, at least you had the foresight to check my comm code before revealing my name. Smart move."
How the fuck did he know that? "Sir-"
"I know what I know. How I know is of no consequence as long as it's legal. Agreed?"
Ilinara was, for the fourth time in so many standard hours, shocked. No one's been that bold and brash with her since her parents. "Uh- agree to disagree, sir?" she borrowed the Terran phrase.
She hated how uncertain she sounded immediately. Apparently, as with everything else about this conversation, Commander Grayson found it amusing.
"I like you already. Look, Chief, I'm calling to inform you that me and my squad will be at the outpost at 2350 standard, and I need to make sure the accommodation changes we required have been seen to."
Of course they've been seen to. What did he think they were, amateurs? "Of course, sir. All requested modifications and additions have been implemented to specification."
"Good. I'll be in touch, Chief."
He cut the call before she could reply. Ilinara's mind wandered back to the list they'd been provided as her legs walked.
Extensive list of shit. Expensive too. Reinforcing the personal quarters and specialized training facility was perfectly reasonable, those fuckers evolved on a planet with 2.54 standard Gs and would crack the deck just by falling on it, but then the crew had been asked to install a high-G chamber and a reinforced space for 'recreational activities'. She'd always thought that it was for new warworlder transfers like that group of Xar'eiks from Sixteen or something.
Oh well, what's done was done and it was no longer her problem, at least until they were onboard. Her problem was breaking the news to Commander Thuriam. Poor woman has had to prove herself her entire career. Hearing that her command's been given to a deathworlder might break her.
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JTF Quarters, RNS Defender
Maskiva Thuriam was having a great day, her twin tails restless in excitement as she watched the latest round of Parliament debates on the common holoscreen. With Commander K'loyk retiring, she was expecting a promotion any day now.
After so long of fighting Rimlaka and overall peaceworlder stereotypes every step of the way, swallowing every condescending, sexist, and downright xenophobic remark from some of her 'superiors' before and after every promotion, she was finally getting a JTF command.
Her service and performance was finally being recognized.
She perked up as Ilinara walked in, datapad in hand. "How'd it go with the admiral, Chief?"
Ilinara pointedly avoided looking at her, still gripping the datapad. Maskiva's tails went still in concern. "Ili? What's wrong?"
Her senior enlisted thrusted the datapad in her direction, her voice in a whisper. "I'm so sorry, sir."
She left for her quarters right as Maskiva got a firm hold on the datapad. The Rimlaka commander watched her go. What the hell happened?
She looked down, noting the seal from both Fleet Admiral Evi'ran'nel (Republic Navy Commander) and Vice Admiral Kelly Grayson (Joint Operations Commander), and started reading.
Her hearts stuttered. All four of her eyes narrowed into slits. No. No no no no no. They couldn't. They wouldn't.
They did.
She threw the datapad into the nearest wall, not seeing and not caring about the stares from the beings around her as her vision is blurred by thick, sticky tears. Those fuckers. Giving her well-deserved command to a Terran!?
She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to crash a shuttle into the Admiralty Tower and strangle all those condescending fucks with her bare hands, warworlders and all.
Instead, she bolted into her quarters and cried until her skin dried out.
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Docking Collar A113, Astarine Outpost
"So, this is it, huh? Look at the size of it!"
Eric smiled, amused by his demolitionist's bright-eyed stare as his squad stepped into the station proper. "Never been to an outpost, Mendoza?"
Owen turned to his commander, shaking his head excitedly. "Not an alien one, sir. Never been on an alien ship, either. Earthbound stations for me, sir."
Curtis snuck up behind him and ruffled his hair. "Well, the Defender's a capital cruiser, so you'll be popping your cherry with the best of the best, mate."
"Easy on the teasing, Tran. The kid might come in his pants at this rate. Don't want that, do we?"
Owen flushed and flipped Adira off as everyone else laughed. The sniper sent him a bird in kind.
"Curtis is right, though. The Defender is one of the best and largest ships in service." Ralph said from Adira's left. "Everything from horsepower to firepower to amenities is top tier."
Eric nodded. "That's good. Maybe we'll finally be able to get drinks with actual kick."
Adira turned to him. "So, where to now, sir? Or are we sleeping in the lobby?"
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Eric considered the time and the logistics. "It's almost midnight standard time. We can go to the Defender, wake Chiara up to let us in, and have a quiet entrance. Or, we can rent out a living unit stationside, then shipboard in the morning. Group decision."
Curtis was quick on the take. "First one risks the admiral waking up to five strangers onboard, but second one is gonna cost at least a grand a night. This is Astarine, not Sc'ostret. Ain't gonna be cheap."
A round of nods. They have a chunk of credits from Vice Admiral Grayson - a decent amount to make sure they could afford any small comforts they might need onboard. They all agreed that it should be saved for emergencies.... and the occasional luxury, like the disassembled sofa in boxes on the ground next to them.
They bought that on sale before leaving Terra. Long live the great IKEA.
"Voting time. All for boarding immediately?"
Four hands raised. Adira scowled playfully. "Tsk. Typical men, no appreciation for the finer comforts of life."
Everyone firmly gave her the finger as they made their way to Drydock A16.
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Admiral's Quarters, RNS Defender
Stefnar woke up to the incessant beeping of his datapad at 0530. Weird, he could've sworn the alarm was set for 0645 as usual.
Chittering annoyedly, he checked it, fully prepared to send a Requisition Form for a replacement pad. This was ridiculous.
His annoyance vaporized almost immediately. 44 messages from night shift, all marked in yellow. At least it wasn't amber or, Rivan forbid, red.
And then he read said messages, and thought that maybe they should've marked them amber anyway.
The Terrans were shipboard. No one knew how, just that they slept in the cargo bay and were now apparently waiting for him to allow them onboard the rest of the ship.
Well, at least they had enough respect for chain of command to wait before going deeper into his ship.
He sent a reply to the latest message, telling his second officer to escort all five Terrans to the briefing room and that he'd meet them there. Wait, five? He was told there'd be six. Maybe the last one got dropped from deployment for whatever reason.
Whatever the case, he had five deathworlders, elite ones at that, apparently stringing up [hammocks] and temporary sleeping units in his cargo bay, and that was something he, being the good, responsible admiral he was, had to deal with immediately.
Stefnar entered the briefing room and his audio receptors almost bled from the sheer volume of the "Admiral on deck!" bellowed by one of the Terrans. All five snapped into sharp salutes, which he returned once his receptors stopped ringing and he was reoriented.
"As you were. How the [hell] did you five manage to sneak aboard a Republic warship?"
They all turned to him, and Stefnar found himself nervous and slightly shaking under the weight of ten forward-facing eyes.
"We used the starboard-aft entrance, sir. No one was guarding the hatch."
The admiral made a note to investigate that particular lapse in security, then moved on.
"Alright, from what I can understand, you five are supposed to be the newest compliment to my JTF? Now, my files don't have your pictures. I was told it's for 'security reasons'. Which one of you is Commander Eric Grayson?"
The tall Terran male with the yellowish head fur raised a hand. "That's me, sir."
"So you're my new JTF Commander." Yeah, Stefnar could see the familial resemblance. Similar coloration, same eyes, and the way they carried themselves, even while seated, was nearly identical. "I understand that you came from a highly elite unit back on Terra?"
"We're all elites, sir." Said with a straight face. No fluff, almost no ego, just facts. "But yes, sir, I was with Delta Force. So was Petty Officer Andrews, sir."
Stefnar glanced back through the list. "Petty Officer First Class Ralph Andrews? Combat medic?"
Another hand raised, this one from a Terran with dark coloration and a complete lack of head fur, slightly thinner than Grayson. Well, not really. He still had hard, gravity-condensed musculature like the rest of his species, but he was... to borrow a Terran term, [lanky] compared to his commander. "That would be me, sir."
"I'm not familiar with the term. Can you explain what a combat medic does, Petty Officer?"
He watched Andrews tilt his head, visibly confused for a moment before seemingly understanding something. Was his translator faulty?
"Ah, right. You don't have that concept. Well, sir, you know how us Terrans are sturdier than the galactic standard? Well, we could survive things that would instantly kill most other species, so combat medics, such as myself, are there to make sure our troops stay alive until we can end the fight and get them proper medical attention. I'm also a certified Xenobiologist, so my skills can be applied to most of the crew should the situation calls for it."
Stefnar tried to wrap his head around such a Terran concept. When someone is wounded in combat, the most logical thing would be to keep on fighting and hoping they were still alive to be treated when it was over. "So you're a doctor who keeps wounded soldiers alive during combat? You're not a fighter yourself?"
The man bared his teeth, and Stefnar felt fear spike through his hearts. Had he offended him somehow? No, wait. Terrans bared their teeth as a sign of friendliness, or amusement, not as a threat.
"I'm still a combatant, sir. I can still fight and shoot as well as the rest of them, it's just not my primary objective."
Right, Terran. Never bound to single functions, the damnable lot of them. He checked the list again. "Alright, I'm assuming that you," he waved a claw at the only female amongst them, "are Lieutenant Adira..... how do I pronounce your familial name, Lieutenant?"
"al-Allee, sir." She even made sure to say it slowly and clearly for his benefit. Stefnar noted the pronunciation.
"It says here that you're a sniper. Good, we've been needing a replacement sniper. Petty Officer Second Class Owen Mendoza?" The short, stocky Terran with the interesting head fur pattern raised his hand. "You're a demolitionist, correct?"
"Technically, I'm a combat engineer, sir, but it translates to demolitionist in the USR naval rates."
"Alright, simple enough. Just make sure you don't blow up my ship. And lastly, Chief Petty Officer Curtis Tran. I'm assuming that's you?" he gestured to the final Terran male, who nodded.
"Aye, sir. Reporting for duty."
"You're the heavy gunner?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alright, so that's all of you accounted for. Now, the first important question." He looked around the table, satisfied to see that the Terran reputation of being stalwart professionals when necessary was true. "Have any of you served on a USR ship before?"
Headshakes all around. Of course. They were new, barely 10 cycles since proper First Contact. Those academy pledges have been memorialized. "Alright. Any of you served on a spaceship of any kind?"
Grayson spoke first. "I did, sir. TFS Olympia."
Then Andrews. "TFS March Madness, sir."
Then Tran. "TFS YOLO, sir."
A capital cruiser, a battleship, and an expeditionary vessel. All Terran Federation ships. The other two didn't speak up, so Stefnar assumed neither of them had any experience shipboard. "All five of you will have to be oriented and caught up on protocol before our next deployment, but other than that all you need to do is make sure you are familiar with our equipment and friendly with your new teammates. Dismissed."
He suddenly remembered something as they stood up. "Wait." They waited. "What happened to the last one? I was told there'd be six of you."
One of the new technicians, a particularly well-groomed Leprecian, opened the door and Stefnar tensed, one claw twitching next to his blaster. There was no way they had the clearance to unlock that door without a bridge or security officer. Intruder?
"At ease, Ensign Ferrari."
Stefnar turned his eyes towards his new JTF Commander, who'd just used the completely wrong rank and name. Embarrassing, honestly. Not a good way to start his comma-
The technician responded, moving into the position of At Ease. Grayson turned to him, gesturing to the mysterious technician who was... discarding her fur!?. "Sir, meet Ensign Chiara Ferrari, our primary scout and intelligence officer."
"What the fuck is this?"
Grayson came back to attention as the technician revealed themselves as a Terran female, shedding a complex and realistic suit of fur. "We apologize for the deception, sir, but we had to make sure there was no negative sentiment from the crew that could pose a threat to our safety and wellbeing."
Stefnar was supposed to be angry. He had every right to be, and from what little he could read of their body languages they expected him to be pissed. Honestly, though? Once the shock wore off, he was just impressed that a Terran managed to pass as Lepresian for so long. She'd been here for several subcycles!
He did still have to stick to his principles. "I won't report this deception, not this time, but you will never do something like this without my explicit permission, is that understood?"
Another round of affirmatives and he sent them on their way, ordering them to familiarize themselves with their new teammates.
He stumbled his way back to bed and collapsed. Fucking Terrans.