“Welcome aboard Commodore!”
Of course Panny would pick a fit female Captain for the Consulate Ship. “Thank you Commander. I must insist that you call me Marshal, Sector Marshall, or Senior Marshal.”
“Mmm, I feel SenMar is going to happen. So lets make it!” Oh Andromeda, did Penny pick her clones to populate the military? “The Captain is expecting you in his cabin, should I tell him you are coming straight away?”
Oof. That’s a hard testing the waters maneuver. Penny said I have strategic control, and I have been given the Admiralty quarters off the bridge. Fuck, she really did intend for me to hold the rank of Commodore. Only one ship for now, they can suck it.
I sigh. “Tell the Captain, that him and all of the system liasons are expected in my quarters in two hours. Tell the mess that I expect sandwiches or nibbles.”
“The meal is in four hours. Ma’am.” The XO replies.
“Fine, then convey that I expect them, and you for a meal at the command mess at that time. If there is not an alcohol allotment, make one available for this encounter only.”
“Yes, SenMar.” The XO scampers off as I survey my Admiralty quarters and sigh. Despite my protests, the Empress got me good. When Penny said I was getting the oldest corvette in the fleet, she didn’t tell me that the corvette class was only two years old. I though she was giving me a comparably sized old destroyer, but no, she’s sent a Coyote-class Corvette named Kismet to be my Consul Command Ship. That sneaky bitch-bae. Fucking . . . I already miss her.
I spend the next few hours texting my liaisons, and my grand total of ten staff members to meet with me an hour after GQ stands down from our departure from Astorian space. After that I get lost in correspondence with the frontier territories and the prospecting locations that I am responsible for patrolling. Ugh, if things go “well” I’ll be patrolling protectorate space and economic space for seven Empress-damned systems. Yes it’s weird that I swear at the ephemeral manifestation of my new girlfriend, and no I’m not going to quit. She knows she’s an Imperial bitch and is oddly proud of it. She also knows that I’m a muscle-bound, stubborn mule—which she teases as she unravels me with her body. See? Solid Bitch material that one.
Hours pass and my dinner company has assembled with the meal before us and the bottles of wine next to my seat. “Captain Jacobs, Deputies, and crew. Thanks for meeting with me. We will meet, eat, and then ask questions.”
“I am a newly Senior Marshall assigned to the Core-ward Frontier. We are responsible for 20 cubic parsecs of space, and I believe the Navy is here to protect Consulate interests in the new government entity projects in the Brony Protectorates.
“Chain of Command always includes me.” I say with as much confidence as I have borrowed from Penny, “My crews will man the intel stations with a token guard and my office in the prospecting centroid of Prospect-3 will be manned with my team and a Marine squad. Protectorate comms route through Kismet. Pospect-3 routs everything through me. It’s proprietary information and I have personally agreed to keep that private in exchange for a more lenient exchange between prospect systems. The engagement documents from the Consul Forum should explain our role in the newest Protectorates, however, this will not cover all circumstances. I will entertain questions while we eat. Please, dig in. Anyone for wine?”
The command staff commit to wine, and so do I. Everyone else seems reticent to accept the boon.
“Ma’am, Have you selected people for your security stations?” A junior secretary asks.
“No. We have two weeks, and I planned to talk to each of you. Captain and Major, Each squad for those three stations should volunteer, otherwise, I would like one squad with me, and the other five with the ship as a response team. Thoughts?” There was some chattering back and forth as staff ate and refilled their glasses.
“So what do you expect from the Kismet, Senor Marshal? We are but one ship.”
“Captain, I’m not here to give you micro tasks. I would Like for you to spend a quarter’s time at each of the established Protectorates, and the intermittent quarter worth at the prospects. So, my wild preference would be a month and a half at a Brony system, a week at a prospect, then repeat. The actual schedule is up to you, but I want at least three days on station at a prospect per year. We get new approved claims, you adjust. I want around a month—Astorian—at each Brony Prime.”
“I like the leeway, Marshall, but I’m suspect of the conditions. Why are we in a police status?”
I sigh at Terrance’s question, “Because this is a new venture Captain. The Empress has never tried a multi-system protectorate, and it takes person power to execute it. She cares for the desires of her citizens and is willing to attempt all reasonable forms of governance. This year it means that the Navy and Marines need to cover a new venture. Side note. People with me are going to get in fights. I need cool cucumbers to help prevent them enough that the other person starts the conflict. You will all be expected to have quarters aboard my shuttle and deal with everyday shit jobs like everyone else on my crew.”
A fucking Marine raises their hand. I point at them like it’s a classroom.
“Your team is most likely to see action, what team restrictions are there?”
“At least one female on your squad, don’t be a skeevy douche as I don’t have the ship space for that, and you obey me above all else. Sorry Major, I don’t have time for the assurance check.”
He shakes his head. “Marines are trained to be independent as squads in the absence of further guidance. Your demand isn’t even a blip on the oddity radar.”
“Copy that Major. Captain, I also require a comms technician with high level access.” He nods.
“Alright then. As we aren’t stepping on each other’s toes, we can move forward. Major, I need a self-sufficient tac squad with me and a mix of security and guard squads as detailed in the report I just sent.” He nods and hits his displays with fervor. The XO does the same while the CO of the Kismet just eyeballs me.
“After we meet with the Protectors assigned to each of the new Empire systems, you both,” I say to the ship’s Captain and the Marine company commander, “will be on a patrolling, independent command. You have the ability to interdict, with the cooperation of the Protectors, without my checks and balances. This is what I want from a consolate ship in sector, and as such, you have police and limited judicial jurisdiction. Final say with the Protector of the system, however.” The boys scoff at my last qualifier, but that tells me it is more necessary than I had originally thought.
As a part of my salary for being a Frontier Marshall, I get a ship that Astoria keeps current. Having the Empress as my girl throws all of the minimum requirement bullshit out of the window—she bought me a new shuttle and because it’s in line with my contract, it’s impossible to argue. Especially when the bitch names a ship class after her nickname for me.
The Kitty-class Expedition Fighter is about three busses long, one and a half tall and five wide. It’s shaped as an arrowhead with a four pronged jet at the back for stability. Damn thing is the newest vehicle as I know that this is the smallest vehicle with a thermo-mechanical Annihilation drive.
Civilians think that Antimatter is magic, even though a hundred million residents of the Empire have access to true magic. As many advancements in our age, the Empress and her primary crew invented a new drive that made the pressure energy of an annihilation into movement, then made a photo absorbative layer that converts light and incidental collisions into heat and steam generation. The Astorian A-M drive requires aether and conventional mechanics and has thus become a force in the Super Cluster. Obviously the A-M drive requires matter to annihilate against, but aerosol pee against A-M makes the same reaction as pure water against A-M and the water is better prepared to attenuate radiation.
As we enter Brony space, the red lights engage and flood the space with alarms and temporary walls. I interrupt their emergency chatter.
“Marshall’s squad. Assemble in port-side shuttle bay, load for full deployment.” After that order, I load up on food canisters and ammo assemblage. As a Gunslinger, I need the ammo parts. I sprint to my shuttle expecting a transport to me engages with a hostile force, expecting myself to be the first one present.
Stolen novel; please report.
To my surprise, a team of Marines in combat gear and helmets are ready for war and loading the shuttle. “Who’s the tech!?” I shout, one skinny Marine answers with a bark, “ Engine room, now! Get this bitch running and ready take who you need!” kid tugs on a shoulder plate as she runs and the man follows her. “Load up, and anchor in. Leaving in 25s!”
“MARSHALL! We gotta go!”
“Emergency start, full power egress. Count me down.”
“15” Fuck off bitch, seriously just get us in the sky.
“10” I’m in the pilot’s chair, doing checks that I know I can’t finish.
“Drawing vacuum on the cargo, prepare for gees.”
On one, the make-shift engineer boosts us out of the cargo bay of the Kismet and we are instantly 400k kilometers from the Kismet.
“Nav, plot an emergency jump to Prospect 2, aether limits removed. Get us there lieutenant!”
The man salutes as he jabs at his console furiously. I see a woman running towards me as I’m about to take the helm.
“How can you abandon them like them like that ma’am!” the corporal yells at me.
“Corporal, the Kismet has bigger, more agile weapons and ten times more people if they board. I am getting to the more vulnerable prospect systems. Are you done?”
“Fuck no. We’ll talk about this Marshall.” The corporal shouts at me and storms out to what I assume is crew quarters.
We warp through the cosmos on a whim and a prayer and end up on the far side of prospect-2 , where the fighting is . . . according to my sensors, worse.
“Corporal!” I yell over the 1 MC, “Report to the ready bay and prepare to board a hostile station!”
I run to my quarters, get in my modified Empire Marine Assault Suit or E-MAS and mag clip my favorite Merc Inc weapons on my kit while I run the 100m to the aft ready bay. “KIP Ready the breaching board gate and the heavy assault cannon!”
//”Shipwide Warning: The Heavy Assault Cannon has been Energized. Stand clear or be disassociated.”//
When I get to the ready bay I see three Marines without HAB suites and I’m livid. Makes assignments easy though.
“Marshall, Marine squad reporting as ordered.” He salutes.
“Corporal, You and the three Marines without HAB suits are going aboard this ship and taking it over. The three with Hab suits are coming with me to the next ship.”
“Marshal, that spread is not ideal. I . . . “
“You failed to plan, so we must make due. I only have one breaching kit that maintains pressure. One use only. The Assault cannon is boarding method two. It requires habitat suits. If you have further discussion, please explain to your Marines why you want them to die.”
I wait a minute while our Warp Array cools down and our broadside grav units charge. He says nothing. “HAB team, cover high with grav boots and cover low through feet and engage grav boots. We disengage explosively and I want all of you in the ship when we do so.”
They nod at me and test their boots for charge and engagement. “Kip, maneuver for Contact and explosive boarding conduit.”
“Copy Marshall, engaging in 12.”
“One two one, first squad forward.” Corporal shouts.
“Two up two down, second squad deploy.” I follow and leap up with a female Marine to engage the ceiling. Kip lands us at two m/s and the hull shakes as the boarding tunnel obliterates their pirate hull as the rebound from the device is negated from our speed of impact. I open fire above team 1’s head as the precipitation fogs the breach point. Team two peppers the gaps in bursts while the haze clears and team one advances. They squat in the hallway of the pirate vessel and as soon as they open fire I cue Kip to seal and disengage.
“Squad two, take it to messaging. Prepare to decompress into the next boarding 1-2-1. Tighter the form, faster the jet. Light and fast arms to board, middle pair switch to heavy upon establishing landing. Reposition as necessary.” One of the men spies my gear and places me in the middle with a woman with a reduced force fifty gatling gun. I’m here feeling cool with a SAW and bitch has some Szwartsenegger bullshit. Hot butch Marine can go fuck herself. Stupid capable piece of . . . damnit. Head in the game Solari, you’re dating the Empress now and you’re committed. Purchased beef. Deep breath.
“Warp in 5, Armament in seven, board in ten.” Kip relays.
/Squad 2, prepare for violent pressure egress. Disengage mags on weapons fire./
Clicks around and we’re down to clown. Lets go shoot some dicks.
The Heavy breaching cannon pokes me some holes, and the collision come closer. Marine 1 ahead of me tries to back up.
/the air cannon we’re about to loose will push the hull in after the section vents. Hold your courage Marine./ I explain and chastise. The holes bleed moisture plumes into space and finish sas we collide and the bay shield opens two meters wide. Four thousand cubic meters at 101kpa pushes us toward the other hull as the automated assault cannon finishes weakening the hull. One atmo doesn’t seem like a lot, but 4k m^3 nozzled to 28 m^2 makes our atmosphere punch that hull like a battering ram. Forward Marine starts swimming so I grab his legs and then that becomes a thing so we shoot across daisy chained.
The fist of air punches in the hull as expected and we collide with the shell in the hallway faster than I anticipated. Beefcake and Last are on their feet first and I pull my SAW to fall behind lead Marine. I see people trying to stand and I just mow them down. These folks are harassing established Merchants and have guns; I’m not interested in diplomacy. I engage my grav boots and throw Lead forward toward Engineering as we need the big two spaces to choke out the rest and take over the ship.
My run to Engineering is labored but short, I wing the two techs to convince them to drop their weapons and deactivate the reactor. Lead whips out some shrink cuffs and ties them to the bottom of the console.
/Engineering secure. How forward?/
\Reinforcement needed!!\
/OTW/
I tap Lead and motion forward and he complies. We rush forward and use the pressurized side to avoid using our slow ass mag boots. We reach the bridge door in minutes. I give the hashtag symbol and they respond with five. Shit. I then briefly pantomime that I will sneak behind them to pinch them while they open fire. The other female Marine signals she too can sneak and we agree to a rear fire with safe triangles.
Bullet Betty and I sneak through the open hatch as bullets fly back and forth, luckily hitting neither of us. We’re both careful with the depth of our stealth aura’s and I text a signal for in position since I can’t actually see her.
/GO/ I chat and the front door explodes with grenades as me and middle 1 gun down the bridge. As soon as the last Pirate has a confirmation bullet in their brain case, I tap into the console to check for further crew to assault us.
“Squad 2, report.”
“Fine,” “Fine,” “Shot” “injured.” Chimes out and I respond by inspecting them. Big bitch has a few bullet holes and said fine. I give her a stim and a regenerative. Shot and injured were a different story. Shot was a male with holes in his bleeding places. One to the ribs and one to the thigh, this fucker is oozing. I jam him with a t-2 life saver and jab him with a sleepy time just to make sure. Injured took a slug to the femur and bastard just lashed an enemy gun to his leg. Fucking Marines. Making me feel bad about my macho.
“Alright assholes. We’re not doing macho classifications. If you have two or more bullet wounds, you are shot. Same with stab holes, you are stabbed, not fine. This shot asshole should have said critical as his fighting ability is shorter than ten minutes. Injured, here was the only one who reported correctly. He can fight more than ten minutes, but is a burden to the squad. Any questions you macho fucks?”
I get no responses, so I ease up. “Yeah, you all did a great job, I just get cross when I could lose people. I have money set aside for medical care, so do not let me let you die through negligence. I would rather have an extra gun arm on my team than an extra hundred creds. RE-format your brains.”
Fucking asses send me confirmation of re-formatting. I can’t help but laugh at the literal translation of my orders.
“Alright kids, While Kip can pilot himself to Dash, he needs a body to talk with Planet Control. Who has piloting experience?”
Biggun and Last raise their hand.
“I assume you’re the only pilots in the squad?” they nod. “Private Gat, you’re on my ship. Kip will guide you. Last in, We’ll take you back to your Corporal to take that ship into the Dash orbital shipyard. Lead, you’re with me. I will arrange berths with Dash orbital and Kip will stand by for transfer. If you have questions, speak now or hold it until reassignment.”
Not a fucking word was said and I appreciated the military right then.
It took a few hours to arrange the births and convince the Dash authorities not to look too hard. I had to lean on a bed filly to make it easier. I really need to stop that practice. I can’t reciprocate anymore and a bunch of my contacts might feel jaded if I can’t return the favors I’m asking. Not with sex anyway. Fucking morals. Pfft. Who am I kidding, I’m low-key afraid of wronging my girl on multiple levels. The danger is a turn on, but only when Penny is punishing me.
Fuck Mik, stop being such a simp for her. You can be strong and her . . . girlfriend at the same time. She does that, so can you.
/Baby, there’s a solid chance that I’m going to get a lot of complaints for not returning favors because I’m dating again./
\Are you letting them down easy or cutting them cold turkey?\
/Penny!! I am not the kind to betray a GF like that. Greeting Kisses are still a thing in the Merchant Guilds though . . . ./
\You are adorable Mikki. I kiss my friends too, so you’re safe. But . . . don’t sleep with them okay? I, I can’t do that again, even if you tell me before hand.\
/Penny, I’ve waited for you for a decade, I’m not about to ruin this./
\I suddenly hate that you won’t let me pamper you. But of course, I updated your combat shuttle without telling you, so we’re even.\
/Penny! You know how I feel about hand outs./
\And you know how I feel about my friends and chosen family. I will wear you down chica.\
She cuts the signal in a way that my messages auto return with nothing. Like, what cosmic force allows that kind of attraction to exist? Andromeda? Gods? I definitely know the Empress is randy AF, so that isn’t helpful. My girl is a boss bitch and I shudder with how much I am here for that. I feel like such a terrible Masc, but I’ve also never felt this way save when Penny is holding my strings. She doesn’t try to restrict my freedom, so I should survive.
“Tell me you have an answer for what we did in Empire space?” Big betty asks.
“It’s Frontier space until Founder’s week, Or Friendship week in the Brony systems. So my word is literally law for the next three days.”
“Oh! I thought this was going to be complicated. Can we bang now? You’ve been eyeballing me for DAYS.” I groan and awkwardly explain to her that I am adjusting to being off the market.