Chapter 6 Submission

SUBMITTED BY: LT Antillies / Aurek Leader / ISD Chimaera / Imperial Navy
HOLONET REGISTRATION: <emperorfrecks@aim.com
SUBMITTED ON: 2008.05.16

Ramius Antillies stared out into the blackness of space, his hands clasped behind his back. This would be the last time he stood on the bridge of the Chinook, looking through its viewport and into the depths behind. The Empire had hit hard times and the old girl was being decommissioned. A shame, he thought, placing his hand on the durasteel bulkhead, she has so much fight left in her.
The fleet was being consolidated aboard the two most prominent Star Destroyers, the Nemesis and the Chimaera’s, and the officers of the frigates were to be placed in bridge duty teams to boost the efficiency of the massive vessels.
Ramius was both thrilled and upset at this notion. He longed the command of his own vessel and having it taking away, well, it hurt, like a knife stabbed through his heart, a deep burning pain that was hell’s fury in his chest and frozen Hoth in his stomach. The freedom, the independence, the sense of complete control: all gone to the tap of a button on a datapad. Some bald captain, Picard was his name, once said something to the effect of “nothing replaces the feeling of being the one in charge, the one in the captain’s chair,” and by god he was right.
But the shakeup also had its advantages. The Star Destroyers were bigger, badder, and armed to the teeth, not to mention the fact that the Chimaera (where he was being stationed) was the fleet’s command ship and he would have quicker and more easy access to both the Senior Fleet Officer and the Supreme Commander.
Fleet command had spared Ramius the fate of being separated from his crew who he had become well acquainted with and liked very much. It was comforting to know that Fewr would still be with him; chemistry within a military unit was essential if they were to act as brothers in war. Ramius was glad they had it.
Ramius’ superiors had also assigned him three additional members, all ensigns. One was a green Cardia grad, while the other two were somewhat more seasoned. Ramius had prepared his usual pep talk for new recruits before he had hit the bunk last night and he was glad he had, for he was feeling somewhat dizzy at the moment.
Ramius looked out of the viewport one last time, making sure to take a mental snapshot of this moment that he would carry with him for the rest of his life. Ramius patted the durasteel bulkhead and turned, walking sluggishly down the center of the crew pit like he had so many times before.
- - - -
The landing ramp of the shuttle descended with a snap-hiss of compressed air. Ramius strode down the ramp and was confronted by an entourage of Stormtroopers and a naval officer bearing the rank insignia of Line Captain. Ramius snapped a salute.
Line Captain Drazhar returned the salute and spoke. “At ease, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Please, walk with me,” Drazhar turned and Ramius immediately matched the captain’s stride. Drazhar snapped his fingers and motioned the Stormtroopers away. The only sound that remained was the click of their boots on the metal floor.
“Lieutenant, I am very glad to have you aboard, you game especially recommended. The late Captain Calder said nothing but good things,” Drazhar smiled.
“Thank you, Sir, and I must say congratulations on your promotion.”
Drazhar nodded in thanks. “I am just as sad as you to see our dear frigates take their turn toward the dry docks. I had become,” Drazhar paused, searching for the correct word, “rather attached to the Tornado. She was my home.”
Ramius nodded in agreement; he knew the feeling all too well. And suddenly, after what seemed like a very long time, they arrived in front of bridge’s blast doors. Drazhar turned to face Ramius.
“I know you will do your damnedest for the Chimaera, Lieutenant, and I ask that you please look after Sub-Lieutenant Falcon. He is fine officer, but not having a commanding officer’s influence on the Thunderbolt might have been, shall we say, not the proper education. I know he can learn much from you.”
“I’ll do my best, Sir.”
Drazhar smiled. “That’s all I ask. You will find your orders and cabin assignment uploaded to your datapad. All pertinent information can be found by accessing the ship’s databank, which you can do from your datapad. Now, I have a ship to run.”
Ramius saluted again, Drazhar returned it, and walked through the blast doors and onto the bridge.
- - - -
Ramius found his cabin to be somewhat smaller than his previous residence on the Chinook, but it was homey. Ramius put his bag down on his bunk and unpacked his things: his medal case, his blaster, assorted pictures of Kuat and his family, his spare uniforms and other clothes, and his datapad. His stomach growled uncomfortably and Ramius decided it was time for some grub.
Ramius hadn’t bothered to ask Drazhar where the mess hall was or even look it up on his datapad; he needed to get lost and to get to know the ship. Ramius exited his room and turned right, walking down corridor after corridor, hallway after hallway, but generally following the direction of the crowd.
The décor was the usual Imperial colors: white, gray, and black. Something things never die and mundane color choice was one of them. Even though the paintjob was the same, the amount of people was not. There were at least ten times as many techs and crewers and officers strolling around the corridors, most of which he outranked, but the buzz created by them was also different than that of the Chinook.
By and by Ramius made it to the officer’s mess hall and loaded up on some chow. He sat down at a table nearest to one of the viewports and began to munch away, devouring half his helping in a matter of moments. He was nearly done with his Bertellian ale when someone clapped him on the back. The blow caught him by surprise and made the ale gag in his throat.
“Oh! Sorry Sir!” The horrified Fewr said as he grabbed one of his napkins and immediately began to clean up the spilled ale.
“That’s enough, lieutenant, take a seat,” Ramius said sternly but let a hint of humor out as well.
“I’m damn glad to see your, Sir. I was afraid it was just going to be me and these whiny ensigns for another whole week. I can’t stand them, I tell you,” Fewr’s grin was back.
Ramius held up a hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll get them in shape soon enough,” he chomped down on part of his bantha steak, “have you tried this?”
Fewr shook his head. “No, I’m bantha intolerant.”
“A shame, it really is good,” Ramius logged another thing that was different than Chinook, the food, which was better here on the Chimaera.
Ramius finished his meal and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Have we got a training room or something?”
“Yes, Sir. We have simulator bay 4-A and multiple other training courses reserved for our distinct use, Sir.”
“Good, I’ll meet you and the ensigns there at,” Ramius glanced at the chronometer on the wall, “let’s make it 400 Hours.”
“Yes, Sir,” Fewr got up to leave. “That’s pretty early so I’d better hit the sack.”
Ramius nodded and, suddenly remembering something, said, “And lieutenant, make sure to give them a thorough dress-down before I get there. We have a lot of work to do.”