"Olympus Beckons"
The command deck of the Zeus may have lacked the smooth ergonomic polish of her last command, but it still bustled with quiet efficiency as her officers went about their tasks. Extra consoles and monitors crowded almost every centimeter of spare space and much of the gear looked worn, and well used,
"A bit like the ship itself,"
she thought, and then snorted,
"and what's true for the ship maybe goes double for her Captain."
The Zeus was one of the last of the old Invictus-Class cruisers. A pre-war design, she had been built for another age. Not as modern, or as shiny as some of the newer ships that you could see plying the space-lanes these days, and maybe not as fast, with none of the fancy gear those same vessels boasted. But she was a tough old bird, with heavier armour than was maybe fashionable nowadays, and a broadside that could pack quite the punch. She had seen her share of action, been in a few battles. She'd taken her lumps and was still hanging in there, still not beaten.
She snorted again,
"Just like her Captain."
Looking down at the four gold rings that decorated the sleeve of her black skinsuit she sighed,
"Frances Frobisher, once one of the youngest Captains in active service, twice decorated in combat, twice wounded. Twenty years of hard work and dedication, and what do you have to show for it? Demoted and discharged at the word of some damned popinjay, who was only slighted because you wouldn't sleep with the fucker, and because you wouldn't follow the prick's orders to fire on enemy lifeboats. Yea, they were pirates, and the bastards probably would have been spaced anyway, but they could have had captives, or hostages aboard,"
she sniffed at the memories,
"what a dickhead..."
Her melancholy brooding was interrupted by the approach of her XO and she turned to look at him, "What is it, Damon? Do you have an update for me?"
The man pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair. It was a bit longer than regulation, but it was neat enough, and this wasn't a Federated Navy ship after all, she mused. Still, from the expression on his face it was obvious the man wasn't particularly happy.
"Captain, no new data on the ion trail, it still heads sunward, but," he looked about before leaning closer so his lowered voice could be heard, "we are way outside our jurisdiction here, maybe it's time we headed back?"
She eyed the man. He wasn't the most gifted of First Officers, but he was hard-working, and so far, he had been diligent enough in carrying out his duties. She scrutinized his face for signs of some form of duplicitous motive, but other than the concerned and slightly weary look that always seemed to be the lot of a second in command to a demanding skipper he seemed genuine. Besides, he was right. But still...
"You saw the remains of that last ship, Damon. According to the manifest there were almost a hundred passengers on that bucket, and the bastards peeled it open like a tin can. They boarded, stole everything that wasn't nailed down, took those they wanted to use or sell, and then stood off and murdered everyone left behind."
"I know, Captain, but..."
She stopped him, "There were families on that ship, colonists and work-crew, some of whom had to watch their kin being hauled off by slavers, before waiting on a dead ship for those same bastards to put a beam right through their hull. They died in the dark, Damon, and they died on our patch. I don't give a flying fuck how far we have to chase these pricks. They're
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