Prologue
"Look, Captain White," the suit barked at me from beside the bed. 
I cut him off his sales pitch, "Call me Charlie, please."
He paused for a moment and adjusting his tie, "Alright then, Charlie. Orion sees a lot of great potential in you. Your naval career reads like a wet dream. Not to mention the pay will far exceed what you were compensated in the Navy."
For around 30 minutes now I'd been listening to the portly man hook me back into sailing. To be honest it all sounded enticing; getting my paws wet again after the Navy dumped me on my laurels. Where was the fun in jumping the gun? No harm making the corpo work for his meal. "Fine fine fine," I said with a sigh. "I get my own destroyer though, right?"
The suit's eyes beamed for the shortest of miliseconds before his robotic nature took hold again, "Not just any destroyer Mr. Wh-" he caught himself, "Charlie. This is the first serial production run of Orion's new fast attack destroyer." A smug look crept at the corners of his mouth, "At the risk of boasting, once it completes the shake down run in a few weeks it'll be the most advanced military vessel in any Navy.” He added, “Government or otherwise."
I’d never tell the man he had me at “we’ll pay your medical bills.” The Navy would only cover the initial surgery expenses. Hell they weren’t even going to replace my intestines! They expected me to just lose weight and be happy about it. “Alright Black. Where do I sign?” 
Another wave of excitement crossed the suit's face, "Absolutely! We have your details already so let me take care of the busy work and focus on resting." He nearly skipped out the door as he turned to leave.
While I generally appreciate the respect people put on me for my service in the Navy I always have and always will be just Charlie. Hopefully working in the private sector would take away some of the decorum the Navy seems to cling to. I'd heard good things from other command officers that went private. Today private navies are a dime a dozen and Orion Interstellar Security sits ontop of the pyramid. The largest private military fleet and the third largest fleet behind the Navy and USEF. Its nothing to sneeze at.
I really wasn't ready to be out of the service regardless of how tantalizing retirement in the woods north of Minneapolis sounded. Maybe I was just dissatisfied that I wasn't able to make destroyer captain before I was discharged. Maybe I still had a modicum of youthful energy left in this battered husk of a body (though i seriously doubt that). In any case someone at Orion clearly saw something in me.
Over the next few days in the Navy hospital on Neptune Station more info about the company and my new ship filtered onto my terminal. Mr. Black, the company suit spinning the sales pitch, told me the destroyer was intended to be an near luxury yacht for ferrying heads of state, diplomats or anyone that could afford Orion's rate. Reading the spec sheet on the ship nearly made me blush.
Before I was injured I served as the executive office onboard the Navy cruiser Bonanza. She was a front line ship fitted with a cornicopia of weapons systems. We had missiles batteries, torpedo tubes, rail guns, point defense canons and even a laser system. The Orion destroyer Kherson, even being lighter in class and tonnage, made that seem like a sloop.
Four keel mounted 500mm rail cannons, thirty-six 20mm point defense cannon arrays, twenty anti-ship missile batteries, ten torpedo tubes and an ultraviolet laser system. Only one other time in my service had I seen that level of firepower was a cruiser nearly twice its size. I think Mr. Black knew it made me excited. Him still trying to sweeten the pot for me was a nice touch anyway. 
...
Three weeks later I was on a charter flight down to Miami. Orion had leased an entire runway at the International Spaceport for their ships. They even brought a shuttle to my apartment before flying me all the way from Chicago to Miami. Another nice touch to be honest. Not too often the largest PMC in the Coalition decides to wine and dine you.
The runways stretched just over a mile in either direction, ending just past the coastline. In front of me the sheer scale of the hangers caught me off guard. Usually it was cheaper to park most starships exposed to the elements. The hangers laid like colossal cylinders half buried in the supercrete. Directly ahead one of the half cylinders had its doors spread open. Though she wasn’t massive by any means, around 900m stem to stern and standing about 250m tall at its peak, I was still dazzled. She looked out of place inside the hanger. I felt like I was looking at a personal ship rather than the most cutting edge military craft ever built. I don't know how long I stood gawking but it was long enough for someone to nudge me to break my stupor.
"Admiring the new girl, eh?" The voice was deep with a Slavic accent. Even though I hadn't seen the man in nearly five years I knew immediately who it was.
I couldn't help the grin creeping across my face as I turned. "Viktor,” I stretched out his name and embraced him in a hug. “What dumpster did they scrape you out of?"
The Ukranian hulk bellowed and bent over with laughter, "Charlie you dog. Even after all these years still you make me laugh." He smacked my back, forgetting his strength and knocking the wind out of me. “The dumpster is Boston General.” He added with a smirk.
Viktor Boyko and I went way back. We both started in the naval academy, same class even, and somehow managed to land the same assignment after graduation. He was a medical officer onboard the frigate I Like Your Gumption while I was a junior bridge officer. Our shifts didn't line up perfectly but we always managed to find time for debauchery; especially during shore leave. After the Gumption we went our separate ways for a few years but reconnected on another ship. He retired a year before I did and the last I had heard he was going into private medical service. 
Before I could really catch up with my friend the company man Mr. Black jogged from out of the hanger. "I'm so glad," he said between panting breaths, "you both made it.” He took another moment bent over and then continued, “The pre-flight prep is taking longer than we'd hoped but our charter isn't here yet."
"Charter?" I thought out loud. Both Viktor and Mr. Black turned to me quizzically. I threw my hands up in self defense, "I read the mission briefing already. Don't give me that look." For once in my career I really did read the brief ahead of time. Not once was a charter mentioned. 
Mr. Black's face got a bit of a red hue to it, "That would be my fault. The delegation from the Hamid planetary government issued a last minute demand to the Coalition diplomatic team. They wouldn't come unless a very specific negotiator was there to mediate the proceedings." He removed his square glasses and rubbed his eyes with two fingers, "They accused the Coalition team for bending to corporate whims." Viktor's brow crinkled for the briefest of seconds. If I didn't know him I wouldn't have caught it.
I let a sigh escape my mouth, "So who are we flying then?" Hopefully I was able to keep the twinge of annoyance from leaking out.
"The diplomatic leader goes by Doc Davis." Mr. Black replied.
Before i could even open my mouth Viktor's eyes lit up and his jaw dropped, "Doc Davis as in Dr. Daffodil Davis of Doc Davis and Daisies? Famous jazz ensemble?" He was nearly frothing at the mouth with excitement.
Mr. Black nodded, "The very same. One of his band members is a Hamid native and they wouldn't have anyone else. Not to mention that Davis had been petitioning the Coalition mediation team for weeks now. The Hamid delegation also required that a neutral third party transport them to the summit. And so, here we are." His hands flew up in an exaggerated shrug.
At first I had no idea who they were talking about but a moment later it clicked in my head. Dont get me wrong I’m not uncultured; jazz just wasn't my cup of tea. Doc Davis and the Daisies were Coalition wide stars that would make any artist blush. Celebrities weren’t my type. I'd leave the delegates to Viktor. He seemed to be excited. Off behind Mr. Black running toward us was a younger looking Deliah. I had to do a double take when I saw her fur, and another when i saw her ears. 
Most Deliah, for lack of a better way to describe us, look like Earthen red pandas. I always thought it was a little weird when I saw them at zoos. Everyone around me seems mystified by it but, I don’t know, it creeps me out. 
Genetics show we developed the similar traits independent of the other. Most of us look like those little tree dwellers but there is another distinct group. They’re around the same height only with taller ears to handle the desert heat. Unlike us the desert-folk have light tan and sand colored fur, long whiskers and a slightly longer muzzle. My mom had a friend from the desert. I remember meeting her once and being gob-struck. Uncommon, but strikingly beautiful.
As she ran up I caught the name tag on her left chest, "Matthews". This would be my chief of security; if I remembered the ship crew right. Mr. Black also heard her panting and turned, "Ah perfect timing lieutenant."  His sullen eyes fell back on us and he gestured to her, "This is Lieutenant Sara Matthews; your security chief."
The sleeves of her jumpsuit were rolled up and revealed lean muscle under slightly oil stained fur. She was shorter than me at the top of her head, though the ears closed nearly all of that distance. It was a tad unprofessional but I lost myself for a moment. Her eyes we’re almost the same shade of blue as the sky. Against the tan fur on her face it made my mind empty. 
She snapped in place like a statue, firing a salute so quickly I felt the wind hit me in the face. It thankfully brought me back down to Earth. "Pleasure to meet you sir!" Her tone was only just audible over the background thrum of the space port. It wasn’t a whisper but it was in the same family photo. 
I couldn’t believe a voice that delicate came out of someone strung so tight.  Suppressing a chuckle, and a smirk from creeping on my face, I returned her salute. "At ease Sara, this isn't the navy." 
She relaxed and looked at me, "Thank you sir. It's been a hectic day getting the ship ready for our guests." Her volume hadn’t changed but it was less sharp now. 
She hesitated for a second and added, “It’s Matthews, sir.” I raised an eyebrow at her and she elaborated, “My mom calls me Sara.” Her voice trailed off at the end and disappeared into the noise bouncing off the tarmac.
I offered her my hand, "Matthews then.” Her grip matched her physical demeanor. One more stark difference from that voice. “My friends call me Charlie.” 
Viktor offered her a curt nod and a, “Lieutenant.” 
She mimicked the nod and replied, “Commander.”
So far, today had gone much smoother than I was expecting. On my final deployment one of my dullest responsibilities was supervising loading and unloading during port calls. The navy requisition officers would always be on my case about forms missing or rack space being full when it should be empty. Our quartermasters would get roped in and then everyone would be whipping out their cocks to show who’s was biggest. 
A huge rectangular section of the hull had lowered to the hanger deck. When I was close enough I could see that the entire cargo deck was lowered to the floor. Automated lifts drove on and off the platform depositing their crates and scurrying off for more. I only saw a few crewmen milling around. 
Matthews extended her arm towards the ship towering in front of us. "Care to take the reigns?" She asked. 
The Kherson was beautiful. Her lines were smooth and flowing along the modules and compartments hidden beneath the hull. She was almost a kilometer from stem to stern; petite by federal standards. I knew she was just being coy. Those navy ships were sometimes more flash than fire. She was more concerned with doing her job and not raising any brows while she did so. 
I could see the seam where her prow hull plates would separate and slide back to reveal her fangs. A staggering two megawatts of light energy could be slung from her jaw like a techno-mechanical spitting viper. If her maw wasn’t threatening enough she had her claws. 
As we ventured deeper into the hanger the recessed holes for the torpedo tubes came into view. The navy had opted for flush mounted door covers for their tubed. The Kherson’s designer sunk the doors deeper back into the tube letting it accentuate the rest of her design. From my position I couldn’t see them but her rail guns lined her spine like something from Earth’s prehistory. 
I blushed a little when my eyes found her aft. Two elongated bulbs adorned the top and bottom of the hull with a matching pair on the other side. In space their seams would split to reveal her engine nacelles. Not wanting to be rude I shifted my eyes further up the ship.
Situated above the cargo bay the Kherson featured a landing bay and two wings of fighter craft. They weren't the newest or even the best fighters but they wouldn’t likely ever see service. Curious what a diplomatic mission needed two wings of fighters for, I thought to myself.  
Next to either wing sat a pair of  M79 "Razorbak" gunships. In a fight these would most likely wisk away whoever the ship was carrying to safety while she and her crew went down in a blaze of glory. 
Mr. Black caught me ogling, "I see its love at first sight!" He bellowed. "How do you like the Kherson?"
Above me I could read "OIS-D Kherson" freshly painted on her otherwise bare hull. Born in the Mariupol Ship Foundry and delivered to me here in the shade of the Florida sun.
"She looks more like a yacht than a warship." I feigned neutrality, still looking at the name, "I am a bit confused why a diplomatic mission is armed so armed to the teeth.”
Mr. Black's eyes avoided mine and his cheeks flushed slightly, "The fed demanded fighter escorts for the diplomat's transports. They wouldn't take no for an answer and Orion capitulated." 
Viktor laughed, "It is rude to show up to peace summit ready for war, no?" Mr. Black didn't reply.
We all ventu continued toward the rear of the ship. Jump-suited personnel ferried to and from the rear landing legs, disappearing inside and, presumably, up into the ship. An equal amount of people in street clothes were also heading inside.
Pulling up to the aft port landing strut i saw a short, somewhat portly, man in a jumpsuit with a yellow arm band directing everyone. Before I could say anything, the man spotted us and ran over. "Good morning sir!" He yelled over the rush of loading behind him, "You must be captain White. I’m lieutenant commander Barclay, your cheif engineer."
Despite his size I could still see surprisingly dense muscle on the man. He had an olive complexion which I found odd considering he was supposed to be from Detroit. Similar to my security chief Barclay was also oil and grime covered though to a greater degree than the former. 
Surrounded by the ship’s crew in uniform was making me feel surprisingly out of place. Back in the navy I would have killed to wear a loose shirt and pants on the command deck.  Now I was beginning to feel out of place wearing my civvies. I was itching to get to my quarters to change. At least Orion's jumpsuits looked more fashionable than what the fed issued.
Black and Barclay started bouncing off each other and I took the opportunity to excuse myself. An elevator nestled into one of the rear landing struts opened and I jogged over to catch it. A few enlisted crewmen shuffled out and cracked salutes when they recognized who I was. I waved them off with a smile and suppressed the small cringe that bubbled in my stomach. Who knows if I was going to get used to strangers already knowing who I was.
 Navy captains are often described as superstitious with their ships. There's a long standing tradition of captains touring their ship alone for their first time. On my first posting, the captain told me it was a sort of bonding experience between a captain and his or her vessel. Personally, I always though it was hokey. I never understood it, and then I boarded the Kherson.
Its a hard feeling to describe. Maybe I was just anthropomorphizing her but from the moment I stepped into that elevator I felt at home. Every corridor, pipe and conduit were exactly where I expected them to be. It was like walking back into my childhood home. I ran the pads on my fingertips along the walls feeling the smooth matte finish of the paint. I could smell the adhesives outgasing in the walls. New starship smell, I thought to myself with a chuckle. I could feel more than hear the nearly inaudible hum from the reactor a few compartments behind my me. It was a symphony of power, fuel and combined Deliah and human ingenuity.
Viktor tapped my shoulder, "Captain, are you alright?" I must have stopped in the middle of the corridor long enough for him to catch up.
I shook my head slightly and responded, "I'm fine Viktor. Just taking it all in." I put on mock sniffles, "Brings a tear to your eye doesn't it."
"Captain you are going soft on me!" Viktor shouted and slapped my back. It knocked the wind out of me slightly.
We walked through the maintenance corridors in the bowls of the ships back up to the bridge. Unlike Navy warships i'd served on, the Kherson was much more spacious. Crossing intersections let me see into narrower cooridors that ran parallel to the main one but even these seemed more cavernous than the capillaries we would have to squeeze into on frigates. We dodged operations personnel moving equipment from the hybrid cargo hold and landing bays. I must have said "At ease" at least two dozen times by the time we got to the primary flight deck near the top of the ship. Entering the bay nearly took my breath away.
From the ground I couldn’t grasp the scale of the double level space. The bay was two decks tall with the aft starboard corner an enclosed box to house the fighters and the Razorbaks. Over a hundred meters on the long axis and thirty or so across her width. I nearly couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. A gantry way ran the length to another set of sliding doors on the far side. I could see into the fighter bays and considering their surroundings they looked more like toys in their chest.
Something that struck me was these craft were all brand new serial production. I had expected to see refit and repainted navy surplus but Orion seemingly had other plans. They must have wanted to show off. Equally new and shiny were the transports.
The colonial rush in the early 22nd century saw a huge need for hybrid troop transport and gunship spacecraft. The Diamond Aerospace Company introduced the M60 Peregrine gunship at the start of the interstellar rush and the conflicts that followed. Pilots complained of subpar performance in space and horrid aerodynamics in atmosphere. Even considering its flaws it saw more combat flights than most other light craft in the decades of strife across Coalition space. 
Capitalizing on its success DAC released the next generation M65 Razorbak to rave reviews from pilots. Atmospheric performance was greatly improved by the  longer wings. The weapons payload was more substantial and also featured a dedicated gunship conversion by converting the transport bay into additional armament storage. Id never been a pilot but I had seen some combat drops inside one of these. Loud and terrifying but we always got to an from where ever the navy wanted us safely. 
Regardless of their age they still saw wide use across the PMCs. The ones before me also appeared to be brand new or a the least very well cleaned up. 
Matthews, while I was oggling, seemed to have caught up to us. She squeezed past Viktor and I and stepped onto the catwalk to one of the Razorbak bays. "I see you eyeing up my baby," she said with a smirk, adding a quick "sir."
I matched her grin and grilled her, just a little. "Your baby?" I asked, with a narrowed gaze. "Orion's benefits packages are wild compared to the Navy's."
This got her to laugh, "Very funny captain." Her grin didn't fade. She hopped up into the belly of the Razorback sleeping in its nest. My eyes followed her and I the words “LT. SARA “RADAR” MATTHEWS” stenciled above the cockpit door. 
"This is my baby." She banged on the inner hull, "These are some of the first examples of the new Razorbak revision. Upgraded avionics, new cyber-warfare system and my favorite part,” she stretched her arms towards either side of the craft, “an additional weapon hardpoint on either side."
My eyes glazed a bit when she started talking technical. I pointed at the call sign stenciled on the side of the ship, "Radar eh?"
The lieutenant's face scrunched in a bit of a blush, "That was my callsign back when I flew with Naval Intelligence. One of the maintenance techs worked with me back then and thought it was cute."
Not surprisingly, the Naval Intelligence Office wasn't listed on Matthews' employee file when I was reviewing the crew manifest. NIO was notorious about obfuscating its members service history. I filed that note away in my mind to contemplate later.
We moved on from the hanger. The door at the fore of the bay looked identical to the one we entered through, but the corridor on the other side was like walking into a someone's mansion. The corridors were even wider than the ones we traced through earlier. The raw blueish gray of the plasteel walls had been replaced by a dark gray paint and orange trim; the Orion Interstellar colors. Chandelier-esque lighting fixtures replaced the LED strips on the ceiling. For a moment it felt like i had stumbled into the Ritz in Streeterville back home.
To my knowledge only the top four decks at the fore of the ship were like this. A blurb I read in the ship dossier came to mind: "Your interstellar home away from home." I wish my apartment looked half as nice.
I excused myself from my department heads and swung back to the rear of the ship. The bridge sat on top of the ship near the rear of the vessel. Just below the bridge was both my office and quarters. On my way back I decided to walk through the civilian decks, trying to avoid constantly having to salute officers and enlisted. Eventually I was going to have to grant general amnesty to being at attention in the halls; my arm might fall of otherwise.
It was the best decision I had made all day. I still hadn't had a chance to change into my company issue jumpsuit, which I was still looking forward to trying. None of the civilian staff gave me more than a glance busy on whatever tasks they were assigned before launch. I almost felt like a ghost passing through people; it was kind of nice.
I passed an open bulkhead and heard someone shout, "Captain?" I back tracked to see who it was.
The bulkhead lead into the ship's medical bay. After the incident that got me discharged I had become intimately familiar with shipboard medbays.
The room's size was normal, what I would expect it to be, but it was jammed to capacity with equipment. Surgical pods lined all sides of the room and toward the back nestled between two pods was a full immersion tank. The other side of the bay had a range of open air medical beds. It was incredible to behold. There was more equipment in here than I'd seen in some small hospitals. Hell, the surgical pods cost more than a personal space craft.
"Uh, Captain, are you alright?" The voice asked again. My face flushed under my fur.
"Ah, yes, that's me." I stammered out. A woman stood in a passage way across from the med bay entrance. I tried to distract from making a fool of myself gawking at the med bay, "I apologize, you must be Dr. Schneider?" The ship’s councilor and psychologist had her office directly across from the med bay. 
Her face glowed when I mentioned her name, "Very excellent Captain, you're the first person today that's known my name."
I returned her smile, "I'd be a liar if I said i memorized everyone's names. The staff chiefs were the exception." 
She gestured for me to enter the bay. "You seemed impressed by our medical facilities." She said, sitting at a desk opposite the entrance.
I nodded, "I spent a good deal of time in medbay on my final naval posting. The navy never had anything this fancy." I pointed at the regeneration tank at the end of the bay.
Dr. Schneider smiled wide and stood again, "I fought long and hard to get that installed. The company insisted the surgical pods were enough but I didn't take no for an answer. If clients pay for the best, they get the best." She continued, walking to the bay, "Short of being dead, there's near nothing we can't fix."
"The Navy hospital I was in after my discharge didn't even have a re-gen tank. I'd only seen them on TV."
She stood next to the tank now gazing in at the bubbles slowly making their way through the slightly viscous fluid, "When your clientele can afford the largest private military in the coalition, you get to play with the best toys." She had a twinkle in her eye when she described the multi-million dollar piece of medical equipment as a toy. It was endearing.
Dead air filled the room for a moment and I fent slightly awkward, "I'll let you know when I have my first staff meeting.” I gestured up toward the main elevator to the bridge, “I'm going to change into something more appropriate." It was as good of an excuse as any.
The doctor stood and offered me her hand, "I look forward to it with zeal, Captain."
I took, "You can call me Charlie. One of the perks of being on the civilian staff." I smiled at her, more warmth than I intended but I couldn’t help it.
...
I finally made it up to the bridge and a sense of Christmas morning washed over me. It wasn't as big by volume compared command centers I’d served in aboard cruisers, but there was more technology than I'd ever see before. The front of the roughly ten by fifteen meter room were enormous window screens. Presently they showed the open tarmac outside of the hanger bay overlaid with ship status info. Dozens of screens paired with at least a dozen workstations circled the captain's chair at the back of the room. It was all over whelming.
A lieutenant saw me standing slack jaw in the door and stood at attention, "Captain on deck!" The eight or so officers all stood and snapped a salute.
I brought myself back to reality with a quick head shake, “At ease everyone. I'm not even in uniform yet." I said with a smirk.
The officer that spoke initially extended his hand, "I'm junior lieutenant Patrick Wilkins, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you." I found myself looking up at him which was a general trend for me. Humans, on average, were usually taller than Deliah,
I shook his hand quickly, "Pleasure, lieutenant. Hows the girl doing?"
His face tightened, he looked nervous, "The, uh, girl sir?"
I gestured to the room with my hand, "The Kherson."
"Oh!" He exclaimed, "There were a few minor mechanical faults in the engineering department during the shake down run but those have all been resolved. Currently we are only pending arrival of our precious cargo."
I left the silence to linger a moment; casually glancing from station to station.
Wilkins took a few seconds before he spoke again, "Uh, how can I help you sir?"
I snapped back to him, gesturing at my lack of dress code, "For starters I'd like to freshen up. The company rep told me my ready room was attached to the CIC."
He slid past me to a door at the back of the room, behind the captains chair, "There's also a entrance directly to your quarters one deck below us." 
He looked a little embarrassed still. Sauntering to the door I stopped for a moment and whispered to the him, "You're doing great kid. I'm just bustin’ your balls." 
He saluted, "Aye, aye captain." The rest of the bridge officers turned back to their stations.
...
I had a chance to take a shower; the water pressure in my quarters was incredible. I pulled undergarments and my company issue jumpsuit from the closet and got changed. Back through the door my ready room was waiting for me. When I first got off the small lift I stopped to take in the atmosphere. 
About a week before I arrived in Miami Mr. Black came to me asking what kind of decorations I wanted. Confused, I asked him what plants he had been smoking. Apparently, captains in Orion were encouraged to decorate their ready rooms with art, pictures, sculptures, aquariums and so on. Jokingly I told Mr. Black to get me scale models of the ships I had served on, a print of Germain Velasco's painting of the largest ship in the Navy fleet and a couch. 
Now, to my absolute bewilderment, he had delivered on all fronts. The painting of the Carlo's Star! was hung on the wall across from my desk; taking up nearly the whole space wall to wall. The ship models, which were also organized in the order that I served on them, sat above the couch and table in the corner of the office. For what seemed like the umpeeth time that day, I was genuinely taken aback.
After hiding in my office for an hour or so it was time to meet the group we were transporting. A smarter captain would have read their dossiers but I never claimed to be smart. Plus Viktor seemed to be a fan so I could lean on him.
Walking back to the fore compartments I felt the entire ship lurch and shift under my feet. While the Kherson was equipped with gravity field generators they wouldn't work inside of or even close to a gravity well. Fresh sailors often lost their balance when taking off from the ground. Being a seasoned navy veteran though, I also almost lost my footing. Thankfully no one saw my blunder.
Viktor and lieutenant Matthews were waiting for me outside of the executive lounge in the passenger decks. One side of the room featured a fully stocked bar with at least a twenty different varieties of various liquors and wines set into a crystal glass display. The rest of the room was lined with couches set into the floor around a large obsidian table. Fourteen people, various shades of Deliah and human, sat in the couches sipping on drinks. The glassware also looked to be made of crystal, trimmed with gold. Seemed a little bit over the top to my taste but I wouldn't be able to afford a charter like this so who was I to judge.
A large sized man in a bright pink suit heard the door and saw us enter. He stood and strode over to us, "You must be the command staff. I'm Daffodil Davis and this is my team." He shook my hand, rather stiffly.
I put on a smile and introduced myself and my team, "Pleasure to meet you, sir. I am captain White but you can call me Charlie." Pointing to my left, "This is commander Boyko, our chief medical officer and our XO. If you need anything or have any issues please reach out to him." I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. "And this," I turned to my security chief, "Is lieutenant Matthews, our security chief. Any safety concerns can be directed to her."
Davis shook both of their hands in turn, "Please, Mr. White, join us for refreshments. I'd love to introduce you to everyone." He extended his arm towards the sitting area. I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to enjoy my ship's private accommodations.
We sat for a while. Doc Davis (everyone called him either just Doc or Doc Davis) introduced his team and asked about my team and I. Viktor sat at the edge of his seat listening to everyone talk. It was like a kid peering into a candy store.
I wont lie, though, they were an interesting bunch. Doc Davis and his band as a whole were very well known but I wasn’t intimately familiar with the individuals. The band was comprised of a few more doctors, some lawyers, a few former Coalition diplomats with the rest being comprised of former professional musicians turned philanthropists. 
While interesting listening to scholarly, it was causing me to drift away from reality. Matthews leaned into my ear and whispered, "We need to go deal with an important matter, if you catch my drift."
My immediate reaction was confusion when I looked at her. She gave me a pained look and it dawned on me she wanted an excuse to leave. I didn't need to be told twice. I stood, "My apologies everyone, we're needed for some pre-flight procedures," it was a flimsy excuse but it was all that came into my head. "Commander Boyko will make sure you are well taken care of."
Davis stood and shook my hand, "The pleasure has been ours Mr. White. I’m hoping we can have dinner once we are underway this evening."
"Absolutely,” I said taking his hand, “I'll have you and the XO in my ready room this evening. Let me know when you'd like to stop by." I gave a nod to the rest of the group and exited with Matthews.
In the hall she leaned in and whispered, "Thank you for that, sir. I felt my brain leaking out of my ears."
That got a chuckle out of me, "Wouldn't have been so bad if we weren't on duty. Could have helped ourselves to the liquor cabnet."
...
We left the spaceport later that day without much fanfare. A few minutes later we made Earth orbit and  within the hour we were en route to Luna International Orbital Transit Hub. By the time we arrived at the traffic controllers were processing their shift change. I'd been on the bridge for the flight out and was starting to feel the fatigue myself.
I wanted to stretch my legs before meeting with Davis and my XO this evening. The ship’s crew would be their busiest right now so I wanted to leave them be. Considering that, I figured it would be a good time to harass, I mean, visit the civilian staff.
The Kherson kept civilian areas tucked on her underside to the fore of the cargo deck. The laser beam-canon facilities split the civilain areas roughly in half but otherwise most of the front of the ship was open to anyone.
I didn't have a chance to visit them all but i was able to see the larger science labs. They sat in the larger space above the restricted section. Below was the guest quarters and the ship’s cafeteria which I was told also doubled as a night club and high end restaurant when it wanted to. 
My military career up to this point only included light civilian outreach. Mostly hearts and minds campaigns cooked by Navy higher ups. It was a little strange seeing over half the crew of a warship consisting of scientists, medical professionals and engineers. A good bulk of the civies did receive some basic training and needed to complete the basic naval certifications; it still left me a little uneasy. When we got back from Hamid I would need to raise the concerns with the company.
I didn't spend much time haranguing the science staff, with one exception. The astronomy and telescopy lab used the Kherson's optical warfare package (essentially a gian't telescope that could deploy from the bottom of the ship that fed targeting info to the beam-canon) for scientific research. Coalition Sciences and Energy, the state scientific organization, had space based observatories spread all across Coalition space. The big ones had higher resolving power than our telescope package but none of them had any mobility. The astronomers must have also felt like Christmas morning getting all of the lab's systems online. On the coast to Luna I gave them permission to deploy the telescope for a "first light" test.
The lab nearly erupted when the images came through of our local satelite. To me, it looked like any other picture of the moon. The lab chief tried to no avail to convince me of how incredible the science would be once we were really able to stretch the ship's legs. I humored him and quickly left the lab before I made a fool of myself. I looked at the stars for pleasure and wonderment. Those folk seemed to get aroused by it.
There was still a bit of time left before we entered hyperspace for the first leg of our journey to Hamid. I wanted to be on the bridge for the ship's maiden jump but my stomach was grumbling. In all of the day's excitement I had yet to eat anything. One of the civilians in the bio-science lab was raving about the caf. I figured now was as good a time as any to try the galley.
...
Music leaked into the corridor from the entrance. A small neon sign was bolted to the bulkhead above the door that read "Klub Kherson." Fast, bass and drum heavy electronic music hit me in the head like a freight train when i walked in. The crew wasn’t kidding when they said “high end restaurant.”
I slipped through the door over and found and open seat at the bar. Behind the counter stood, what appeard to be, a man in his thirties cleaning glassware. He wasn't a man though. That was obvious by the Sun white skin and the literal glow coming off of him. He wore a completely white suit, the only color being a bit of fringing at his edges.
He put down the glass he was cleaning as I sat, "Good evening captain White! It’s a pleasure to have you. Can I get you anything?" His voice was oddly soothing, like an old British actor.
"Charlie, please." I chided him. He gave a curt nod. "I haven't had much of anything to eat today. What's on the menu?" A quick moment later I added, “And you are?”
The man raised his hand and a virtual menu appeared in thin air above. He lowered his hand and the "menu" wafted down to the bar surface. It dawned on me who the “man” was. Ignoring the menu i asked, "Are you.."
"I'm the ship's control system." He answered before I could finish. "I am the tenth generation of the Machine Administrator series of ship board artificial sentience," he said with an aire of gravitas. "You may call me MAX."
He extended his hand and I shook it. I was amazed when I felt his hand squeeze mine.Whatever projection tech was being used had an incredible approximation of a hard surface. My face must have had a stupid look on it, again. 
Max asked again, "Anything I can get for you Charlie?"
My stomach growled in reply. The menu was far more extravigant than any ship I'd ever been on, even outside of the military. Today's option were a classic style American burger (for unadventurous US crewmen), a mild and spicy curry, and a vegetable stir fry. I was expecting prepackaged rations or commercial food supplies. Honestly I don't know why I was surprised at this point. Space ports across Coalition space were rife with Indian, Chinese, Pakistani, Japanese, Thai; the list goes on.
MAX and I chatted as I ate the bowl of yellow curry he brought out from the kitchen behind him. I didn't have the expertise to understand how artificial sentient beings worked but I also had no idea how we meat bags worked so it evened out. I filed a note in my mind to ask him more about how he worked once we were underway in hyperspace. I filed a second note to make sure that wouldn’t be a rude thing to ask first. 
The more time I spent on board the more I was looking forward to my tenure on the Kherson. I'd done my time in the by the books command chain, no quality of life, yessir/nosir, etc. It was going to be nice to have a change of pace. Having a nightclub onboard was like the cherry on top of my sundae.
After finishing my food, which was incredible by the way, Max invited me to the second deck lounge area. A spiral staircase across the room from the entrance lead up to a dimmer sitting area. If I had to guess this is where VIP guests could sit while the rest of the crew and staff had access to the dance floor and sitting area below. It was quieter up here, probably some kind of dampening field for the sound. I wondered if I could use this space to host my staff meetings; it'd certainly be nicer than a conference room or, fate forbid, my ready room.
I felt a buzz in my pocket before I could sit down upstairs. I pulled out my terminal and saw Matthews face staring up at me. I tapped the screen, "Lieutenant! What can I do for you."
Her face shifted from the screen to a three dimensional projection above the phone, "We've eneted the military hyperspace queue. There's a Navy convoy and a cruiser ahead of us but we should be jumping in about eight minutes."
I felt electricity crackle up my spine, "Crap," I whispered under my breath. If the security chief heard, she didn’t say anything. "I'm on my way to the bridge right now. Don't wait for me if we hit the top of the queue." I turned to the virtual man standing to the side of me, "Apologies Max, I gotta jet."
He put his hands up in a complacent gesture, "No need to apologize at all, sir." I turned and ran down the stairs and out of through the bulkhead. If my mental math was right it would have taken me about fifteen minutes to get to the opposite end of the ship. I hoped that there would be at least a little delay so I had a chance.
Eight minutes passed and I had made it about half way. I ran across the catwalk above the cargo deck and glanced to the activity below. Enlisted personnel were consolidating crates deeper into the space to free up floor room. I was lucky enough to catch a view out of the hanger before the physical doors slid shut. Looking up at the night sky and seeing stars from across the universe staring back was one of the things that inspired me to enlist in the first place. Seeing them in the vacuum of space, even though I'd seen the sight a hundred times before, still filled me with that same wonder from my childhood. 
I don't know how long I was standing staring. Just as the doors were about to fully close I saw streaks of light flashing forward past us. The telltale sign of the hyper-drive spooling up. We were about to enter hyper-space. I turned to continue heading toward the bridge. Before I could take a step the floor disappeared from under me.
...
Everything was black. The only sound registering in my brain was a constant high pitched whine from my aural nerves. Was I awake? Was I asleep? Where was I? Wait, who am I? A small pinprick of dim, red light appeared at the center of my awareness. I couldn't feel a thing. Not even the rise and fall of my chest. I was still thinking so I had to still be breathing, right? 
Light slowly expanded and filled my vision. Something wet ran down the right side of my face and I could taste iron. Sound beyond brain noise started to return to me; a mechanical pulsing drone grew from barely audible to painfully loud. Bright white and yellow strobes crept at the corner of my vision. Then the pain hit.
For a moment it felt like someone had plunged a knife into my eye socket. A searing fire licked up the sides of my brain. I tried to sit up and ever nerve ending, every joint that still existed, every fiber of my being lashed out in revolt. A scream flew through clenching and unclenching teeth but I couldn’t hear it and could barely feel it.
The world was spinning around me as if I were drunk. Unconsciousness grabbed at the edges of my mind pulling down on me. I braced myself and and clicked a switch built into my lower right molar. Adrenaline flooded my veins like ice. The fire of pain from my arms and torso was for the moment held at bay. The miracles of augmentation, I thought to myself.
As the drug pumped through my system my wits returned started to return. Muscle memory and training took hold and I assessed what was going on. I was on the catwalk above the cargo deck ogling the view just before the ship entered hyperspace. I remembered the feeling of weight disappearing and the floor parting from my feet. There was a loud bang or screech like metal rending, and then nothing but black. 
Possibilities streamed through my mind. Had we ran into someone? Was there an issue with the hyper-space gate? Stop, I told myself. Get an account of the ship and crew's immediate situation, make sure there's not an immediate threat and the situation is stable. A voice spoke into my mind, "Captian White, can you hear me?" It took a moment, but I recognized the voice as Max. I tried to answer him outloud but couldn't make a sound. "Try to think a reply if you can hear me captain."
"What happened Max? What's the ship's status?" I thought, even that was enough to start draining what energy I had.
"I am still analyzing sensor readings from the hyperspace jump. The Kherson's systems are massively degraded but from what I can tell we are not in immediate danger." His voice was the essence of cool and collected; it relaxed me a little. "I've placed the reactor in a low power mode to preserve the engineering systems. Life support is still functioning above required levels."
I tried to roll over onto my back but something was pinning me. "What about the crew, is everyone alright?"
The AI's voice remained calm, "I've confirmed 82 fatalities so far and another three hundred injuries. Triage teams are tending to the worst injured. I would expect the death toll to rise slightly."
My gut turned over and the urge to vomit nearly over came me. I suppressed it, "I think I'm pinned here. I'm going to need assistance."
"Try to move as little as possible captain. A storage crate toppled onto you and your legs are pinned. Chief Matthews and a medic are en route to you now."
It dawned on me what I was feeling. Blood had streamed down my face and glued my right eye shut. I saw bits of my face fur and a blood splat on the deck just infront of me. I didn't look behind me. I could still hear Max talking in my head, but my comprehension began to slip. I could feel my awareness starting to follow. I was powerless to stop it.
...
I roused again facing the ceiling in a different part of the room. Now my entire body felt numb and the pain felt very distant. Someone had to have given me a dose of a pain killer and a strong one at that. There was a face above me saying, no shouting, something at me but I couldn't understand.
I blinked my eyes and sound started to return, "Captain! Can you hear me!?" It was Matthews. She had a small cut on her forehead with a bit of crimson staining her sandy fur.
I opened my mouth and croaked, "Chief, y-you've got a scuff. You need to get to the med bay."
She turned to someone else out of my view, "He's awake, get the stretcher over here." She turned back to me, "Captain, I need you to focus and not move.” I could see tears forming at the corner of her eyes, “You’re hurt really bad sir. You've lost a lot of blood and we have to get you to the med bay now. I've got you, just hang on." A tear broke free of the surface tension and fell down to the deck. I wanted to reach up and wipe it away but my body wouldn’t answer my call.
I was confused by what she said. It didn't feel like my legs were crushed. Then again, nothing really felt like anything right now. One thing flashed into my mind: I knew better than to look down. The security chief hoisted me by my shoulders and someone else grabbed my hips and deposited on the stretcher. I knew there was a lot of pain coursing through my system, but it wasn't registering. Thank god for military grade analgesics. 
Lights streamed overhead in streaks as i was carted through the corridors. Screams and groans added to the din of the klaxons blaring through out the ship. The yellow and white emergency strobes began to shift in color. Blues and purples flashed in between strobes, then greens and oranges. Streaks of colors filled my vision. I heard someone yell, "We're losing him," and the world went dark again.