Vagrancy

[Kazinsal]

Tobiah Nitzan was the Quartermaster of the Octavarium Fleet. His job was to keep a logistical, central inventory of all fleet assets from the top down, supported by his subordinate quartermasters, who handled the asset management for the ships they were each assigned to. While in theory his job seemed like a glorified database manager, he was also in charge of ensuring that stock was kept proper and organized.

This trip, he sacrified some of the organization in favour of getting the whole fleet into and out of interstellar space intact.

"Alright, we've got thirty minutes to take stock before maintenance to replace the cruise restrictors begins," Kane announced. He was standing at the head of a tactical display table in the conference room slash converted mess hall aboard the OCS Repentance. Across from him at the other end of the table was Nitzan, and on the side to his right was Florence Clemens. "Ships. Largest to smallest."

Nitzan cleared his throat. "OCS Silent Man," he said, drawing a crude outline of a light carrier on the table. The computer understood his sketch and replaced it with a model of the ship he named. "Ibis-class light carrier. Yours truly, Lieutenant Tobiah Nitzan commanding. Minor technical faults. OCS New Millenium, another Ibis-class light carrier. Lieutenant Florence Clemens commanding. Major technical faults; reactor's sucking down twice as much fuel as it should. She'll have enough to get to Coronado but I'm afraid she's probably just going to be mats after that."

Kane looked over at Clemens. "Sorry, Harold," she said. "We picked up her hull and guts used in the first place. I'm surprised it made it to the exodus in the first place."

Nitzan continued. "OCS Black Cloud II, Huginn-class operations cruiser. Rotating crew commanding. Minor technical faults.Guns and Limelight array stripped down for power concerns. She's basically an incredibly durable transport right now, but with some love and work, we could get her up and running as a proper capital ship again. ADSV Fort Resolution, Eyrie-class multirole factory and maintenance vessel. Johnathan Jones commanding. No technical faults. This one's in good shape. Should be, though; it's brand goddamn new." He looked up. "Jones wasn't too thrilled with us shoving its maintenance bays full of fighters, though. Moving on, though."

"OCS Repentance, Starbridge-class command ship, he continued. "Taskmaster Harold Kane commanding. No technical faults. OXS Spirit of Radio, Cormorant-class light gunship. Lieutenant Kelly Combs commanding. No technical faults. Lukewarm Fusion... AT-1300 retrofit transport. Geoffrey Kane commanding. Minor technical faults, though the ship's older than all of us and Geoff put together so I'm pleasantly surprised we don't have that one listed as major. And finally, Paranoid. Spatial-class deep space clipper. Specialist Natalie Combs commanding. No technical faults; this is what it was made for."

Kane smiled. "Seems things are alright in the large craft department. Fighter complement, go."

"This is where it gets tricky," said Nitzan. "Two Waran-type heavy bombers, ADS R-13B Rook variant. Two Havoc Mark II-type light bombers. One of each docked to each Ibis-class carrier. Ten Raven's Talon-type strike fighters, ADS R-9W Raven variant. Two aboard each Ibis, and two are in the long-term maintenance bays on the Resolution."

"The other four are bolted to the hull of the Fusion," Florence chimed in. "They haven't been powered up since we left but their electronics are still functional and there doesn't seem to be any vibration damage."

"Moving on rapidly. As for heavy fighters, there are two Bayonet-type EWAR retrofits, both in cold storage aboard Fort Resolution. We didn't want to bolt those to any hulls what with the sensitive electronics inside. Interceptors, not a whole lot there either. Two old CX-series Scimitars bolted to the Fusion, and two Voyager-type interception freighters, ADS R-11A Kite variants. Both of those are free flying, mostly autopiloted with a rotating skeleton crew making sure things keep going relatively smoothly."

"Anything else to report?"

Nitzan and Clemens looked each others' ways, each waiting for the other to start. After a few seconds, the fleet's chief engineer spoke first. "Our transponders are invalid. As soon as we hit the 'net, we'll be claiming to fly Natio colours but as far as the 'net's concerned, we're just a band of freelancers. We're going to need to get ourselves re-registered in short order, and if not under a banner recognized as our own, then under one that's at least recognized."

The fleet's leader leaned forward, planted his elbows on the edge of the table, and folded his hands in front of his mouth. "Tobes?"

Nitzan cleared his throat again. "We've got enough small craft and guns to hold off a Gallic strike force but we don't have enough military butts to put in seats. We need one pilot per ship, two bombardiers for the two Rooks, and at least four extra trained crew for each Kite. That alone puts us at minimum thirty pilots, some of whom in a surprise engagement we are... expecting to lose." He paused for a moment, and then added, "Also half our useful combat ships are in cold storage or bolted to hulls with no way to get pilots in them under fire."

"So we've got the firepower, but we can't staff two thirds of it."

"Yes sir."

Harold stood in contemplation for a few seconds, looking at two of his three most trusted advisors -- and friends. "We enter the planetary system, find the Coronado jump hole, and burn like hell for it then. Once we're on the other side we burn for Barrier Gate and start making phone calls. I'm sure we've missed a lot."