Shadow Image

[arvg]

The CPW-Radek hung like a shadow in the depths of the Omicron Theta system. The Experimental SCRA cruiser boasted the latest in Coalition technology, Order Recon Scanners, a functional cloaking device, and a full compliment of the most loyal men.

Captain Jayce Brooks had the conn.

Beside him, Major Arkady stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the men aboard the Radek go about their duties with ruthless efficiency.

He was the Executive Officer, and known amongst his men as a tyrant. A pure bred Russian, from a community of Russian-American settlers that had been able to find room aboard the Liberty, it had been only natural that his family had found their way to Volgograd, along with the Razin clan, and the Petrov's, they were probably the last true Russian families in Sirius.

He was proud of that, proud of the resurgent Coalition, and proud of the ship he was serving on.

Brooks was far from a model Coalition Captain.

Erratic, over active, and at times manic, it was unsettling to Arkady who was used to the somber Coalition starship commanders like Rokossovsky, Straitov, and Alvarez. All business, without the insanity boiled in. Even then Brooks seemed more interested in the beautiful women around him than in the mission at hand.

The bridge of the experimental cruiser was tight, consoles packed in, surrounded by a forest of monitors and repeater displays. The small CIC situation's table at the back of the bridge was alight with a holographic projection of the freeport, and the buzzing zoner traffic around it.

The TNC officer standing at the far end was flipping through reports, writing on a glass plotting board with a green grease pencil, tracking the speculated position of the CPW-Social Credit.

Commissar Mendal was standing looking particularly dour by the doors, a scowl deepening upon his face.

"Warner's going to get away," he snarled, puffing on a cigarette he had fished out of the pocket of his over-sized great coat. "And now we have a complete fraking mess on the station, while you incompetent jackasses stand around here scratching yourselves unable to do anything about it."

Captain Brooks was leaning over a console, talking to a particularly attractive blonde communications technician oblivious to what Mendal was stating.

The Commissar's eyes flashed dangerously as he stood there, watching the affair while the Premier's life was in jeapordy, and the success of the whole mission hung in the balance.

He took two steps forward, and with surprising agility for a man of his size, slammed Brook's head against the situation table.

Everyone froze at the sudden and vicious attack by the Commissar, who wasn't seeming ready to stop, grabbing a fire extinguisher from a rack, he proceeded to beat the Captain against the deck without saying a word.

Once it was over, Mendal straightened up, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it, stepping over the bloody body, and wiping a bit of brain matter from his forehead.

"Arkady, take the Conn. I trust you won't find a distraction to your duty, will you?"

Arkady swallowed as he moved to the Captain's position at the Situation's table. "No, Commissar. I can assure you, the mission has my full attention."

"Good," Mendel stated taking a drink from a flask of vodka he kept in his pocket. "Good."

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