Stellar Fox (Castle Federation Book 2) (5 page)

Chunks of rock and ice continued towards
Avalon
, and her lighter beams opened up. Space glittered with the distinctive white flare of matter-antimatter annihilation as dozens of seventy-kiloton-per-second beams cleared a safe zone around the big ship.

Then an icon popped up on Michael’s implant, highlighting a third asteroid.

“CAG, it’s Roberts,” the Captain said over his communicator. “It’s your turn. Maximum turnaround launch, then melt that ice ball for me.”

“Can do, Captain,” Michael replied immediately, making sure all of his Wing Commanders got the target caret. He flipped to a different channel. “Chief Hammond,” he addressed his Deck Chief, the senior NCO who ran the ship-side portion of the Space Force aboard
Avalon
. “Are we clear for a max turnaround?”

“First wave is locked and loaded, second and third are in their cradles,” Hammond reported gruffly. “We are clear on your mark.”

“JD-Ships says twenty-two seconds a cycle,” Michael observed. “They underestimated the engines. Think they got the launch tubes right?”

“I wouldn’t push them past twenty,” the old Master Chief replied. “Let’s not risk these kids just to make the Yards look good.”

“Fair enough, Chief,” the CAG replied. “Mark in five.”

“Confirmed. Hold on.”

Five seconds later, a massive weight slammed into his chest as the launch tube fired his fighter into space at five thousand gravities.

Eighty starfighters, most of two fighter wings, shot out into space with him.

“Alpha Wing, form on me,” he ordered. “Bravo Wing, hold for your Five and Six squadrons.”

“Sure, we’ll float here looking decorative,” Wing Commander Russell Rokos replied, and Michael shook his head.

He
heard
Alpha’s Wing Commander, Thomas Avignon, try not to choke. Rokos had been with them at Tranquility, but none of his other Wing Commanders had. They expected – not entirely wrongly – that Rokos would get some extra slack for that. Honestly, though,
any
of his officers could get away with that. Stanford wasn’t exactly going to flog people for a little humor.

Besides, the second wave – the rest of Rokos’ Bravo Wing, Wing Commander Carl Moriarty’s Charlie Wing, and two squadrons of Wing Commander Adrianna Cortez’s Delta Wing – was in space before Rokos had even finished speaking. Exactly twenty seconds for the cycle, Michael noted.

Twenty seconds later, the last eighty fighters were in space, and Wing Commander Lei Nguyen and her Epsilon Wing joined them.

“All right, since we don’t want to use Commander Rokos as decoration, let’s form up,” he ordered. “The Captain has picked us a nice solid ball of ice, it’ll take a few hits to break it up.”

Vice Commodore Michael Stanford paused, reviewing the serried array of two hundred and forty starfighters at his command.

“Passes by the numbers people,” he finished. “Sorry, Lei, but the rest of you
better
not leave Epsilon anything!”

He smiled with pride as his Flight Group lunged forward, hungry eyes and scanners already seeking the death of yet another ball of ice.

The observation deck on
Merlin Four
was nowhere near large enough to hold all six thousand members of her keel-plate crew. Once space had been allocated for the various political personages and reporters, only two hundred of Kyle’s people had been able to attend.

Necessity meant that all of the senior officers were present, and he’d arranged a lottery for the rest. Now, those personnel formed a solid block of black uniforms in the middle of the observation deck. Mostly they were Navy, but he’d set the lottery list so thirty Space Forcers and thirty Marines joined them.

Most of the reporters were behind the block of officers and men, and then Kyle stood out in front with the VIPs. He’d met two of the three Senators standing with him, Senator Maria O’Connell of the planet Tuatha and Senator Madhur Nagarkar of New Bombay.

Senator Joseph Randall, Senator for Castle itself, he hadn’t met. The man looked enough like his son that Kyle had no issues identifying the blue-eyed man with the fading blond hair when he arrived. The degree to which Senator Randall
completely
ignored him was a small hint as well.

The last two people standing on the little raised dais at the front of the observation deck were both flag officers. Kyle was familiar with Fleet Admiral Meredith Blake, the tall gray-haired woman who headed the Federation’s Joint Chiefs of Staff. He’d reviewed Vice Admiral Dimitri Tobin’s file after being informed the man would command the battle group
Avalon
was joining, but he didn’t know the stocky man.

A band – borrowed from the station as
Avalon’s
crew
hadn’t assembled the traditionally volunteer ship’s band yet – played the brassy tunes of the Federation’s
Call to Arms
, the battle hymn recognized as the anthem of the Federation’s military.

Then a tall red-haired woman in a prim black business suit stepped crisply onto the dais, carrying a single sheet of parchment.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, I am Moira Anderson, Station Manager of
Merlin Four
,” she said calmly. “It is my honor and my privilege to deliver deep space carrier number seventy-eight into the hands of the Castle Federation Space Navy.”

For all that everyone knew her name, and they’d even cast her seal and mounted it in Kyle’s office,
Avalon
was technically still only a hull. At this moment, she remained DSC-078, nothing more.

Admiral Blake saluted the Station Manager and took the sheet of parchment, officially taking possession of the carrier that hung outside the window, a sharp-edged presence with only minimal lights, ominous in the dark.

“Thank you, Miss Anderson,” Blake said calmly and turned to face the cameras. “Naming a ship is always a challenge,” she told the reporters. “Some ships are given new names as freshly forged defenders of our great nation. Others… others inherit names that carry history and legends.

“DSC-078 is our newest and most powerful carrier, a shield that will guard our worlds in these dark times. She is also the first carrier commissioned since this new war began, and it seems fitting that she bear the same name as the very first carrier Castle ever commissioned.

“Senator O’Connell, if you would do the honors please,” Blake told the petite Senator with the flaming red hair.

The Senator bowed crisply and stepped forward. A control panel sat at the edge of the platform, linked to the pneumatic cannon outside the window – the cannon aimed directly at the carrier.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the media, officers and crew of the Castle Federation Armed Forces, my fellow Senators,” the little woman said brightly. “I give you the Castle Federation’s newest legend, reborn from the fires of the Battle of Tranquility to fight for us once more.

“I hereby christen this vessel
Avalon
.”
O’Connell hit the control, and the pneumatic cannon fired. A cask of champagne – traditionally exactly sixty liters – shot into space and smashed itself on the flat prow of the carrier.

In response to that signal, the ship’s AI triggered the routine Kyle had carefully programmed before he left the ship. Starting from the point of impact,
Avalon’s
running lights came fully online, rippling out in a growing sequence of lights that lit up every corner and edge of the ship.

Finally, the cloth that covered her name, invisible against the carrier’s hull, was pulled away by a dockyard tug, revealing the ten meter high letters that spelled out her hull number and name on each of her four broadsides.

Blake allowed a few moments to pass for the media to get proper shots of the new carrier, then stepped back onto the platform.

“Captain Kyle Roberts, as per your orders and assignment, I hereby deliver to you DSC-078
Avalon
. May you command her with honor for the glory of the Castle Federation.”

Kyle stepped onto the platform and took that fragile sheet of parchment –
Avalon’s
own commissioning orders – and bowed over them.

“I hereby assume command of DSC-078
Avalon
,” he said calmly.

Blake took his hand, shaking it firmly as the band begin to play again.

“Good luck, son,” she murmured. “Stars above know you’re going to need it.”

#

Despite the fact that they were at war, Kyle had been unable to convince anyone not to follow up the commissioning ceremony with a reception for the politicians and reporters. A party was all well and good in his books, but reporters were like a bucket of cold water in his opinion.

Thankfully, he’d collided with the Coraline Imperium’s ambassador at the buffet table, who turned out to be an ex-fighter pilot. The Ambassador had gleefully taken advantage of his exalted rank to monopolize Kyle’s time for at least half an hour, discussing the comparative virtues of the Federation and the Imperium’s seventh-generation fighters – the Federation’s
Falcon,
an ECM-heavy craft, versus the Imperium
Arrow
which was primarily a missile platform.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t checked the area around well enough before bidding the Ambassador farewell, and had barely made it ten steps towards the bathroom when the vultures stooped.

“Captain Roberts!” a reporter he didn’t recognized said loudly. “Can you spare a moment to speak to our viewers?”

Kyle sighed, and turned to face the man. The speaker wore a badge identifying him as being from ‘Federation Instant News’, and looked the part of the steady anchor – muscular build, perfect hair, and a perfectly symmetrical face. Kyle couldn’t help wondering how much of the man’s appearance was natural versus surgery.

“Yes, Mister…?”

“I’m Brad Torrent, of FIN,” the reporter said swiftly. A camera rose above the man’s shoulder on a prehensile telescoping mount. “Please, Captain Roberts – what do you think of the new
Avalon
?”

“She’s an incredible ship, a testament to her builders,” Kyle said carefully.

“A perfect weapon to strike back at the Commonwealth, no?” Torrent asked. Kyle nodded slowly, hoping not to have let himself in for
too
much trouble. “Yet we sit on the defensive!” the reporter exclaimed. “Captain Roberts, the people want to know what the Stellar Fox thinks of the Senate’s lack of action!”

For a long moment, Kyle wished breaking the man’s arm and telescoping camera – in about that order – was an option as he glared at the man.

“Firstly, Mister Torrent, I have no enthusiasm for sensationalist nicknames,” he said coldly. “If you’re going to hang a damn stupid moniker on me, I’d prefer one that didn’t link me to a man whose own government forced him to commit suicide!”

From the reporter’s taken-aback expression, he didn’t know the source of Kyle’s nickname in the press. If he hadn’t already been into negative points in the Captain’s books, he’d have been sliding downhill.

“Secondly, as a Captain in the Castle Federation Space Navy, it is
not
my place to criticize or praise the Senate,” he said firmly. “My duty is to follow their orders and complete the missions laid out in pursuit of their goals.

“Thirdly, Mister Torrent, the Reserve is in the process of being recommissioned. Between us and the rest of the Alliance, that’s
eighty
more capital ships to enter our line of battle in the coming months. That boost to our forces will dramatically increase our strategic and operational options.”

He’d moved forward into Torrent’s personal space as he spoke. The reporter wasn’t a small man, but Kyle was a very large one. The camera on its prehensile mount twisted backwards to keep Kyle’s face in view, even as Torrent took an involuntary step backwards.

“In the end, your viewers should be reassured that the Senate does not rush to sacrifice the lives of their brothers and sisters solely to be seen to be doing
something
,” he finished. “Smarter men and women than you and I are drafting the Alliance’s war plans. I suggest you have faith.”

He waited for a long moment to see if Torrent had more to say, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. He made it perhaps three or four meters before he was interrupted by a sardonic slow clap, and turned to see the stocky form of Vice Admiral Dimitri Tobin.

“Vice Admiral,” he greeted his soon-to-be-commander with a slight bow.

“I’m impressed, Captain,” the Admiral told Kyle. He was one of a very few men who could meet Kyle at eye level and he was, if anything, broader than the massive Captain. “Not many could turn Torrent’s little ambush around like that. Well done.”

Kyle nodded carefully, swallowing down the last vestiges of his adrenaline spike as he took in his new CO and the willowy blond woman walking next to him.

“I
hate
that nickname,” he finally admitted, and Tobin laughed.

“Good,” he rumbled. “It’s probably a good sign. Captain Roberts, this is my wife, Sasha,” he introduced the blond. “Sasha, you know Captain Roberts by reputation, if nothing else.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, bright blue eyes holding Kyle’s for a moment. Those eyes were warm, caring – but he also felt like he’d just been appraised and measured thoroughly. “I need to grab some more food, I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.”

With a kiss firmly planted on her husband’s bearded cheek, Sasha disappeared into the crowd. Tobin nodded towards the windows looking out over
Avalon
and led the way over.

“Sasha knows when to leave us officers to business,” the Vice Admiral said softly, glancing after his wife. “You have no escort tonight?”

“I occasionally borrow my son’s mother when it’s made clear a plus one is non-negotiable,” Kyle told his Admiral, “but that’s… an account with limited credit.”

Tobin nodded and let the matter drop. He clearly was at least passingly familiar with complex family situations.

“How were your space trials, Captain?” he asked.

“Smooth as silk, sir,” Kyle told him. “Every metric JD-Ships rated her for, we exceeded. She’s the fastest, nastiest, ship in the Navy, sir. We’ll do you proud.”

“You’re clear to join the Battle Group then?”

“They’d cleared us for full operations prior to the commissioning,”
Avalon’s
Captain confirmed.

“That’s how it’s
supposed
to work,” Tobin observed. “But it doesn’t always.”

“My intention is to move to BG Seventeen’s orbit in the morning,” Kyle continued.

“Good,” the Vice Admiral told him. “My staff will contact you then with exact details. Barring something unexpected, though, I should be able to move my flag aboard tomorrow afternoon then.”

Kyle swallowed, surprised.

“I… did not expect to be carrying the flag, sir,” he confessed. “As the junior Captain, I assumed you would fly your flag aboard
Cameroon
.”

“There are many arguments as to what ship an Admiral should fly his flag from, Captain,” Tobin told him dryly. “The largest. The one with the most starfighters. The one with the most positron lances. For some Admirals, it’s the one with the prettiest junior officers.

“Why an Admiral picks a flagship should always remain a mystery to others though,” he continued with a smile. “I will fly my flag from
Avalon
, the most impressive the Federation is contributing to BG Seventeen. Unless you have an actual
objection
, my dear Captain?”

“No, sir,” Kyle told him crisply. Spotting Sasha returning, he gave the Vice Admiral a crisp salute. “I believe I will leave you to your wife,” he told Tobin. “I was heading somewhere specific before our friend Torrent interrupted.”

“Of course, Captain,” Tobin agreed with a wave that approximated a return salute. “I wanted to let you know before the official notice arrived. A courtesy, if you will.”