Michael’s girlfriend, the executive officer of a strike cruiser, chuckled—and then sighed wistfully.
“She actually volunteered to take care of them while we were on duty if we wanted to do an in vitro pregnancy,” Kelly told him. “I’m… Honestly, Michael, I’m tempted. I don’t think I’d be okay with leaving our child with even your mother, but the thought of a child…”
She shrugged, and Michael was surprised at his own reaction. A year ago, the thought of having a child with anyone would have sent him running for the hills. Now…
Like Kelly said, he was tempted. But he agreed that he’d want one of them to raise the kid, and, well…regardless of any specific terms or contracts, he knew they were both in for the duration.
“Too many issues, I think,” she finally declared. “Something for us to think about, though—as an us.”
Her smile suddenly turned wicked and her hands slid to the zipper of her uniform.
“Now that I’ve gone all mopey and maternal on you, I think I need to give you what birthday present I can,” she told him with a lascivious wink.
20
Deep Space, En Route to Frihet System
03:00 March 20, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-078 Avalon, Bridge
Most people aboard a starship who couldn’t sleep and wanted to see the strange light effects of a warp bubble would go to one of the observation bubbles every ship had. Most people had no interest in seeing the warped void of the gap between star-bow and star-wake, as it was mildly unnerving on first exposure.
As the Captain of one of the Castle Federation’s most modern supercarriers, however, Kyle Roberts could drop himself down in the command chair on the bridge and keep one eye on his Charlie shift while watching the twisted space surrounding his ship.
The only threat in FTL was the nature of the bubble itself. Every particle in the path of the warships was picked up by the warp in space—and often hyper-energized as well. An Alcubierre bubble was a very hostile place, the stabilization fields a fragile shield against radiation levels that would slag the carrier’s hull and kill her crew.
An ability to track or engage ships under Alcubierre drive would be the kind of superweapon that could change the course of a war. Until reaching Frihet, Avalon’s crew was safe. They would drill, they would prepare, and when they arrived at their destination they would go to war.
A thought changed the images being fed directly to Kyle’s optic nerve from the strange lights of the warp bubble to a tactical plot of the Frihet system.
The plan called for the three Battle Groups to arrive simultaneously, evenly spaced around the “north” half of the system. After that, it devolved into branching flowcharts, depending on what Commonwealth forces were present and how they responded.
Much like his plan at Cora, there were cutouts and backup plans. Seventh Fleet would remain outside the gravity well of the planet until they were certain of the Commonwealth’s strength. Using their Alcubierre drives to concentrate their force—or even to flee, if necessary—was an option until they drove farther in-system.
Rising Star was going well. Its sister operation deeper into Alliance space, retaking the systems the Commonwealth had seized in their second offensive, was reporting success as well. Those battles were harder-fought from the reports he had seen, but Fourth Fleet was twice Seventh Fleet’s size—and with more modern ships as well.
For the first time since the war had kicked off the previous September, the Alliance finally seemed to have turned the balance. With the boost of the ships deployed from the Reserve, it looked like they were pushing the Commonwealth back on all fronts.
His tactical plot dissolved into a strategic map, the Captain studying the three-dimensional chart of stars. If Rising Star and Peacock succeeded, the Commonwealth would have been kicked back to their original borders.
Ship numbers started attaching themselves to battles and he sighed. Even one of Seventh Fleet’s Battle Group commanders wasn’t getting enough data to be sure of losses, but his impression from the reports he’d read was that Peacock was being expensive. The Alliance’s best were hammering headlong into the Commonwealth’s best with attendant losses on both sides—losses the Commonwealth could afford better.
James Calvin Walkingstick had volunteered to be Marshal of the Rimward Marches, charged with annexing the Federation and its allies. Kyle doubted he’d done so without a plan—and he doubted the Alliance had thrown any significant wrenches into his engines.
So, every day it looked like they were winning, Kyle was going to keep looking for the sucker punch.
He just wished he could guess what it was going to be.
09:00 March 20, 2736 ESMDT
BC-129 Camerone, Captain’s Office
“Morning reports, ma’am.”
Mira nodded to Bruce Notley, her executive officer, and gestured the sparse, white-haired man to the chair opposite her. She hadn’t looked up just how old Notley was, but she did know that he’d joined the Castle Federation Space Navy as a junior enlisted rating in the middle of the last war, worked his way up to Senior Chief, and then been talked into taking a commission.
His tour as XO on Camerone was the final checkmark in his file before they gave the old warhorse his own cruiser. Alstairs had been lucky to have him—and Mira, as a first-time Captain, regarded herself as about ten times as lucky.
“Anything I need to be aware of?” she asked, gestured at the datapad he’d dropped on her desk. The reports could be—and actually were—directly transmitted to her neural implant. But Notley and Alstairs had built this tradition when she was Captain, and in the very first of these meetings Notley had sprung on her, he’d drawn her attention to a gambling ring about to explode in Engineering.
It hadn’t been in anyone’s reports. Gambling was allowed aboard Federation ships so long as they followed rules, after all. In this case, however, the ring had basically set up a roving casino in her ship—and in a casino, the house always wins.
Notley had brought it to her attention, and she’d made sure the bosun and chief engineer were aware of it. The Captain was a level of artillery not regularly brought to the party, which got the ring quickly dealt with—which had probably saved at least one of its members’ lives, as ill feelings had been growing.
“Nothing too major this time,” her XO admitted. “Launcher Six is still down. Engineering assures me we’ll have it back online by tomorrow, well before we reach Frihet. Otherwise, Camerone is prepared for action in all respects.”
Those were the words any warship captain wanted to hear, and Mira leaned back, smiling.
“So far, so good, huh, Bruce?” she asked rhetorically. “Any thoughts on what to expect at Frihet?”
“Not sure, ma’am,” he admitted. “I have to admit, I’m nervous. It’s unusual for Intelligence to be as wrong as they were about the last three systems. I guess it’s possible we’ll run into all of the missing ships at Frihet.”
“We can take them in that case,” Mira pointed out. “We’ll have twelve ships to their nine, and I’m betting their defensive ships are older, too.”
“So is most of our fleet,” Notley said quietly. “Even Camerone isn’t our latest—there’s, what, seven Defender-class battlecruisers in the Navy? The Conquerors are a few months from commissioning. The only modern sixty-million-cubic-meter-plus ships in Seventh Fleet are Avalon and Zheng He. With the Reserve, most of our ships are under forty million cubic meters and maybe twelve million tons. If we run into nine Volcanos or Saints, we might have them outnumbered, but they’ll have us outmassed and outgunned.”
Camerone’s captain sighed.
“I know. That’s not what Intelligence thinks we’re facing, but they also thought the Terrans had a lot more ships around here,” she admitted. “Peacock hasn’t run into them—thank God, that’s been a Pyrrhic-enough affair as it is—but they have to be somewhere.”
“Not sure where, though, ma’am,” Notley told her
.
“That’s my next meeting with the Admiral,” Mira replied. “I’ll be sure to ask Intel what’s going on.”
11:00 March 20, 2736 ESMDT
BC-129 Camerone, Admiral’s Breakout Room
“Bluntly, Admiral, Captains, we have no idea where Walkingstick’s defensive units are based,” Captain Sansone Costa of the Renaissance Trade Security Force’s Intelligence Branch, said flatly. “Our agents in the systems seized by the Commonwealth have limited access to the covert Q-Com arrays available to them, but none of our operatives in Huī Xing or Frihet have any access to orbital scanner arrays or information on ships in-system.”
All twelve of Seventh Fleet’s captains were in on the call, though Mira was the only one physically present in the conference room attached to Admiral Alstairs’ office.
“We do know, from agents in the Commonwealth Navy’s logistics division, that Walkingstick assigned fifteen ships to the security of those five systems,” Costa continued. “Most are last-generation ships, with two Volcanos, a Saint, and a Hercules to stiffen their strength.”
“The Hercules is gone,” Roberts noted. “That reduces the really nasty surprises they can throw at us.”
“So, you’re saying our original briefing was based on taking the number of ship’s Walkingstick’s people have and dividing by five?” Mira asked dryly. “That seems a little…crude.”
“It was as accurate an assumption as we had to work with at the time,” Costa replied calmly. “Without the ability to predict whether or not they were using a nodal force or where that force would be positioned, planning around that assumption would be dangerous.”
“And sending us in assuming they had a maximum of three ships per system wasn’t?” Alstairs demanded. “We are supposed to receive the full intelligence, Captain, not your assumptions presented as facts.”
The hologram of the swarthy Renaissance Trade Factor officer shrugged.
“I did not draft that report,” he said flatly. “You are correct, Rear Admiral. More information should have been given, and a false impression of certainty was provided. Those responsible have been advised of their error and additional layers of review added. The error will not be repeated.”
“It better not,” the Admiral told him. “What can you tell us?”
“We are certain on the number of hulls assigned to this sector,” Costa replied. “Given Commonwealth losses to date, that means you are facing at most twelve capital ships. We have limited information on what has been provided in terms of fixed defenses, but we do not think that you will face anything heavier than Zahn’s defenses outside of Via Somnia itself.”
“Since they clearly have a nodal fleet, do we know where it is?” Mira demanded.
“Via Somnia seems likely,” the intelligence officer said. “If they took the logistics facilities the Alliance assembled at Huī Xing, they could also have based the fleet there. I would say it is at least seventy percent likely that the nodal force will not be waiting for you at Frihet.”
“What about Via Somnia itself?” Alstairs asked.
“We believe the defenses we saw at Zahn, Cora and Hammerveldt were drawn from a set of freighters we had assessed as being sent to Via Somnia,” Costa explained. “Nonetheless, defenses at Via Somnia remain likely in excess of two thousand starfighters and roughly a quarter of that in orbital missile satellites. Neutralizing the local fleet would be wise before engaging the defenses at the naval base.”
That was Alstairs’ decision, but no one bothered to correct the intelligence officer. He wasn’t, technically, assigned to Seventh Fleet—Battle Group Seventeen’s assigned intelligence officer had been killed in the attempted mutiny aboard Avalon—but he was the closest thing they had, which gave him the right to make recommendations.
“Do we have any data on whether we’re likely to see that sprint mode again?” Mira asked.
“It’s not an official program,” Costa said slowly. “But, given how effective it was, I suspect you will see it again. I wouldn’t expect to see it in fleet actions, but as an extra boost to system defenses, it could give us some serious headaches.”
“What about duplicating it ourselves?” Roberts said.
Costa shook his head.
“That’s out of my realm of expertise,” he admitted. “My understanding is that the Federation’s JD-Tech is studying the possibility of adding the functionality to our own Jackhammers, but I have no details.”
“Thank you, Captain Costa,” Alstairs noted. “If we come up with anything else on Via Somnia or the ships in this sector, I want to be notified immediately, understood?”
“Of course, Rear Admiral,” he confirmed. “We got lucky—our error could have caused far more damage. I refuse to allow that to happen again, ma’am.”
21
Frihet System
03:30 March 24, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-078 Avalon, Bridge
Every neural implant on Avalon’s bridge was displaying the timer. With five minutes before emergence, the last few members of the bridge crew were filtering into the room in response to the blaring battle stations alarm.
“Pendez?” Kyle said questioningly.
“We are on schedule and on target,” she told him, her eyes glazed over as she controlled the immense carrier through her implants. “All ships in Battle Group Avalon also report on schedule and on target,” she continued. “As do Battle Group Zheng He and Battle Group Camerone. We are four minutes, twenty-two seconds from emergence…now.”
“Thank you,” he told her, then opened a channel to engineering. “Commander Wong, what’s our status?”
“All systems are go,” Senior Fleet Commander Alistair Wong reported. The shaven-headed engineer was technically senior to the ship’s executive officer, though the arcane rules of chain of command actually put him under Anderson if something horrible happened to Kyle. “We have spun up all of the zero point cells, positron capacitors are at sufficient levels for instant engagement with all weapons systems. Please try not to break my ship, Captain.”
“I believe it’s my ship, Commander,” Kyle pointed out.
“That’s what the Captain always thinks—and he’s always wrong,” the engineer groused.
“Tell it to the Navy, Wong,” the Captain told him. The engineer chuckled but didn’t stop him cutting the channel as he flipped his attention to the starfighters, opening a channel to Michael Stanford’s command starfighter.
“CAG, are you ready to fly?”
“Got the Chiefs around the birds, kicking tires and poking engines,” the Vice Commodore replied.
“Michael, your Falcons don’t have tires,” Kyle replied. “And poking antimatter engines is a really bad idea.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I do not question my Chief Petty Officers when they tell me what they’re doing,” Stanford replied virtuously. “SFG Zero Zero One is cleared and ready for action,” he concluded. “I’ve checked in with the other CAGs as well. All Battle Group Seven-Two starfighter groups are cleared and ready for action. Give us a target and we will rip it to shreds.”
“Thank you, CAG,” Kyle told him, turning his attention back to his bridge. “Commander Xue?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Tactical status?”
“All sensors, computers and weapons are online and reporting correctly,” the dark-haired officer replied. “I have a twelve-Q-probe spread ready to launch as soon as we emerge.”
“Good. Carry on.”
The cycle through his officers complete, Kyle glanced back at the timer. Two minutes.
He brought up the tactical plot showing Frihet. There wasn’t much on the plot just yet, only the system’s eleven planets—most importantly, the fifth planet, Fyr, home to roughly two and a third billion people. Another thirty-odd million were scattered around the star system in various orbitals and asteroid habitats—highlighted on the plot as best Intelligence could locate them—but control of an inhabited system inevitably wen
t to the people who held the habitable planet.
Icons on the plot marked where the three Battle Groups of Seventh Fleet were intended to emerge—outside the point where Fyr’s gravity well would throw off their Alcubierre drives, within roughly a light-minute of each other. Any capital ships would be in Fyr orbit, best placed to defend the planet.
“Alcubierre-Stetson emergence in thirty seconds,” Pendez announced.
“All right,” Kyle replied, turning his attention back to his people and scanning the bridge around him. Everyone looked ready. The other ship captains reported ready.
“Let’s make the Commonwealth wish they’d never come to Frihet, shall we?”
In a flash of blue Cherenkov radiation, Avalon reappeared in the normal universe. Fractions of a second later, the light from her compatriots’ emergences—all fifteen thousand kilometers away to provide a safety margin—reached her, the icons of the two cruisers and a battleship materializing on Kyle’s plot as the computers confirmed their presence.
New green icons flashed onto the plot moments later as Q-Com-equipped probes blasted away from each of the four ships at a thousand gravities, sweeping deep into the system and relaying instant data back to their motherships.
“What are we seeing, Lieutenant Commander?” he asked softly. He would only see icons on his plot once Xue’s team had reviewed the data—with copious amounts of help from the ship’s AIs—and assessed the reality of what they were seeing.
“Old light still,” she pointed out unnecessarily—they’d come out of FTL twenty-four million kilometers from the planet. It would be thirty-seven minutes before their first probes blasted past the planet at twenty thousand plus kilometers a second to give them their first close look at Fyr, and over fifty-two minutes before any of the probes permanently settled in orbit.
Avalon Trilogy: Castle Federation Books 1-3: Includes Space Carrier Avalon, Stellar Fox, and Battle Group Avalon Page 78