Space Carrier Avalon

by Glynn Stewart

  “You’ve been briefed on the situation out here, I assume?” Maybourne asked.

  “Of course,” Blair replied. “But there’s a vast gap between the viewpoint of a thirty year old analyst, however gifted or well-intentioned, who’s never seen war and is sixty light years from the danger; and the viewpoint of the people at the scene.”

  The old Admiral nodded thoughtfully, then gestured to Admiral Heart. “Admiral Heart is our head of Defensive Intelligence. She can brief you.”

  Heart was a petite woman with golden-blond hair and a soft face. Something about her eyes, though, suggested to Kyle that taking this woman as mere decoration could easily be a fatal mistake.

  “Thorn is one of the key interface points between the Alliance and the Commonwealth from an economic standpoint,” she said softly. “While our annexation was prevented by an Alliance task force, there was no blood actually shed. We remain on good terms with the Commonwealth, so much of the trade into our region of space comes through here.”

  “This results in us seeing between eight and fourteen star freighters a month,” Heart continued, and Kyle pursed his lips in a silent whistle. Castle saw almost twice that, but even the average Federation system would normally only see half a dozen of the massive Alcubierre drive civilian starships in any given month.

  “As we are linked into both Alliance and Commonwealth Q-com networks, almost all of our arrivals are scheduled weeks or months in advance. In a normal year, about a dozen of those schedules are broken or revised without us being made aware, but we can usually sort that out quickly.”

  “In the last twelve months, nineteen ships haven’t made their scheduled arrivals,” Heart said grimly. “We have only confirmed the safety of ten of them. Given the normal nature of a missed arrival, we figure three or four of those are probably around somewhere, but that leaves at least five ships – interstellar freighters – gone missing.”

  “And there was Santana,” Maybourne pointed out. Heart nodded, making a small ‘I was getting to that’ gesture with her hand.

  “Santana is the reason we didn’t just assume we were having issues tracking people down,” the tiny Admiral told the Federation officers. “She was an Imperial-flagged ship carrying, among other things, fifteen hundred zero point cells destined for here.”

  Fifteen hundred zero point cells was the entire annual production of a factory. A large factory. From one basic cell, a manufacturer could build a power plant, an engine… or a military grade positron lance.

  “We believe someone knew what she was carrying and where,” Heart continued. “She arrived on schedule – and a second arrival, appeared an hour later. The second ship was scheduled and flying the proper codes for her origin.

  “Instead of heading in-system, however, the ship rendezvoused with Santana. Shortly after she did so, both ships turned around and left the system. Santana hasn’t been seen since,” she concluded grimly. “We only have long range scans of the event, but the ship appears to have been a regular freighter. We did, however, confirm the presence of starfighters when they rendezvoused.”

  “Any details on the starfighters?” Kyle asked, leaning forward across the table to face Admiral Heart and speaking for the first time. “That might give us some ideas of what we’re facing.”

  “The nearest ship was almost three light minutes away, Wing Commander,” Heart told him. “We’re lucky we managed to detect the starfighters at all, let alone identify them.”

  “We’ve been discussing with other members of the Alliance,” Maybourne added, with Heart’s briefing seemingly over. “All told, we have confirmed the theft or destruction of eight interstellar freighters, and there are at least twelve more no-one can locate.”

  “These aren’t small or cheap ships, people,” she continued. “Even for your Federation, a star freighter requires a partnership of independent operators, massive financial cartels and the government to ever get built. Twenty of these ships, ignoring their cargo, is a forty percent of Thorn’s annual GSP. The impact to their home systems cannot be underestimated.”

  “These pirates are well on their way to triggering massive economic depression in half a dozen systems or more,” Maybourne concluded. “Thorn is one of the best defended systems impacted, but the only ship we can spare is with Task Force Thirty-Four. Most of the other systems have a single capital ship, or even only guardships and fighters.”

  “That’s why they sent us,” Blair said confidently. “Avalon is old, but we have a reputation to uphold. Q-ship carriers and pirate fighters are no match for my people.”

  “Space pirates just seem so… improbable,” Kleiner said sharply. “These ships are ten trillion Stellars apiece – who the hell can they fence these too?”

  “The probability of an event that has occurred approaches unity, Commander,” Heart replied harshly. “There are systems rimwards of the Alliance without the resources to build such ships that would still pay the equivalent of hundreds of billions of Stellars for them – and stolen goods are never sold at a loss.”

  Kleiner made an apologetic gesture. “You misunderstand me, Admiral – I do not doubt what has occurred. I just wonder if there is another actor behind those we see – a Terran actor.”

  The room was silent for a moment as everyone considered her words. Kyle had been thinking the same thing – Commander Richards had outright stated that fear. He could see that, despite what they might say, the Admirals of the Thorn Defense Force had the same worry.

  “What would they gain?” O’Brien finally asked. “Even the value of all of these ships is just a blip to the Commonwealth.”

  “Six depressed systems,” Kleiner pointed out. “Systems in economic depressions don’t build new ships. Don’t upgrade their weapons. Aren’t prepared to defend themselves. These pirates, regardless of whether the Commonwealth backs them, are making us vulnerable.”

  “My President has made it very clear,” Maybourne said slowly, “that my government does not believe the Commonwealth is behind this. I fear,” she continued, her voice quiet, “that this is because the Alliance is not ready for a renewed war.”

  “Regardless of their backers, we must deal with these pirates,” Blair said firmly. “We can’t prove it’s the Commonwealth – and no one is going to start a war over suspicions.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you can forward all of your available intelligence to Avalon,” he continued. “We’re here for another day, and then we’re heading to the Hessian system. If we can identify potential targets or bases, I may detour from our schedule.”

  “In the absence of a target, however, the best we can do is remind these scum that the Alliance is watching – and that no-one out here stands alone!”

  Chapter 15

  Hessian System

  11:05 September 4, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  DSC-001 Avalon – Main Conference Room

  When Kyle made it into the conference room to join Kleiner and Blair for the daily update, he knew he was late. An overcharge in one of Avalon’s older circuits had managed to overload half of the circuits in his starfighter, and he’d spent the morning wrapped in a cocoon of extra shielding as he ran through system checks with Lyla and Chief Hammond.

  His shipsuit was askew and he was pretty sure he had some kind of engine oil smeared across his face. He had yet to be late for one of these meetings, and he was hardly looking forward to Kleiner’s snide commentary.

  To his surprise, however, Blair was alone in the conference room. The Captain was pouring coffee into three cups, mixing each carefully. He glanced up as Kyle entered the room.

  “Two sugars, no cream, right, Commander?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Kyle said slowly, finally allowing himself to take a breath.

  “Caroline just stepped out, she’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kyle said gratefully, taking the warm cup in hands shivering slightly from over-exertion.

  “Catch, Commander,” a voice s
aid from behind him. Kyle turned to find Kleiner behind him. He put down the coffee cup just in time to catch the warm damp cloth she tossed him.

  “Hammond said you’d caught an oil spill,” the XO explained with a smile. “Figured you’d be more comfortable without that on your face in the meeting.”

  Shaking his head at the difference in reaction from what he’d been expecting, Kyle nodded his thanks and applied the cloth to the smear on his face. With that dealt with, he gulped half of the cup of coffee, then looked up at the other members of Avalon’s senior command crew.

  Both were grinning at him.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. It wasn’t just for the coffee and facecloth, and all of them knew it.

  “If Wing Commander Roberts is feeling more human, we should get started,” Blair told them. Behind him, the screen lit up with the view from Avalon’s bow cameras, showing the entire Hessian system.

  “We’ve been in the Hessian system for two hours,” Kleiner began. “We’ve communicated with System Control and they’ve advised me that they don’t have a free docking port for us.”

  “I didn’t think Hessian was that busy?” Kyle asked.

  “They’re not normally,” the XO agreed. “Of course, that means that Hessian Orbital has a grand total of two docking ports. One is occupied by Jäger, Hessian’s Imperium-built strike cruiser. The other one is occupied by a Federation-flagged star freighter – and they have a second star freighter, flying Stellar League codes orbiting just behind the station.”

  “Four starships in orbit at once when we arrive,” Blair observed. “Is that a record for them?”

  “The last time Hessian had more than four starships here was the Battle of Hessian,” Kyle replied, checking the database in his implant. “A five ship Alliance Task Force under Imperial command ambushed and destroyed a four ship Commonwealth Battle Group trying to seize the system. Normally, they have Jäger and maybe one freighter.”

  “We’ve been assigned an orbit,” Kleiner confirmed. “I’ve also received a request for us to send a senior officer to Hessian Orbital to set up a meeting – not sure why we can’t do that over Q-com.”

  “Hessians don’t do anything important electronically if they can avoid it,” Blair told her. “They attach a great importance to being able to look a man or woman in the eyes when you speak with them, and video isn’t enough.” He shrugged. “For the same reason, you’ll need to go over to negotiate re-supply on food and consumables,” he told the XO. “It should be straightforward enough. Have they said who they want us to meet?”

  “No,” she replied. “I don’t like it.”

  “The Hessians are an odd bunch,” Blair admitted. “But they’re solid members of the Alliance, I wouldn’t worry.”

  “Very well, Captain,” Kleiner conceded. “I’ll have a shuttle prepped to take me over when we arrive.”

  “I’ll set up the CSP and make sure we have a couple of fighters to escort the shuttle,” Kyle told them. His implant was running the numbers on the local defenses and he wasn’t liking what he saw. “No insult to the Hessians, but I’m only seeing two squadrons of fifth-generation fighters – Typhoons we sold them. The rest of their defensive craft are fourth-generation ships – it looks like a slightly upgraded Badger.”

  “The Jäger is a formidable ship,” Blair allowed, “but yes, I’m seeing the same data. Keep your people’s eyes open, both of you. This ship represents more firepower than the entire system defense force.”

  “And, Kyle?” Blair continued softly after a pause. “You are not going to be flying the CSP yourself. I trust the Hessians, but I’ve got an itch between my shoulder blades. Keep the Group at Readiness Two.”

  Readiness Two meant that the starfighters’ missile magazines were loaded and fuel tanks were full, with a full squadron in the launch tubes. At least one squadron of flight crews would be on duty and in their ships at all times. Draining as it would be on Kyle’s people, it also gave them a ready reaction force – and cut the time for full scramble on the old ship by at least a minute.

  “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged. “We’ll keep your itch scratched.”

  Hessian System

  12:30 September 4, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  DSC-001 Avalon – Fleet Commander Kelly Mason’s Quarters

  The ship’s clock might have shown it as the middle of the day, but both Stanford and Mason were off-duty and had been so for over four hours.

  The Flight Commander hadn’t meant to end up spending the ‘night’. Mason had been chilly to him after Phoenix, and he hadn’t been sure his offer to cook her a ‘breakfast dinner’ this morning would be accepted.

  His culinary offerings had been accepted, however, which led to a rude awakening several hours later when his implant starting pinging a priority communication.

  Unwilling to extricate himself from the shapely Fleet Commander, he accepted it as a purely implant call.

  “Stanford, it’s Roberts,” his CO said briskly. “Don’t tell me where you are – I just stopped by your quarters – but I’ve called a Squadron Commanders’ briefing in thirty minutes. Be there.”

  The click in his head of the channel closing left him sighing aloud as he glanced over Kelly Mason’s slowly waking person.

  “Go back to sleep,” he told her. “Duty calls, and such as we are never off-duty.”

  The blond Navy officer swung herself around to allow him to rise, and sat up herself, stretching in a way that threatened Stanford’s ability to make it to the briefing.

  “Didn’t expect you to sleep over,” she said muggily. “Was nice, but seems out of character, no?”

  Half-way into his shipsuit, Stanford paused as her words sunk in. He looked back at Kelly to see that she’d leveled her calm blue gaze on him and smiled. His heart, not one for dramatics, found itself going ‘pitter-pat.’

  Flight Commander Stanford swallowed, and returned the smile.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” he said softly. “I’ve got to go!”

  He stole a quick goodbye kiss and slipped out of Mason’s quarters to head towards the Flight Bay.

  It took him a good two minutes to realize he was whistling.

  Hessian System

  13:00 September 4, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  DSC-001 Avalon – Flight Group Briefing Room

  Flight Commander Michael Stanford was still more than a little distracted as he joined Avalon’s other five squadron commanders in the briefing room, waiting to hear what emergency had caused Roberts to wake him up. Part of that he could easily mark up to having been awoken in the middle of his off-shift, but the remainder was definitely something else – something unfamiliar to him.

  Confusion over a woman was definitely not his style, and it kept him distracted enough that he missed Roberts stepping up to the podium and clearing his throat.

  “Ladies, gentlemen – as of now, we are at Readiness Condition Two,” the Wing Commander said calmly.

  Stanford’s attention finally snapped to the here and now, and he stared at Avalon’s CAG.

  “What’s going on?” Rokos asked.

  “Neither Captain Blair nor I can put our fingers on it,” Roberts admitted, “but both of us have an itchy feeling between our shoulders. With the pirate attacks, and Hessian’s weak defenses, we may be feeling paranoid – but I’ll remind you that paranoids have real enemies.”

  “The whole affair stinks,” Rokos said bluntly. “I hope some of the pirates try something – the scum are a waste of oxygen.”

  “I’m with Commander Rokos,” Stanford agreed. He doubted Roberts disagreed, for that matter. Stanford had seen the footage of Ansem Gulf after Alamo’s marines had finally boarded. The Wing Commander had been there. “Give us something to shoot at and we’ll make hash of it, CAG.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Roberts replied with a grin. “I’m also hoping we don’t find anything. Rokos – your Echo squadron is in the tubes as soon as we’re done here. We cycle
the squadrons – four hours in the tubes, then two hours per flight of combat space patrol.

  “This system may be a member of the Alliance, but Jäger is old, and their planetary defense fighter wing are no spring chickens either,” the CAG explained. “If the shit hits the fan, it will be up to Avalon to sort it out.

  “So, yes,” he finished, with his teeth bared in what could be called a smile, “I am hoping the pirates try something while we’re here.”

  Hessian System

  09:00 September 5, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  SFG-001 Alpha Six – Falcon-type starfighter

  Michelle yawned and stretched in the cockpit of her starfighter. For all that most of her awareness was wrapped up in her implant and the semi-artificial world it was projecting to her optical nerves, she could still feel the simple pleasure of the stretch in her muscles.

  “Are we keeping you up, boss?” Deveraux asked over the net, her mental voice carrying an overtone of gentle amusement.

  “Waking me up early, more like,” the Flight Lieutenant replied. As she spoke, she automatically rechecked the positions of the ships around her – most especially, Senior Fleet Commander Kleiner’s shuttle.

  “And for baby-sitting duty at that,” Garnet interjected. The engineer’s tone was grumpy. He sounded like he’d needed more beauty sleep.

  “The Cap’n and the CAG are worried,” Michelle told her flight crew, glancing across the other ships. Two more Falcons, the remainder of the current CSP, orbited roughly a thousand kilometers forward of Avalon. Jäger, the old ex-Imperial battlecruiser, was nestled against the main orbital station, opposite the freighter that was causing everyone’s navigational headache.

  On the edge of her mental screen, the second star freighter slowly drifted forwards. Her orbit would bring her barely ten thousand kilometers from Hessian Orbital, though over fifteen times that from Avalon.