“
Badger
s,” Kyle repeated slowly. “This ship is still flying
Badger
s.”
The
Badger
-type fighter had been the last product of the wartime crash development programs, deployed to the Navy eighteen months after peace was declared - twenty years ago now.
“I thought
Avalon
was assigned
Typhoon
s,” he continued. The
Typhoon
type was ten years old, two generations behind the brand new
Falcon
, but still at least a usable fighter.
“She carried
Typhoons
when she arrived,” Randall agreed. “At some point, those ships were pulled to fill out a sale to an ally, and we got the
Badger
s in trade. We’re all looking forward to seeing the new ships you’re supposed to be bringing, sir.”
While they’d talked, Randall had guided his new superior from the side-portion of the bay set aside for shuttles to an observation railing from which they could view Kyle’s new domain.
Avalon
‘s main flight deck was thirty meters tall, eighty meters across, and stretched four hundred meters deep into the carrier’s hull.
Right now it was an echoing, empty, space. Equipment designed to service and move five-thousand-ton ships was neatly stored away against the sides. A handful of crewmen were rolling up the hoses they’d used to quickly refuel the shuttle from the
Sphinx and Chipmunk.
From the observation deck, Kyle could make out four hatches, sized to take starfighters, spaced evenly along the opposite side.
“We have four launch tubes per side,” Randall explained, pointing them out. “We kept the
Badger
s aboard in the tubes - they’ll be easy to deploy out that way once the new birds are aboard. With a full deck load, we can load new birds into the launch tubes every forty seconds.”
The pilot sounded proud of that, and given the age of the equipment they had to work with he was probably right to be. A forty second turn-around on the launch tubes meant a total of over three minutes to put the entirety of SFG-001 into space - three times the design requirement for a modern carrier to deploy its even larger fighter group.
“That… isn’t fast if we have an emergency,” Kyle observed.
Randall nodded.
“I guess they didn’t realize how important rapid launches would be when they built her,” he agreed. “They did retrofit in an alternative, but I’d be terrified to use it.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“There’s mass manipulators mounted all along the deck,” Randall explained. “All carriers have them to catch the returning birds, but ours are also wired so they can run in reverse - theoretically, we can turn the center twenty meters of the deck into a single massive launch tube and blow the entire Group into space in one shot.”
Kyle shook his head, eyeing the deck askance. The ability to blast everything on his flight deck into space at the push of a button wasn’t entirely appealing to him, though he’d prefer it over having to wait three minutes to put his fighters into space in an emergency.
“Any other old tricks I should know about?” he asked.
The Flight Commander shook his head with a grin.
“That’s the thing about
Avalon
, sir,” he replied. “I’m not sure any of us know
all
of her tricks.”
…
New Amazon System, Castle Federation
08:10 July 7, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
His late night wearing on him, Kyle had settled a massive coffee and several donuts on his desk to work his way through before diving back into the records and paperwork of his new command. He’d only taken a single bite of the first donut, however, before Stanford barged into his office.
“One generally knocks when entering their boss’s office, Commander,” Kyle observed calmly, as he put the donut back on the plate.
“You arrested Randall,” Stanford said flatly. He had apparently barely thrown his shipsuit on, and the uniform outfit wasn’t sealed correctly. His blond hair was an uncombed mess, and he seemed unable to stand still.
“Yes,” the Wing Commander confirmed. “Congratulations, you are now my senior squadron commander. Assuming,” he said sharply, leaning forward across his desk to capture the agitated officer’s gaze, “you have an acceptable explanation for how your report about Lieutenant Williams’ rape went missing.”
He’d expected that dart to land home. Stanford’s reaction was not what he expected. The Flight Commander shook his head.
“You couldn’t have asked me that
before
you loosed the bull in the china shop?” the pale-skinned officer demanded, his blue eyes even more watery than normal. “If I’d known you were willing to move this quickly, we could have acted to protect the Lieutenant, rather than putting her in danger.”
“What do you mean?” Kyle demanded.
“I was warned,
yesterday
, that if that history was dredged up there would be no witnesses to testify,” Stanford told him stiffly. “I needed
time
Commander - time to be sure I could trust you. Time to be sure we could
protect
Williams. Now…”
“Who threatened you?” Kyle was on his feet now, but his voice was quiet - so quiet he worried for a moment that Stanford hadn’t heard him, as the man did not reply.
“
Who
, Commander?” he repeated.
“Vice Commodore Larson,” the older officer admitted in a quiet voice. “The first time, in
this very office
, after telling me that all copies of my report had been destroyed. He told me then that he would destroy what was left of my career and
bury
Williams.
“Then yesterday,” he repeated. “Sir,
please
- we have to do something.”
Kyle was already in the system, slamming an override code into the communications center to give him a direct line to the New Amazon Reserve Flotilla Station.
“Get me Major Neilson,” he said sharply into the empty air, his implant turning on his computer and linking him through to the commander of the Station’s MPs.
Part of his wall turned into a video screen, the image of the Major’s shaven-headed face appearing on it.
“Wing Commander Roberts,” he said calmly. “I wasn’t expecting to see an emergency override code from you.
“Major Neilson,” Kyle greeted him. “This is urgent. I need you to take Flight Lieutenant Michelle Williams into immediate protective custody.” He glanced over at Stanford, the smaller man starting to sag in relief. “I have reasonable grounds to believe her life is danger.”
He paused.
“I need the station locked down, Major,” he said finally. “I’ll get you the authorization from Captain Blair as senior Navy officer in the system as soon as I can, but you need to make sure no one leaves the Station until he confirms otherwise.”
The Major blinked.
“I’ll have Williams taken in immediately,” he confirmed. “I can’t lock the station without Blair’s order, though, and I’ll need reinforcements,” he said. Kyle met his gaze calmly, and the Major shrugged. “Hell, I knew your father, Commander. Get me Blair’s order ASAP - I’ll make sure nobody leaves. You damn well better get me reinforcements,” he concluded, “I’m not sure how many of my own men I can trust if the rocket is going up.”
The video cut, and Kyle turned to Stanford.
“I’m going to need you to tell the Marshal everything you told me,” he said quietly. “If Larson tried to cover for Randall, then by the Honor of the Space Force, he will burn right next to him.”
New Amazon System, Castle Federation
08:30 July 6, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
New Amazon Reserve Flotilla Station
Flight Lieutenant Michelle Williams had problems. Jumping at loud noises. Flashbacks. Nightmares. Worst of all, a doctor who refused to admit these existed, since diagnosing her with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder would require him to admit what had happened.
She knew she looked like crap as she half-stumbled towards her quarters from yet another waste of time medical appointment. Her black hair was far past regulation length, matted and unkempt from a lack of brushing. Her eyes were bloodshot and her shipsuit wasn’t properly sealed. Her superiors in Flight Control kept threatening to write her up, but they didn’t
get
it.
Michelle Williams was a
pilot
, equipped with neural implants ninety-eight percent of humans couldn’t even handle. Flying had been her escape from home, only to turn to ashes in her mouth - and then be
stolen
from her to protect her attacker.
Between modern therapy, drugs and nanites, even PTSD could be treated. In the aftermath of the attack, even as she had been panicking, terrified and hurt, she’d
known
the Space Force would take care of her. The thought that a senior officer could bury that she’d been attacked - could in many ways bury
her
- hadn’t even occurred to her.
A year of neglect and betrayal left her wandering half-lost through the corridors of the Flotilla Station, lost, unkempt, and jumping at every tiny noise.
The grinding noise of an improperly maintained door sliding open had her skittering away from the door like a terrified rabbit. Shaking herself and feeling silly, Michelle turned to face the door to see who had entered the hallway.
Her attempt at finding calm shuddered and she swallowed hard at the sight of Senior Chief Kawika Liago, Vice Commodore Larson’s right hand man. Only one man at Rio Grande had the power, if not the authority, to force her doctor to ignore her issues - and that man was Larson.
“Ms. Williams,” the massive shaven-headed petty officer rumbled. “I am truly sorry about this.”
“About wh-” Williams began, and then she saw the weapon Liago was drawing. She didn’t wait to see what it was before she turned to run.
She triggered an emergency alert in her implant as she began to run, but that was all she did before the dart-gun barked twice. Her shipsuit was unarmoured, unable to prevent the darts from delivering their load of nanites into her system.
Her run continued for about a dozen more steps and then every muscle in her body froze and her implants shut down as the various nanites took effect.
Michelle went down face first, able to
feel
her nose break as she smashed into the metal decking, but unable to move or respond in any way, even through her implants.
Liago picked her up with ease, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Part of her mind was wondering when she’d lost so much weight, even as the rest of her was panicking and trying to access her implants.
Her eyes were paralyzed open. She couldn’t even not watch at Liago carried her away from her quarters, in the direction of the flight decks. It wasn’t until they turned off from the main corridors, into a maintenance section that Michelle knew linked to a set of airlocks, that she realized what was going to happen.
She was going to die. They were going to make it look like a suicide, and that would be all too believable to everyone around her. The doctor might have refused to acknowledge her condition, but everyone around her knew
something
was wrong. If she appeared to commit suicide by airlock, everyone would believe it.
Whatever else may have happened since, Michelle Williams had joined the Federation Space Force because she was a fighter. She tried to struggle, tried to get even a tiny amount of motion, even enough control back to retrigger her implant’s emergency signal.
Her body betrayed her. The nanites were blocking nerve signals throughout her body and had disabled her implants. There was nothing she could do as Liago calmly carried her towards the outside of the ship.
Slung backwards over Liago’s shoulder, though, she saw the MPs arrive before he did, and realized her emergency signal had got out before her implants had been disabled. Even if she could have warned Liago, she wouldn’t have.
Four Military Policemen, in body armor and carrying stunners, came around the corner behind them at a trot. At the sight of her and Liago, they broke into a run. They closed half of the distance to Liago before the Chief heard them, and turned back to face them.
“Chief Liago, please put Lieutenant Williams down,” the lead MP asked politely. Michelle could no longer see what was going on, as Liago’s broad back was between her and the MPs.
“She seems to have broken into the liquor early,” Liago rumbled. “I found her near the airlocks, I was going to take her back to her quarters.”
It sounded reasonable to Michelle. Liago was senior to the four men who’d intercepted her - and was known to have the ear of the Vice Commodore. She was doomed.
“Chief Liago, put her down,” the MP ordered flatly. “We will take care of her.”
It might have been Michelle’s imagination, but she was sure she heard the distinctive humming of stunners being charged.
“I’ve got her, Corporal,” Liago replied, his voice grumpy. “There’s no need for concern.”
“Lieutenant Williams is to be placed in protective custody and transferred to
Avalon
for her protection,” the MP told him flatly. “You will put her down and step away from her or we will fire.”
Liago dropped Williams roughly, her limp body crumpling to the metal floor and her head thumping against the wall. Despite the pain, she was unable to even blink through the paralyzing nanites, and could see the entire scene with the big Chief and the four armored MPs.
She saw him pull the gun out from his shipsuit pocket before the MPs did, and tried to shout a warning. The nanites still kept her frozen, and she watched in horror as Liago spun, far faster than she ever expected the big man to move, and fired.
The body armor of the lead cop exploded into two red splotches as the big pistol barked loudly.
The MPs responded instantly. The sparking noise of stunners answered the pistol’s crash as invisible beams slashed across the corridor. Liago jerked as the first beams struck home, but remained standing.
Whatever body armor or inhuman endurance the Senior Chief had, however, didn’t help him when the MPs overcharged the stunners and fired again.
Michelle had always been vaguely aware that the electron laser of a Navy stunner could be turned up far past the ‘shock’ setting, but watching it happen was an entirely different experience. The air smelled vaguely burnt as three
visible
lightning bolts blasted across the hallway.
Kawika Liago stood frozen for a moment as a new smell of burnt meat filled the hallway, and then, slowly, collapsed.
New Amazon System, Castle Federation
09:20 July 6, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
Shuttle Avalon-Delta, en route to New Amazon Reserve Flotilla Station
“I thought I told you to be debriefed by Marshal Khadem,” Wing Commander Roberts’ voice came over Stanford’s in-head link. “I don’t recall ordering you to assign yourself to fly Major Neilson’s reinforcements over to the Station.”
“The Lieutenant-Major is leading the team himself,” Stanford offered timidly, checking the controls of the shuttle as he began to decelerate towards the Station. “We figured it would be more efficient if he kept me under his eye.”
“Right,” Roberts replied dryly. Stanford noted that his new superior made no mention of the two
Falcon
starfighters Stanford had ordered to escort the shuttle.
“I have news from Neilson,” the Wing Commander continued. “Williams is safe - she’s in the Station Infirmary now, being treated for a dose of paralytic nanites. Neilson has his most trusted men guarding her.”
“Paralytics?” the pilot hissed. Even subvocalized, he drew the attention of his co-pilot, but he waved them off with a gesture towards his ear that every human with a neural implant would recognize.
Paralytic nanotechnology had been invented in the Commonwealth over a century earlier, as an attempt at a more ‘elegant’ solution to disabling someone non-lethally than the variety of methods currently available, most of which involved delivering an incapacitating electric shock. Paralytics blocked conscious nerve signaling, and could also disable neural implants.
Unfortunately, blocking conscious nerve signaling turned out to also often block
un
conscious nerve signaling. The chance of heart attack, suffocation, and similar fatalities was
worse
with a paralytic nanite than it was with a proper electric shock weapon, so scientists had gone back to the drawing board.