it as a personal favor if you did fly your flag from Avalon .”
Dimitri raised a questioning eyebrow at his friend.
“I ended up giving her to Captain Roberts,” the head of personnel for the Federation’s military told him. “The kid is good – the ‘Stellar Fox’ has more potential and more killer instinct that any other three Captains I could name, but he’s also the most junior Captain in the fleet.”
“You want me to mentor him,” Dimitri said quietly. “It’s… not my favorite task, Mohammed.”
“You’re good at it,” Kane pointed out. “Those who survive your mentorship do well – and Roberts needs the crash course, unfortunately.”
Dimitri grunted, looking at the six ship battle group again.
“My life is the Federation’s,” he repeated finally. “But you’ll owe me.”
“I don’t have any appointments left till one,” Kane replied. “May I offer lunch as a down payment?”
Chapter 3
Castle System, Castle Federation
15:00 December 5, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-078 Avalon , Main Infirmary
“So Doc, am I going to be able to dance after it's all said and done?”
Surgeon-Commander Adrian Cunningham was more than used to his patient’s idea of a sense of humor, and the tall blond man looked down at Vice Commodore Michael Stanford with a sigh.
“That, Michael, will depend very much on whether you could dance before that door sliced off your legs,” the Doctor told the newly promoted starfighter pilot. “From your reputation, I don’t care to guess one way or another.”
Stanford, a dark-haired man with pale skin and blue eyes, grinned incorrigibly up at the much taller doctor.
“And here I was hoping the door chopped off the extra left foot,” he told Cunningham.
“Sadly, your new legs have the same genetics as your old ones,” the Doctor replied. “You’ll still have two left feet.
“In all seriousness, much as I know that’s not your preferred state,” Cunningham continued to a ‘mea culpa’ gesture from Stanford, “your new legs have grown in just fine. How’s the PT coming?”
“Slowly,” Stanford told him, shifting uncomfortably on the examination table. “I can walk on my own again at least.” He’d arrived without a wheelchair, which was an achievement on its own after losing his legs in September. “But I won’t pretend I can run a sprint. It’s a good thing I don’t need my legs to fly.”
“Don’t remind me,” the doctor said dryly. “Remember, Vice Commodore, it was my order you ignored to fly at Tranquility.”
“We needed me,” Stanford said flatly. “We needed everybody.”
“We did,” Cunningham allowed. “But you aren’t getting back in a cockpit, Michael, until I clear you.” The Surgeon-Commander – promoted, like most of the old Avalon ’s crew, after the Battle of Tranquility – blinked in a manner Stanford associated with neural implant usage.
“Which I have now done,” he finished. “You are cleared to return to full active duty, CAG.”
Michael smiled and inclined his head to the doctor. He’d been informed a full week ago that he would be taking command of Starfighter Group Zero-Zero-One and acting as Commander, Air Group for the new Avalon , but, technically, that appointment was dependant on him being cleared for full duty.
Which had in no way prevented him moving aboard the all-but-complete supercarrier and picking quarters and an office. He’d known he was only an appointment away from being cleared, and he’d wanted Cunningham, now the head surgeon on DSC-078 Avalon to sign off on him returning to duty. It had been Cunningham who had grounded him – correctly, as Stanford well knew.
Checking his own implant for the notification of the Surgeon-Commander’s decision, he saw two additional messages. The first made him curse – the second made him curse again, with a very different tone.
“Vice Commodore?” Cunningham asked slowly.
“Bad news and good news,” Stanford
Dimitri raised a questioning eyebrow at his friend.
“I ended up giving her to Captain Roberts,” the head of personnel for the Federation’s military told him. “The kid is good – the ‘Stellar Fox’ has more potential and more killer instinct that any other three Captains I could name, but he’s also the most junior Captain in the fleet.”
“You want me to mentor him,” Dimitri said quietly. “It’s… not my favorite task, Mohammed.”
“You’re good at it,” Kane pointed out. “Those who survive your mentorship do well – and Roberts needs the crash course, unfortunately.”
Dimitri grunted, looking at the six ship battle group again.
“My life is the Federation’s,” he repeated finally. “But you’ll owe me.”
“I don’t have any appointments left till one,” Kane replied. “May I offer lunch as a down payment?”
Chapter 3
Castle System, Castle Federation
15:00 December 5, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-078 Avalon , Main Infirmary
“So Doc, am I going to be able to dance after it's all said and done?”
Surgeon-Commander Adrian Cunningham was more than used to his patient’s idea of a sense of humor, and the tall blond man looked down at Vice Commodore Michael Stanford with a sigh.
“That, Michael, will depend very much on whether you could dance before that door sliced off your legs,” the Doctor told the newly promoted starfighter pilot. “From your reputation, I don’t care to guess one way or another.”
Stanford, a dark-haired man with pale skin and blue eyes, grinned incorrigibly up at the much taller doctor.
“And here I was hoping the door chopped off the extra left foot,” he told Cunningham.
“Sadly, your new legs have the same genetics as your old ones,” the Doctor replied. “You’ll still have two left feet.
“In all seriousness, much as I know that’s not your preferred state,” Cunningham continued to a ‘mea culpa’ gesture from Stanford, “your new legs have grown in just fine. How’s the PT coming?”
“Slowly,” Stanford told him, shifting uncomfortably on the examination table. “I can walk on my own again at least.” He’d arrived without a wheelchair, which was an achievement on its own after losing his legs in September. “But I won’t pretend I can run a sprint. It’s a good thing I don’t need my legs to fly.”
“Don’t remind me,” the doctor said dryly. “Remember, Vice Commodore, it was my order you ignored to fly at Tranquility.”
“We needed me,” Stanford said flatly. “We needed everybody.”
“We did,” Cunningham allowed. “But you aren’t getting back in a cockpit, Michael, until I clear you.” The Surgeon-Commander – promoted, like most of the old Avalon ’s crew, after the Battle of Tranquility – blinked in a manner Stanford associated with neural implant usage.
“Which I have now done,” he finished. “You are cleared to return to full active duty, CAG.”
Michael smiled and inclined his head to the doctor. He’d been informed a full week ago that he would be taking command of Starfighter Group Zero-Zero-One and acting as Commander, Air Group for the new Avalon , but, technically, that appointment was dependant on him being cleared for full duty.
Which had in no way prevented him moving aboard the all-but-complete supercarrier and picking quarters and an office. He’d known he was only an appointment away from being cleared, and he’d wanted Cunningham, now the head surgeon on DSC-078 Avalon to sign off on him returning to duty. It had been Cunningham who had grounded him – correctly, as Stanford well knew.
Checking his own implant for the notification of the Surgeon-Commander’s decision, he saw two additional messages. The first made him curse – the second made him curse again, with a very different tone.
“Vice Commodore?” Cunningham asked slowly.
“Bad news and good news,” Stanford
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