At sunset, a trumpeted fan fair brought a quite to the crowd. On the red carpets, 7,000 men and women of all ages and species scrambled to fall into formation.
The first officer called them to attention with crisp military precision. The reporters and dignitaries rose to their feet. Everywhere one looked, ranging from awkward civilian fumbling to smooth, parade precision, people snapped salutes as a rose-skinned beauty with waves of midnight blue hair emerged onto the tarmac—escorted by honor guards and her personal sword bearer—and ascended to a podium. The captain, first officer, and a number of others all across the tarmac crisply drew their vibroblades as part of their salutes.
Queen Mialee Avern'Veren was a beauty even among Zeltrons with fine cheekbones, sensual lips, and an aquiline nose. Her body blended grace and strength into a decidedly feminine whole. A snug black gown was ivy paterend with mesh that did more than hint at the exquisite body beneath it while being—by local standards—classily alluring.
The queen gave a brief and eloquent speech. Passion danced in hazel brown eyes as she spoke of the needs their small, state of the art fleet would serve in building the New Republic to the greatness of it's predecessor, and beyond. “Go forth into the galaxy, my precious scientists, warriors, diplomats, doctors, and lovers. You are Our hand outstretched to the war torn galaxy in friendship, and a saber to defend the lives and well being of all goodly folk.”
Miallee descended from the podium, hovering droids following with cameras and microphones, and two protocol droids joining her entourage with several bottles of wine.
She took the first to the nose of the first ship in line, “I christen thee the HMS Aayla Secura.” Shattering the wine bottle in toast older than time, the ships on board computer brought up it's running lights—sapphire blue bars of pulsing neon light.
She made her way down the line. She repeated the ritual on the next ship, dubbing the vessel HMS Kenobi, which flared to life with emerald green brilliance against the matte black hull.
Their own ship was next, and her majesty declared, “I dub thee the HMS Shaak Ti.” More saphire running lights.
The ceremony continued quickly through three more ships, lighting up with blue or green brilliance. The last vessel in the line—which had attracted the most senior or gifted crew, she dubbed, “HMS Windu.” Bars of purple light pulsed to life along it's length.
The dignities applauded wildly as they all marched sharply aboard. The captain called for all hands to their duty stations. This resulted in a bit of crowding as three shifts of people wound up at each station. AS the ships' engines all thrummed to life, each deployed six custom fighters and two shuttles, which flew in jubilant display formations while escorting their ships high into the sky. When they were just ebony specs from above, the sensor operators ensured bare patches of sky and sent targets to the gunners, who were ordered to fire off an elaborate display of green, blue and purple plasma before the hips continued into high orbit. There the fighters and shuttles returned to their docks. Each ship set a different heading out of the Zel system.
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