Warlock rushed onto the deck announcing, “Poet. We have your data. Get us out of here.”
Walden gave her a thumb’s up and looked at Katla.
“Light it up and deliver our gift, Corporal,” Poet said as he threw power to the ion cannons. The Talon broke its tight circle and shot away from the planet. “We’ll do a short external then evolve back to internal. Hopefully we won’t have a missile chasing us.”
The comment rattled everyone on board except Walden. As relaxed as ever when piloting a craft, he lined up their nose, applied powers, and watched the clocks. When everything matched, The Talon left the planet behind.
***
Any vessel approaching the red line needed to be identified or annihilated. Although attacking the hull through the ions of external drive was near impossible, the spaceship evading a check would be tracked and marked for destruction when it evolved.
Walden Geboren judged the powers and times, evolved, and immediately the collision alarm rang throughout the command deck. On his screen, two Constabulary missiles raced from behind on a converging course with The Talon.
“Missiles,” Walden announced.
“Take evasive action,” urged Anaya.
“Lieutenant, this is a yacht not a fighter,” Walden reminded her. “And before you ask, we’re short of the red line. We have about three minutes. I’m going to do a roll just before impact but with proximity fuses, we’re sure to be shredded. If you need to say a few words to your ancestors, be quick about it.”
“So that’s it?” Benigno growled. “We survive invading a warship and eat space dust during the exfiltration?”
“You’ve always said you’d rather die with your armor on,” suggested Auður. “You’re getting your wish.”
“No, no. That’s another story to get civilians to buy me drinks,” Benigno admitted.
Then a voice came over the radio cutting off the conversation.
“Talon, nose down forty-five degrees and maintain power.”
“Nosing down forty-five,” Walden replied. “Please identify yourself.”
“Stand by,” the pilot said to Walden. Then she addressed her fighter wings. “Flights, I want eight ship to ship rockets on each of those missiles. Launch on my command and perform a starburst pattern. I’ll be tracking each rocket. Anyone who misses will be pulling maintenance duty for a month. Arm your rockets.”
Walden flipped on a deck level monitor. Two flights of four fighters approached a marker representing The Talon. They passed over the diving yacht and assumed a path nose on with the missiles.
“Steady, steady, in three, two, launch, launch” the wing commander ordered. “Pull hard people. If you’re lazy on the stick, your undercarriage will catch a belly full of alloy. I’ll have you removing each piece with a pair of tweezers.”
On the monitor, tiny dots shot out from the individual fighters. Then, the fighters went to full internal power and peeled away in different directions. Fifteen seconds later, both missiles exploded.
“Talon, this is Commander Sayuri, call sign Tiger Lily,” Sayuri advised. “I believe that takes care of your immediate problem. Are you in need of medical aid?”
“No Tiger Lily,” Walden assured her before asking. “Not to be picky, but aren’t you over the red line?”
“Captain Taiki advises that the Galactic Council Navy put the red line in place. And we’ll move it as required,” the wing commander stated. “Also, he said the Doric Pillar doesn’t lose ships under our protection. Contact combat control for intake instructions.”
“Thank you. Contacting combat control now,” Walden told her.
***
Diosa Alberich was exhausted. After landing, the sled carried The Talon to an isolated dock where a team of mechanics waited to reinstall the equipment on the shuttle. Lieutenant Ayana, Sergeant Natsuki, and Lance Corporals Auður and Benigno left to report to medical for post-combat examinations. Corporal Katla thanked Poet for the opportunity to get a shot at the Constabulary vessel. After the Marine gunner left, Walden hooked up the data unit and got lost in the information scrolling down his screens. Seeing him vanish into research mode, Warlock yawned and left the bridge. Her stateroom was a few meters down the corridor and her rack beckoned her for a much-needed nap. Warlock had taken three steps when a head appeared in the hatchway.
“Master Sergeant Alberich?” a Navy Ensign inquired.
She’s retired, sleeping, and unavailable, Diosa wanted to say. But years of service and the habit of never ducking an assignment forced her to answer.
“What can I do for you, Ensign?”
“The Captain would like a report on the mission,” the officer informed her.
“I’d like to freshen up first,” Warlock suggested.
“Sergeant, he said to come as you are,” the ensign related. “The Pillar is moving out of this sector to maintain our position in the picket track. He wants any information you have so he can pass it to the ship coming on station.”
“Lead on, sir,” Diosa urged as she stifled another yawn.
The ensign escorted Warlock to officer country where she described the mission to Captain Taiki, his executive officer, and three other naval officers. From there, a Navy aviator accompanied her to the pilot’s briefing room. Every seat was occupied by Commander Sayuri’s flight leaders. Lieutenant Ayana joined her and together they talked about the experience. An hour later, Warlock stumbled out of the doorway thinking about her bed on The Talon. In her exhausted state, Warlock forgot one group. But they didn’t forget her.
Two Marines waited in the corridor.
“Master Sergeant Alberich, Captain Kan requests the pleasure of your company,” one of the Marines informed her.
The ship’s command staff wanted general information about Elf-09 and the flight leaders were curious about approaches to the Constabulary warship. Both allowed her to talk and asked questions only related to their areas of interest. This next meeting would be draining and take much longer.
“Do you have coffee?” Warlock asked.
“We have a big mug for you and liters of java,” the other Marine assured her.
“Lead on leathernecks,” Warlock said.
They took an elevator to a hanger deck where every off-duty Marine in the ship’s company waited. It was by far the largest of the three debriefing groups. The Corps prided itself on adapting and overcoming adversity. It started with training and teaching. Warlock was there to describe in detail her knowledge of the Troops and their officers’ reactions and tactics. Included in the session would be an examination of flaws in the enemy’s behavior and an analysis of the failings in her mission planning and execution.
Captain Kan stood talking to Sergeant Natsuki by a table with a coffee urn. Both turned as Warlock approached them.
“Master Sergeant. Thank you for bringing my Marines back,” Kan said. “Grab a coffee and let’s get started.”
Diosa shook off the weariness, poured a cup, and mentally prepared herself for the breakdown. Sometimes, they were worse than the actual mission.
***
Twelve hours later, Diosa turned over, pried open one eye, and checked the time on her PID. After rolling out of bed, hitting the body washing station, and dressing, she went to find Walden. She located her researcher sprawled on the couch at the navigation station. Not wanting to disturb the obviously fatigued man, she started to back off the bridge.
“You have a choice to make,” Walden said from under the arm draped over his face.
“Typically, there are options offered before I have to pick something,” Diosa replied.
“We have him,” Walden exclaimed as he swung his feet to the deck and sat up.
“You mean have them, as in we have options?” questioned Diosa.
“That too, but I was referring to Admiral Nesta 4th Deallus,” Walden corrected. “We have his network mapped.”
“Complete with the names of the Empress’ spies?” asked Diosa.
“I can�
�t do all the work,” Walden remarked as he stood and sashayed to his research station. He activated the monitors and on the far-right screen a graph appeared. Massed single lines extended from a central hub creating a comb effect on one side. On the other half of the hub, six lines with elbows connected to a second line. “The grouped lines connecting with the central hub are markers for Constabulary ships. I’ve already sent their numbers and codes to naval intelligence and our analysts.”
“What are those six backward L’s?” Diosa inquired.
“Your choices,” Walden informed her. “The first line leads to a cutout or relay person. Our spy is at the end of the second line. The activated operators do not communicate directly with Admiral Deallus.”
“How close can you get me to the relay person?” asked Diosa. “Or is this just a fun engineering experiment and an excuse to draw colorful diagrams?”
“I identified the planets, stations, and the warship,” bragged Walden. “Once…”
“Hold on a second,” Diosa said interrupting him. “What warship?”
“The heavy cruiser An Tiodhlac Òir,” replied Walden. “where Striker Command is currently located.”
“They have a cutout and a spy onboard?” demanded Diosa. “Why isn’t that ship our first choice?”
“As I was saying, before you interrupted me, once we’re at the location, I can isolate an area by embedding a code and sending a fake message from the Admiral. When the message is downloaded, I get a ping back,” Walden announced. “It will only identify the wireless hub. Not the fiber optic line used by the relay person. So, I can’t pinpoint the relay’s exact location or follow the message when it’s forwarded to the end receiver. That’s your job to figure out who they are. As far as our choices, remember Eiko expects us to investigate the Sorcha Innis leak.”
“I’ll deal with the special agent,” promised Diosa. Then she ordered. “File a flight plan to the heavy cruiser.”
“I already have,” confessed Walden. “Mission guidance from above isn’t one of your strong points.”
“When do we launch?”
“After we get back from the mess deck,” Walden assured her as he brushed by and stepped into the passageway. “It’s frogs’ legs and escargot night. I hear the Navy chef prepares exquisite sautéed synthetic frog legs. Coming?”
Chapter 16 – Excuse Me, Can We Talk
The Talon evolved to internal drive and Walden contacted flight control for the heavy cruiser.
“An Tiodhlac Òir, this is the yacht Talon. Requesting intake instructions.”
“Talon use tube seven,” control advised. “Have the counselor report to the medical deck for processing.”
Walden gave Diosa a sideways glance, “You’ll be processed. What will the ship’s Cerebrum Cinderella have to say about another therapist invading their domain?”
“You don’t care much for the mental health profession, do you?” questioned Diosa.
“Oh, I love them for everyone who needs help,” Walden replied. “My overactive frontal lobe and I have spent countless hours being probed, questioned, tested, and examined by a host of perception warriors.”
“Perception warrior, I assume refers to a psychoanalyst attempting at giving you some insight,” ventured Diosa. “But the meaning of Cerebrum Cinderella escapes me.”
“You know, waltz in, talk to the therapist, tell them a fairytale, and dance out like royalty,” Walden explained. “I’m particularly adept at inkblot fables.”
“You lie during Rorschach tests?” Diosa questioned. “After a mission, Strikers find them helpful to express the ugliness of corridor combat. Why would you lie?”
“How did the last shrink put it?” Walden paused as if searching his memory. “Aha, yes. The subject displays schizophrenic tendencies or possible symptoms of dissociative identity disorder based on score frequencies.”
“What did you tell them you saw during the test?” inquired Diosa.
“I described advanced theorems of calculus, the creation of the universe, and, excuse me, lady parts,” Walden replied. Although far out of Diosa’s reach, he flinched.
“What did you see in the inkblots?”
“Nothing. I never enjoyed or acquired an appreciation for abstract art,” confessed Walden. “I’ve set your first appointment and backdated it.”
***
Admiral Norman P. Folkert bristled with energy. His hands flew over the keyboard while his mind digested issues, resolved said problems, and typed out the solutions. He’d just sent an answer to one of his Striker team leaders when his aide buzzed him.
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant Pascal?”
“Admiral, the psychotherapist is here for your appointment,” Pascal reported.
“I don’t remember setting a date with a therapist,” commented Folkert.
“Sir, I apologize. I didn’t remember either but it is on your calendar,” the aide assured him. “It’s dated four weeks ago.”
“Fine, fine, send him in,” Folkert said while thinking he’d let the counselor in then get rid of him quickly.
The door to the inner office of the Strike Kill administration suite opened and Master Sergeant Alberich strolled through the doorway.
“Warlock. Where is the shrink?” Folkert question as he leaned to the side attempting to look around the former Striker. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. I seem to have an appointment at the moment.”
“I am your appointment Admiral,” Diosa informed him while she closed the door. “My apologies for the deception but I needed the title on your calendar and a private meeting with you.”
“Well I am relieved, I don’t have to talk about my feelings for an hour,” admitted Folkert. “And despite your intrusion being highly irregular, it’s good to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Sir, you should be neither relieved or consider my visit a pleasure,” Diosa warned. “You have a spy network on the An Tiodhlac Òir. And I need your help to catch them.”
“I had my suspicions based on the Constabulary Navy’s rapid response to our assault on Construction Station,” the Admiral offered. “But Naval Intelligence assured me it was impossible. Now you show up, working for I don’t know what organization, and ask for help digging out a nest of spies. What do you need, Master Sergeant?”
“Temporary assignment as a counselor for the Strikers and acknowledgment of my title. Plus, a non-duty slot in communications for my assistant Walden Geboren,” Diosa informed him. “He’ll be monitoring for the clandestine network. And my position will give me the authority to go around talking to people without the ship’s medical department questioning my whereabouts.”
“Those are pretty mundane requests. I’ll have Lieutenant Pascal list you and Mister Geboren on the support staff roster and alert Colonel Wahid,” Folkert assured her. “But you know a lot of the older Strikers, how will you explain the assignment?”
“Night school, sir. With your permission?”
“Find me those traitors,” the Admiral ordered. “Dismissed Doctor Alberich.”
Warlock opened the door and marched out of the office. Now she could roam the ship without being challenged. Plus, no one would think twice about any sailor and Marine who spoke with a counselor.
A therapist was almost the perfect cover for Warlock. Except she was investigating on a warship deployed in a sector near a contested manufacturing station and facing an enemy fleet. A ship unfortunately filled with stressed out sailors and Marines.
***
Diosa dropped her bag on the bed and looked around the small compartment. Unlike the shared quarters of Sergeants, the room, although small, was a single. Before she had an opportunity to unpack, someone knocked on the door.
“Master Sergeant Alberich,” a Corporal greeted her. “Compliments of Colonel Wahid.”
The NCO handed her a starched set of utilities with her name and the Striker badge on the breast, Master Sergeant insignias on the collars, and a counselor’s cord
of braided rope in mint green and sandy brown already affixed to the shoulder.
“Thank you,” Diosa responded as she took the uniform.
“The Colonel said if you need anything during your graduate fieldwork, please do not hesitate to call on him,” added the Marine NCO. “If there is nothing else?”
“I can’t think of anything,” Diosa replied.
Colonel Wahid was the executive officer of Striker command and the first-person Admiral Folkert brought on when forming the special unit. Warlock and the Colonel had traded bruises over the years. As the Striker’s first hand to hand combat instructor, Wahid taught brutally and efficiently.
Diosa learned his style but remembered every session feeling like a life and death struggle. The memory made her cringe as she dressed.
‘Poet, going to walk around to make my face familiar to the ship’s personnel,’ she typed.
‘Heading for Striker communications to prepare,’ Walden sent back. ‘I need a day and a half to review recent messages and fabricate new ones from Admiral Deallus.’
‘Acknowledged,’ she typed.
The counselor left her compartment to begin strolling the kilometers of passageways and vast numbers of departments. A heavy cruiser was the size of a small city, second in population only to a battleship. Warlock didn’t need to be seen in every department but she wanted people to be accustomed to her coming and going. Enough so her appearance in any section of the ship didn’t raise the concerns of a spy.
***
As an NCO for a special unit, she had coached and aided her team and others with difficulties. Plus, every Striker met regularly with a psychiatrist to assess their mental stability and ability to carry out the mission. Diosa was confident she had a least the minimum qualifications to walk around and talk through minor issues. If someone approached her with a real problem, she would refer them to the ship’s therapist or the proper authority for help.
Warlock’s plan to move rapidly through the ship fell apart and she realized the undercover occupation might be more hindrance than beneficial.
The tour of the magazine and munitions deck took longer than anticipated. Sailors and Marines handling explosives were, by necessity, level-headed. Anyone overly emotional would find themselves transferred to a less delicate department. Even so, a number of them stopped her and expressed worry about the ship’s deployment. Her advice was to have faith in their teammates and their officers. And to do their job professionally and trust in the other departments to do theirs. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t been told before. Somehow, coming from a person wearing the green and brown rope, it seemed to carry more weight.
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