On Station
A Galactic Council Realm Book
By: J. Clifton Slater
On Station
Galactic Council Realm
Books:
On Station
On Duty
On Guard
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All the errors in judgment, faulty concepts, misuse of military tactics, unworkable theories, and rewriting of historical groups are mine. Also, the names I use in this story are associated with languages from around the world. You’ll find them listed in the Appendix along with their country of origin and meaning. Again, any name that has an incorrect meaning, is my error.
I’d like to thank my tireless editor, Hollis Jones, for the many hours she spent correcting my spelling, grammar and convoluted sentence structure.
I am a gamer and my time waster of choice are RPGs on my XBox 360. This book follows some of the aspects of the video games I enjoy. You can find maps and diagrams on my Facebook page. I hope you enjoy On Station: Galactic Council Realm.
J. Clifton Slater
Facebook: facebook.com/GalacticCouncilRealm
E-Mail: [email protected]
Twitter: @GalacticCRealm
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Appendix
On Station: Galactic Council Realm
Chapter 1
Yesterday our class of twenty-three, most of them in their mid-twenties, had graduated and each of us proudly wore our new winged-rocket pins. After two years of flight school, we’d earned the recognition of the Galactic Council, the Galactic Council Navy, and our instructors. The pilot’s standings in each of the rated categories would determine where we’d be posted. The standings were important to everyone, especially to me.
“J-Pop, they’ve posted the class standings,” shouted one of the new pilots. He was lean and didn’t seem as tall while bent over to read the list.
I nodded to him as I emerged from the doorway of my quarters. The center of the squad area was dominated by a lighted column. For two years it had lit up with class schedules, training flight assignments, and other information for the student pilots. Today, it displayed the rankings for the recently graduated pilots.
“At ease Bowman, I’m moving as fast as I can,” I teased as I shuffled towards the group.
“Ah the aged and infirmed,” joked Surya Isha, call sign Shark.
It was his idea to give me the call sign of J-Pop. He claimed it was the only logical progression from ‘Hey Pop’ that they’d used when the class was formed. It’s tough being over a decade older than your contemporaries.
Bowman, another Brick pilot, was twenty-five and lean like the other BattlePlatform pilots. On either side of him were the other top pilots for that platform. I’d already guessed that Shark, Viktoría ‘Vulcon’ Haidar and ‘Lynch-Pin’, were the class’ top Brick pilots. We called the space weapons, Bricks. Why Bricks? Because the BattlePlatforms are huge solid rectangles resembling building blocks with a sharply angled points on one end.
“Who’s top Brick?” I teased walking slowly to the light board. I did care about the standings but I wasn’t about to let the kids know how important they were to me.
Yesterday, our class had graduated. Now our future duties within the Galactic Navy were posted.
“Top man, BattlePlatforms,” Shark answered punching his chest.
“That makes me top woman,” announced Vulcan. Shark glared at her but didn’t take the bait for another of their never ending verbal fights.
I approached the display. The light board, my future, listed the seven flight school categories. I looked for my name under each heading, Phelan Oscar Piran.
Engineering, a nice name for maintenance officer, I was listed number four.
Aircraft, the Galactic Council Navy called them aircraft if they were used planet side. Even if the planet didn’t have an atmosphere. I ranked number four.
Shuttle, basically a bus for planet and space deliveries, I’d earned points for fourth place.
Combat Shuttle, GunShips, weapons for flying into combat zones was more to my liking. I was the fourth highest in the class. I started to notice a pattern.
Fighters, meaning speed, missiles, and guns every boys dream, whoa, I ranked number two. This would normally be a fast ticket to a fleet flight-wing. Normally, but not for me. The cut off age for new Fighter pilots was twenty-nine. I had fond memories of Fighter training besides getting the J-POP handle. Jet-Pop, Shark had called me after scoring high on my test flights. From Hey Pop to Jet-Pop and finally J-Pop, his logic seemed fine and the Call Sign stuck.
BattlePlatforms, the Brick, and its myriad list of weapon systems, I ranked number five. Now that was a surprise as the operators tended to be dominated by exoskeleton types.
Navigation, the future pilots of the biggest ships in the Navy, I ranked number ten. I’m more brawn than brains and it showed in my ranking.
My PID, personal information device, pinged with a message requesting my presence at the office of Commander Galactic Council Navy Flight School.
“Congratulations, aviators!” I said saluting my classmates.
The one’s closest to me returned the salute along with big grins. They should smile, our class started with forty-nine new officers and me. Now the Navy has twenty-three fully trained and ready to fly graduates, including me.
Chapter 2
The office of the commander of the school’s space station was located on deck twenty-five. She was in charge of the station’s fifty decks of personnel quarters, repair facilities, armories, classrooms, flight docks, launch tubes and simulators for all seven categories. Not to mention well over 2,000 naval personnel. She was busy and I couldn’t figure out why she wanted to see me. I stepped out of the lift, turned left and followed the arrows to a sea of desks. They radiated out from the Commander’s hatch like a medieval fortress.
“Ensign Piran reporting for Commander Severina, a
s ordered,” I said stopping at the first desk.
With barely a glance, the office worker jotted his thumb towards a desk on the next ring. I counted four more rings of desks radiating out from the Commander’s office. Much like a fortress, the bureaucracy surrounded her in walls of typists, defending her no doubt from barbarians like me.
After breeching three more walls of desks, I was directed to a hard plastic chair. So the final obstacle to the siege was discomfort. Good thing I was invited because I couldn’t imagine running this gauntlet without an invitation.
Twenty minutes later just as my butt was asking for surrender, a Lt., Junior Grade stood and motioned for me to follow him into the Commander’s inner sanctum. He marched in, announced me, performed a sharp about face and marched out. Following his lead, I marched to the Commander’s desk, snapped to attention and saluted. She looked up, returned my salute and mumbled, ‘at ease’.
I was put in my place. In other words, ignored while she typed and read, and typed and read some more. Reflexively, I inhaled deeply. The rich and lightly scented air in her office was a noticeable gift from the station’s White Heart plant. My eyes scanned until I located a screened opening in the bulkhead to the left of her desk. Behind it would be the source of the rich air.
However, I detected another scent. This was also rich but with a hint of spice. I eyeballed the room and finally settled on a small cabinet with air vents. The cabinet was behind the commander and partially hidden by her chair. Owning a dwarf Red Heart plant wasn’t illegal although it was an expensive and useless indulgence. The small plants don’t give off much rich air and cleaned even less, nonetheless, the cinnamon aroma was nice.
“Ensign Piran,” she said finally looking up at me, “When you arrived here at my flight school, I wasn’t worried. You see we have a way of weeding out the undesirables.”
“Yes Ma’am,” I replied.
“Somehow my instructors couldn’t get you to drop out. Now, I’m reviewing your whole file searching for hints as where best to place you. Most of its sealed. Are you by any chance employed by the Galactic Council Investigative Service or the Galactic Council Intelligent Inquiries Agency? If so, the organization will select your next duty station.”
“No Ma’am, I am not a Council cop or a spy.”
“Well you had help from somewhere that got you into flight school. Your full name is Phelan Oscar Piran, formerly of the Galactic Council Marine Corps. So, are you a Marine? Or, based on your Clan name, A Druid?”
“No Ma’am, separated from the Corps and the other is family business, not mine.”
“Interesting way to refer to the services performed by our Druids. No matter, one of my duties, and I take it very seriously, is to recommend duty stations for our graduates. Most are easily identified, but not you. Too old for Fighters at thirty-eight and I can’t saddle the fleet with you as a BattlePlatform pilot, too thick. You can take that any way you want. However, providence is on my side as I’ve just received a request for an Aircraft pilot.”
“Yes Ma’am, may I ask what unit?”
“The 49th Supply Wing requested a qualified pilot for the planet Nafaka. I just happen to have one, you. There’s some confusion with transportation so you’ll be here for about three weeks. All of your classmates will be gone by then, so just hang out till notified. Any questions?”
“No Ma’am,” I said saluting the Commander. At her door, I paused and turned, “You might want to decrease the water for your dwarf Red Heat plant and increase the light by 25%.”
“I thought you weren’t a Druid?”
“Not ma’am, but it is my Clan’s business.”
While she was turned to open the cabinet behind her desk and check on her secret Red Heart plant, I escaped through the barriers of desks. A right turn out of the office area and I was moving purposely toward the lifts.
My mind was on the 49th Supply Wing and the food planet Nafaka. I was walking fast. Too fast as I almost plowed into a Druid just as she stepped off a lift. Like all Druids, she was covered from head to the floor in the traditional brown robe. Secured on her hip by a leather belt were ceremonial sheers and over her shoulder hung a shallow watering pan.
“Asthore’, Druid,” I said dipping my head in respect while stepping aside.
She jerked her chin around and ran her greens eyes over me questioning my use of the traditional greeting. ‘My Dear or My Darling’ Druid was how I was taught so I didn’t think before speaking. Not good surprising a Druid. She must have decided I wasn’t a threat as she lowered her eyes and continued on her way.
While the lift rose to my class’ berthing level, I ran through the Druid’s equipment. The robe while looking like brown cotton cloth was actually constructed of fiber that was fire and kinetic bullet resistant and when sealed could withstand a short space walk. Her chrome sheers would easily come apart to form two short swords and the shallow watering pan, causally slung over her shoulder, was in fact a hardened shield. Plus, as a full Druid, she knew how to use the equipment. No, surprising a Druid wasn’t a good idea.
Chapter 3
Back in the squad area, I walked through the hustle of my classmates packing for the Navy shuttle. They’d soon be at the transport hub heading for points throughout the Galactic Council Realm. I acknowledged them by waving or nodding and saying goodbye to several. Having nowhere else to go, the lounge seemed right.
As I stepped through the hatch into to the student lounge, I saw Shark, Bowman, Vulcon and Lynch-Pin in a tactical discussion with PIDs flying through the air above their table.
“What you guys too good for the shuttle?” I teased entering the lounge. They weren’t frantically packing so I assumed they had alternative transportation.
After a stop at the rebreather charging station and placing mine in the unit, I headed for a small opening where the White Heart was hidden behind a screen.
“No J-POP, we’re special. Fleet is sending a ship for us,” Bowman announced while soaring his PID under Lynch-Pin’s.
Ignoring Bowman, I approached a small granite basin mounted under the screen and scooped up a handful of water. Lowing my head, I whispered a Druid prayer to the unseen White Heart.
“Oh Heart of Life, thank you for the gifts, please accept this small token of my gratitude.”
As I spoke the water trickled through my fingers into a shallow trench in the back of the basin. The water flowed away quickly, however, it would never reach the White Heart until it was filtered. The act was simply symbolic and reminded me of my youth.
“Why do you do that?” Vulcon asked as I turned toward the group of BattlePlatform pilots.
“To make my Mother happy, why else?” I said strolling around the table, “Who’s winning the battle?”
“No really, why the offering to the White Heart?” insisted Vulcon, “I’m from Tres and had never heard of Heart Plants until I joined the Naval service.”
“Do you know the story of the Hearts?” I asked and when met with four blank stares, I pulled up a chair and settled in for a lecture.
“300 years ago before the great Schism, Uno was the only habitable planet in the Realm. The population was crowding the surface so a space expedition was sent to planet Dos. Something went wrong with the trajectory and the craft landed hard. So hard in fact, one of the fuel tanks ruptured. Now the crew had a choice to make when they left. Jet hard for Uno and ration what little fuel remained for life support. Or do a slow burn, use the fuel for life support and hope to have enough left to get home. Death by quick asphyxiation or lost in space for eternity.”
“Not good choices,” volunteered Lynch-Pin.
“No, it wasn’t. Being professionals, they continued exploring Dos while the engineer worked out the possibilities. Jasmin Oriane, the team’s geologist found a cave. Rather the cave found her as a thin crust gave way and she fell into the cavern. In the tumble her face glass cracked. In what she figured was her last transmission she explained her location and said goodbye. Three day
s later, the Captain and a crewman worked their way into the cave and found Ms. Oriane sitting by a huge plant.”
“A Heart Plant,” Shark announced as if he’d just solved a riddle.
“The Heart Plant,” I corrected, “Gitta Shea, the team’s Botanist, who was pretty much along just to tend the hydroponic gardens on the ship, began studying the plant. She discovered the plant was absorbing Jasmin Oriane’s carbon dioxide and emitting oxygen and nitrogen. She suggested they take large cuttings from the plant and pot them. By placing the potted plants around the crew compartment in their space craft, they had enough air to travel back to Uno.”
“But Heart plants come in different colors and some like the White in this station have branches hundreds of meters long,” Bowman observed.
“That’s where the story becomes almost a fable,” I said, “On the trip home, some of the plants started growing and a few changed color. Some White, some Blue, others Yellow and a few turned Red. Gitta Shea, the Botanist, realized the plants were affected by the electromagnet waves flowing from the old solid fuel engine. The plan worked. With the plants giving off oxygen and cleaning the air, the crew had enough atmosphere to survive the voyage. The crew returned safely, and while they lost a lot of weight, they arrived back on planet Uno alive.”
“So did they go back for the original Heart Plant?” Shark asked.
“A later expedition searched the cave on Dos but only found dry dust in the shape of a giant plant. Back on Uno further experimenting with the various potted plants found that the largest ones grew even more when exposed to ions of a matching color.”
“Wait, wait,” Vulcon shouted, “Are you telling us that our External ion drives come from the Heart Plants?”
He was referring to the ion drives that produce different color ions and are used to propel Galactic Council space ships. There was a correlation between the color of the Heart plants and the color of a ship’s specific ion drive. While the ions drive the ship, the Heart plants provide an enhanced atmosphere. Many large ships and stations are built around a Heart plant. The color of the Heart plant and of the ions reflects the characteristics of the plant. However, the drives are not powered by the plants.
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