Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Sir?” I asked, a little confused.

  “There was no, I say again, no attack at the Mercantile Station,” he stated, “You never saw the Admiral or the General. Clear so far?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I replied.

  “The records have been sealed including your file. If you ever divulge any information about the action, or your court martial and its results, we have a nice solitary cell on a prison ship reserved for you.”

  “Yes Sir, I total understand,” I confirmed. I meant every word.

  I’d done escort duty once taking military prisoners to a prison ship. It was low air, low light and heavy work for the inmates, in other words, a really unpleasant place.

  “Good, now get off my ship,” Commander Daiki said turning to the Marine, “He’s all yours.”

  “I know, this way,” I said to the Marine.

  Clipper ships are too big to fit inside a Heavy Cruiser without moving around a whole lot of smaller ships, shuttles and boats to make room. To access the transport, an exterior air lock connected the Heavy Cruiser to the Clipper Ship.

  Clipper ships are long distance personnel and cargo carriers. They’re manned by a crew of four. The External engine uses a blue ion flow and its Internal drive has an 18 ion cannon rig for acceleration, deceleration, and maneuvering in flight and in ports of call. In short, it was fast and could turn quickly. Quickly enough to rip the hull in half if the Navigator miss calculated the vector. I wondered how the Navy found the geniuses for that type of math.

  Two pilots, a navigator, and an engineer was the normal ship’s complement. This ship also sported a Mess NCO who I met when I floated through the air lock.

  “Welcome to the Galactic Council Navy Clipper ship, Dos Tau,” the Chief Petty Officer said, “it’ll be your home for the next four weeks.”

  “We’re pretty far out so it makes sense,” I said eyeing the passenger seats. We were close to the asteroid belt on the edge of the Realm so it was a long way back to civilization.

  There were 16 seats and while they were plush, I wasn’t looking forward to a month of reclining sleep. Thinking back to some of the uncomfortable transportation methods the Navy had provided us Marines, I guess it wasn’t that bad.

  I pointed to one and asked, “Is this seat taken?”

  “There’re all open but I’d have thought you’d like to get settled in your stateroom before departure.”

  “Ah, of course, it’s just.”

  “Your first time on a Navy Clipper,” he said finishing my sentence.

  The room was smallish for a single but had a lot more space than my shared Sergeant’s quarters on the Heavy Cruiser. I turned on the view screen to download some news from the Galactic Council Realm before we shoved off.

  A news woman reported an industrial accident on Mercantile Station #6. Repair ships were in route. There were two injured critically and they’d been taken to a nearby Navy Medical Boat. The news reporter wished them all the best. In other news, a Marine Combat Shuttle had disintegrated during an evolution killing three Marines. She wished the families of the Marines all the best, as well. I wondered if the truth about these two news items were also in sealed files.

  My travel bags were there so I stayed busy unpacking and putting away my things. While I worked, I thought that the past several days had been the second most traumatic of my life.

  Chapter 9

  So here I was a newly pinned pilot with the rank of Ensign. My coffee was cold and the Mess NCO was at my elbow.

  “Sorry to disturb you Sir, but we have another class coming. We need to clean these tables.”

  “Absolutely Chief, I’ll vacate the seat and get out of your way,” I said standing and making my way off of the Flight School’s mess deck.

  In my quarters, I looked around and decided there was nothing I wanted to do or read. I pulled on a set of dungaree work utilities. Maybe, I could be of some use in maintenance. After all Chief Fabrizia, the head mechanic for the Flight School had coached a knuckle dragging former Marine through the course work on ship repairs. Without him, I’d have failed. Before Chief Bernarde Fabrizia’s help, I was more useful at carrying a weapon then a wrench.

  On the repair deck, I watched as Chief Fabrizia pointed out specific pieces of a dismantled ion cannon to a junior mechanic. His hand floated over a portable table littered with burnt parts and open boxes of new parts. He picked up a new piece.

  “The diode gap and the filament gap needs to be exact before you insert the ion core,” he explained patiently while placing the just selected part on the repair bench, “and we always bench test before final installation. Got it?”

  “Aye Senior Chief,” the young mechanic stated as he reset the gap with a gauge.

  Senior Chief Bernarde Fabrizia looked in my direction and studied me for a minute. After reaching some kind of decision, he waved me to follow him. We walked to an empty work bench with its steady flow of air. He turned and saluted me.

  I returned the salute and said, “You know that’s not necessary on the maintenance deck, Chief.”

  “You graduated?” he asked.

  “Why yes.”

  “You a qualified pilot?”

  “Aye Chief.”

  “You an Officer?”

  “Okay Chief, I get it. Its tradition, right?”

  “Something like that and you’re right on a work deck we don’t salute unless I choose too. Got it now?”

  “You are a grouchy old Senior Chief, aren’t you?”

  “That’s tradition,” he said, “What can I do for you Ensign Piran?”

  “As you can see I’m dressed to get dirty. My transportation is days away and I thought I could repay you with some elbow grease.”

  “Well, I could use you on a bench. We’ve got ion cannons failing throughout the training fleet. Couldn’t happen at a worse time,” he said pausing for a second before continuing, “The Navy is compressing flight training in order to graduate pilots quicker.”

  “Well point me to a bench and I’ll get to work,” I volunteered.

  “I said I could use you on a bench. But, all the instructors that usually fly post repair flights are busy with the compressed training schedule. So, what I need is a pilot.”

  “As a matter of fact, I happen to be a pilot,” I said with a stupid grin.

  “I noticed, Ensign, so get over to dock 35 and run the ship through the firing range. Damn student without the proper simulator training attempted a 360 degree turn while powering up the External drive. Almost tore the canon array out of its housing. Took him a week to limp back to the station.”

  “Rough lesson,” I said knowing that a week in a fighter or a Combat Shuttle would be uncomfortable.

  “Undertrained students, bad ion cannons, and a shortage of pilots, not rough enough for me,” the Senior Chief said, “Now why are you still here Ensign. I need that craft checked out and back in the fleet like yesterday.”

  “Aye Chief, I’m on it and thank you.”

  “Dock 35,” he said out of the side of his mouth as he walked away.

  I strolled to preflight for a flight suit, and to the armory for a weapon. At environmental, I drew a crew rebreather and some extra energy bars. The repairs should be correct on the damaged ship. However, I wasn’t about to spend a week hungry, if it broke down again.

  After getting my equipment and filing notice with Flight Control, I took a moving car to the 30 series docks. The automatic car dropped me at the hatch and I pushed through. These docks held a mixture of ships and boats. They were waiting for maintenance or had recently been repaired and required check flights.

  “Bless you Senior Chief Fabrizia,” I whispered once I had a look at dock 35.

  A big, beautiful BattlePlatform was squeezed in between a GunShip, and a Patrol Boat. The Brick was four meters tall and almost as wide. With the help of a ground’s crewman, we pushed a movable ladder over to the sled. I popped the hatch and she assisted me getting into the form fitting pilot’s seat.
Once I was settled into the molded form, she saluted me, closed the hatch and guided the ladder back to the dock.

  “Flight Control, this is BattlePlatform 35 requesting clearance for a post repair flight and a designation,” I said.

  “BattlePlatform 35, you are a flight of one designated Rapture 1. Stand by for push off authority,” the controller stated.

  As I waited, I fired up the engine and ran preflight on each of the 16 ion cannons. I’d just finished when control gave me push back authority. The sled traveled from the dock on treads and didn’t stop until the ship was though the first air curtain.

  “Flight Control, this is Rapture 1, lifting from sled and moving to curtain two,” I reported.

  I ran the Internal power up and the Brick lifted from the sled and eased forward on its own. Once I passed the air curtain and entered the dark area, I stopped.

  “Flight Control, requesting launch authorization,” I asked.

  “Stand by Rapture 1, we are scanning for frame leaks and foreign objects. Rapture 1, you are cleared to launch,” Flight Control informed me.

  “Rodger Flight Control, Rapture 1 is entering the traffic pattern,” I said goosing the engine.

  Air curtain three brushed by and I flooded the 16 ion cannons with power. The BattlePlatform shot from the launch tube and soon the mega structure of the Navy Station filled only half my rear view screen.

  Power gages bouncing and clocks running out of sync, I eased power into the External drive and maxed out the Internal drive. Power gages close, clocks at time, I poured power into the External drive. Snap, snap and the Brick and I became a smooth yellow streak.

  After 45 minutes, I ran a deceleration evolution with only one snap and called the Navy Trajectory Station. The station orbited around the entrance to the rocket range where flight students came to test their skill and knowledge or, lack of talent.

  “Rapture 1 to Navy Range Control,” I called, “Request authorization for a shakedown run.”

  “Rapture 1, you are cleared to Bay 3 for armament,” Range Control answered.

  I lowered Internal power, and set my ion canons to manual so I could joystick the Brick into the station. On manual the ion cannons pointed in sets in response to my control. On automatic, the ion cannons were computer controlled. A pilot used automatic for most of any flight, but for combat, launches and recovery, the best preferred hands on manual.

  From a distance the opening was just a small black hole in the metallic gray side of the structure. As I drew closer, the hole took the shape of a dark rectangle. Soon it had length and became a lighted tunnel. I lined up, dropped power and eased the BattlePlatform into Bay 3.

  “Nice entry Rapture 1,” Range Control said, “What can we do for you today?”

  “Test load for all weapons,” I replied, “I’m on a shakedown flight.”

  “Rodger that, I thought I recognized the Brick,” Range answered with a laugh. The laugh reminded me of the ship’s recent history and didn’t make me feel confident. I took comfort in the fact the Brick had performed perfectly, so far.

  A test load would give me only four rockets, one for each tube, a partial fill for my guns and the four satellite weapons. Just enough to test the offensive systems and the combat worthiness of the Brick. And enough for me to have some fun piloting a BattlePlatform, probably, for the last time in my career as a Navy pilot.

  In the fleet these ships were considered a priority and their pilots were rated specialists. Except for Flight School, no ordinary pilot like me, would ever get a chance to touch a BattlePlatform.

  “Rapture 1 you are loaded for a test run but you are on hold,” Range Control advised me.

  “Rodger that, what’s the hold up?” I asked.

  “I have a flight for four Fighters on the course. Once the students are clear, providing they don’t crash into each other, I’ll clear you.”

  “That bad?” I teased.

  “Don’t know if they’re recruiting idiots or not enough time in the flight simulators. But yes, the last few classes are that bad,” Range stated without any humor.

  Well Chief Fabrizia had said pretty much the same thing but with an NCOs diplomacy. Range Control must be at least a senior Captain to speak so bluntly.

  “Rapture 1, you are cleared for the rocket range course,” Range finally announced, “Good hunting.”

  The BattlePlatform hovered at the starting vector and I ran a final systems check. All the space in front of me was a free fire zone and filled with metal asteroids and relics of ships equipped with transponders to imitate different types of enemy crafts.

  I activated the systems for attack mode. The first system to set was the pilot’s station. It pressurized squeezing me from ankles to helmet. Now only my feet, hands and eyes had any mobility. The rest of my body was encapsulated and immovable in a most unpleasant manner. This was why BattlePlatform pilots were not beefy and why my muscles were compressed to the point of pain.

  The Brick shot forward on Internal power and I snapped quickly to the External drive stressing the hull and me. Dropping out of External at the first set of targets, I shot past them, pivoted the Brick and launched my four auxiliary satellites. The five weapons, the BattlePlatform and my four gun moons, spun 180 degrees and shot ten streams of rocket powered rounds at two Patrol Boats and an armed Sloop.

  “85 percent damage to enemy targets with 5 percent damage to Rapture 1,” Range announced my score.

  A 90 degrees’ jolt and I was on line for a Heavy Cruiser. Detaching two of my satellites, I carried the others with me as I stitched the long hull with jet powered rounds. At the end of the cruiser, I used an asteroid to swing around and detached my other two gun moons. Now I sent two rockets at the big ship while my moons attacked from different directions.

  All four gun moons performed an attack run on the cruiser covering me as I used External power to return to the far end of the hull. I lined up and collected my satellites as I peppered the hull with rounds. Shoot and collect, we’d been taught, and I was performing the act like an ace.

  “25 percent damage to enemy ship and 15 percent to Rapture 1,” Range announced then added, “Nice shooting.”

  25 percent meant if four BattlePlatforms were textbook perfect in theory, they could destroy a Heavy Cruiser. In theory maybe, in reality no way, because the empty hull I’d just attacked wasn’t shooting back real munitions. Still I had to agree, it was nice shooting.

  A two snap evolution and I moved to the fixed fortification zone. I dropped to Internal in the center of three large asteroids. They began firing at me. I detached all four gun moons as I spun and fired. This maneuver was why Brick pilots were strapped in so tightly. BattlePlatforms were the only ships with the capability to transition from Internal to External, and External to Internal, while changing directions without breaking into large ineffective pieces. It took precise timing of power gauges and clocks while targeting and dodging to perform the near impossible.

  “75 percent damage to enemy positions and 35 percent to Rapture 1,” Range announced, “You are still 45 percent effective.”

  A one snap transition and I arrived at the pursuit zone. Six enemy ships appeared from behind a derelict structure and attached me. My gun moons returned fire as I detached them and I moved the Brick. A quick snap and I was behind the aggressors who now were in a crossfire. Two were killed and another was disabled but three made a run for it. Thus the title pursuit zone. Snap, Snap, an ugly transition back to retrieve my gun moons and I was soon chasing after the Fighters.

  “This is a notice Rapture 1. You are 35 percent effective,” Range said letting me know that I’d sustained another 10 percent damage during the encounter.

  Three targets in among fixed positions with only two rockets and less than a quarter of my gun ammo left. This was going to be a tough test run for the BattlePlatform and me.

  I sent my gun moons in four different directions with hunt and shoot orders. The Brick I took towards the fixed structures in a ro
lling head over heels advance. Two Fighters poked their weaponized noses around the corners on opposite sides of me.

  I went External in a rolling advance and snapped back to Internal drive on the other side of them. Two rockets, two kills, and I went looking for the third Fighter. My satellites were converging on a location so I powered towards them.

  The gun moons were orbiting around a huge asteroid. I didn’t have a visual on the last Fighter. A quick scan showed me there were hollow areas in the asteroid, possible hiding places for the enemy. If I had rockets, I’d fry him in his lair but with only guns I needed him to come out and fight. Using the Brick as bait, I slowed and began to orbit. On my second pass, the Fighter emerged and got off a stream of electronic rounds.

  At full Internal power I went into a spin while firing each time I faced the Fighter. A spin isn’t stationary so the oscillation of my ship moved me enough for the Fighter’s fire to miss the Brick more or less. Between my fire and the four gun moons, the Fighter didn’t last long.

  “Rapture 1 you are 15 percent effective,” Range Control informed me, “Nicely done. Return to Range Station for disarmament.”

  “Rodger Range on the way.”

  The Navy Training Station loomed over me as I went manual and proceed to the induction tube. Chief Fabrizia would be pleased with the report on the BattlePlatform’s performance, and I was certainly pleased with mine. Plus, I was looking forward to getting out of the pressurized seat. Even partially activated, it was an uncomfortable, full bodied bear hug.

  Chapter 10

  Two days later, I received my travel orders directing me to, ‘proceed to Nafaka the agrarian planet via the civilian Clipper ship, Uno Shoda. There I was to report to detachment Commander of 49th Supply Wing for unit assessment. Travel time allotted was three months. Civilian attire authorized.’

  A tug carried me out to the Clipper ship. The Uno Shoda lay four hours off the Navy Station and as we approached it grew in size on my view screen. Unlike the Navy Clipper, I’d taken off the Heavy Cruiser over two years ago, the civilian Clipper had a cargo sleeve wrapper around its hull. Apparently, this was a working vessel, and the Navy Station was a routine stop.