Op File Revenge

by J. Clifton Slater

  “I appreciate you letting me work with you on this mission,” the neurologist said using some of the terminology he’d picked up from Warlock. “If you ever need anything, contact me.”

  “You mean if I crash and burn from the bionic eye?” inquired Warlock.

  “That or anything else you need,” he assured her. “Go say goodbye to your Strikers. You’re on the first medical boat off the Glynis Gavin when she evolves to interior drive.”

  “Yes sir,” replied Diosa. “And thank you for giving me my vision back.”

  “Thank you, Master Sergeant for your positive attitude,” responded the Doctor.

  Chapter – 15 Victim of Your Own Success

  A week later, the Medical Boat evolved to interior drive and the ions encapsulating the converted patrol boat cleared. In place of the yellow static, Command Station filled the view screens. Rings of decks stacked to seventy-five levels contained the heart and brains of the Galactic Council military. But Command wasn’t alone in the black of space. Zipping across the view screens and around the Station were Fighters, Gunships and BattlePlatforms from two light Cruisers. Their defensive screens overlapped providing exterior security for Command. And somewhere within the Station’s orbit, but far away, floated the Planet Uno.

  A memory tickled Warlock’s brain as she gazed at the station. She’d been here once before for an award ceremony. It was years ago and she barely remembered the excursion. Although she did recall the massive hangover the team suffered on the trip back to the fleet. Figuring this would be her last time visiting Command, she relaxed and enjoyed the magnificent structure as the Medical Boat drew closer.

  ***

  “Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich, reporting in, sir,” Warlock said to the Marine housing Sergeant.

  “I show you have accommodations on the medical deck, Master Sergeant,” the NCO advised after scrolling through his viewer.

  “I’ve been on a medical deck for six weeks while recovering,” Diosa replied. “I’ve been released. And despite what the Navy doctors want, I prefer to be away from anything medical.”

  “I understand. As a senior NCO, I can assign you a private suite,” the Sergeant informed her. “But I have to warn you, the quarters are tight.”

  “Sergeant, considering some of the odd places the Navy has stowed Marines over the years, private is almost unheard of,” Diosa commented. “I can deal with tight and I appreciate the private.”

  “I know what you mean, Master Sergeant. Also, there’s a note for you to contact Marine Corps administration about your retirement paperwork,” the Sergeant read from the viewer. “And, a note to see an Admiral Enrico on the medical level as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you,” Warlock replied as she hoisted her duffle bag. “I’ll see the Admiral after cleaning up and changing into a duty uniform.”

  “Always a good idea,” agreed the Sergeant as he turned his attention to the next Marine in line.

  Warlock caught a lift. On the housing deck, she located her room, and opened the door. It seemed the definition of tight on Command Station varied considerably from her experiences on warships. A rack, a desk and chair, a separate wash station and enough deck space to stretch out her legs while sitting in a lounge chair in front of a big view screen constituted tight. After polishing her shoes, ironing a blouse and her green trousers, Diosa dressed. It was bad form to keep an Admiral waiting. As she left the room, she snapped the goggle over her right eye.

  ***

  “Have a seat, Sergeant. I’ll tell the Admiral you’re here,” the Navy Lieutenant directed.

  As Diosa stepped away from the desk of the Admiral’s administrative assistant, she slipped off the eye patch. In a seat facing the man’s desk, Warlock let her scanner take readings.

  The Lieutenant projected calm and his signs were flat. Until he typed something into his computer. Then, his heartrate increased and an extra dose of ammonia drifted off the assistant. Focusing on the sounds of the keystrokes, Warlock tried to decipher the words. It was something she’d been trying to do but with spotty results.

  ‘Alberich….’ As a baby speaks by rote and repetition, she heard her name typed so many times, she recognized the sounds. The rest of the message became jumbled.

  ‘…stasis…Alberich…’ was all the Admiral’s reply she could understand.

  “The Admiral is on a conference call,” the Lieutenant lied as demonstrated by his increased heartrate and the heavy expulsion of carbon dioxide. “He wants you to wait. He’ll see you when the call is over.”

  Why keep her waiting and lie about the reason? Based on the definition of stasis, a state of inactivity, and the lie, she decided the Admiral was attempting to intimidate her. As a Striker, she didn’t respond to benign threats so she stretched out in the chair, closed her eyes and attempted to sleep.

  While the left eyelid blocked the light, her right eye flashed red, yellow, orange, blue and white shapes. This was a new stimuli and nothing she could define. When a pair of white circles moved, she opened her left eye. The Navy Lieutenant bent over and reached into a drawer on his desk and the white circles matched the location of his eyes.

  Warlock remained reclined but she didn’t nap. The neurologist had coached her on allowing her mind to learn at its own pace. As a result, she passed the time letting the new stimuli play across her bionic eye without stressing about the meaning.

  “The Admiral will see you now,” the Lieutenant announced nearly an hour later. “You can go right in.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Diosa said as she stood and marched to the inner office door.

  ***

  Admiral Enrico sat behind a large desk in a leather chair raised to the full extent of its base. It was by necessity and design. The director of Command Station’s Medical Division had a diminutive build.

  “Come in Alberich. Stand at ease and take a seat,” the Admiral offered with a wave of a delicate hand.

  “Thank you, sir,” Warlock replied.

  As Diosa sank into a low chair across the deck from Enrico, she noticed the height differences forced her to look up at the Admiral.

  “I’ve been reviewing your medical files,” Enrico stated before asking. “How are you feeling?”

  “Do you mean in general or specifically about the eye, Admiral?” inquired Diosa. She scanned Enrico. He was relaxed as an Admiral should be in his office where he was in command. “I’m fit and the eye doesn’t bother me. I expect you’d like your doctors to examine it.”

  “It was a bold experiment and yes, my team is curious,” admitted the Admiral. “But not just about the prosthetic device. We also care about your wellbeing.”

  With those words, the Admiral’s carbon dioxide output increased as did the sensation of ammonia from his sweat glands. Probing deeper, Diosa focused on the Admiral’s neck. His carotid artery throbbed just above a normal heartbeat.

  “I wanted to see you about some forms. Your surgeons on the Glynis Gavin failed to have you sign a few standard releases,” Enrico explained with a smile and a dismissive wave of his hand.

  But his vital signs told a different story. His blood pressure shot up, the carotid artery flexed, and ammonia filled Warlock’s receptor. Admiral Enrico was nervous beyond the need to have a few forms signed.

  Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich, with four years of service as a Marine and ten more as a Striker, had never signed a consent form for treatment. Her mind might be her own, if she ignored the bionic eye, but her butt belonged to the Galactic Council Marine Corps. It provided food, lodging, clothing and pay. Plus, travel to exotic places where she got to meet and kill interesting people.

  “Just apply your finger prints and sign the screen,” suggested the Admiral as he shoved a pad across his desk. His arm only reached the center of the desk and that’s where the pad lay.

  They both glanced down at the pad then back at each other. All the while, the Admiral’s vitals climbed higher and higher.

  “I’m not sure what I’m sign
ing,” stated Warlock.

  “Just a form,” Enrico replied. “Take the pad and sign it. That’s an order, Master Sergeant.”

  In the Strikers, when someone blustered in an attempt to have you do something, it usually was good for them and bad for you.

  “I’d like a Marine Corps JAG officer to review the form before I sign it, sir,” Diosa explained. “When do you want me to report for the examination?”

  “Didn’t I just give you an order?” threatened the Admiral. “Sign the document, or face charges.”

  “Again sir, with all due respect, I will sign it after a review by a JAG officer,” insisted Diosa. “If you’re going to bring charges, Admiral, I suggest you do it soon. My medical retirement is effective in a matter of days.”

  “Yes, about your medical exam,” the Admiral said dropping his voice as if he was speaking about one thing yet, thinking about something else. “You will be notified about an appointment. Dismissed.”

  When he began the last sentences, his vitals dropped and his heartrate returned to normal. That made Warlock more nervous than when he was excited.

  ***

  “Sign here and here and fingerprints go on the side,’” directed the Gunnery Sargent. “It’s not too late, Master Sergeant Alberich. The Corps hates losing an NCO of your caliber.”

  “Gunny, if they’re not going to let me go into combat, I’d just as soon go fishing,” replied Diosa as she signed the discharge form and placed her fingers on the screen.

  “After your separation medical,” the Gunnery Sergeant informed her. “You’ll be issued travel orders to a planet or station of your choosing. Back pay will be forwarded. Your discharge should take about six days to work its way through the system. Do you enjoy fishing?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Gunny, I’ve never been fishing in my life,” answered Diosa.

  She was four steps from the administration offices when her PID buzzed. I’ll have to get a civilian device, she realized while calling up the message.

  ‘Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich. You are ordered to report to Doctor Everhard’s office on medical deck five at fourteen hundred hours.’

  At least they gave me time to eat before the separation medical, Diosa thought. Then, she pondered the timing and decided it was the examination of her eye by the medical team. She wouldn’t realize, until later, Doctor Livina Everhard wasn’t part of either procedure.

  ***

  The lift stopped on the deck just below the hospital wards and sick bay clinics. Warlock got off the elevator and counted down four doors to one simply marked five zero six. No name or other identifying signs announced the clinic or its purpose. Diosa marched in and presented herself.

  “I’m Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich. I have an appointment with Doctor Everhard,” Warlock said to the receptionist.

  “Of course, Master Sergeant Alberich. It’s the third door,” the muscular Sailor behind the low desk directed. “You can go right in. The Doctor is expecting you.”

  Now with the formalities out of the way, she glanced around at the clinic’s layout.

  The ceiling was high, much higher than you’d expect on a station. Soft light lit the walls leaving the center of the space muted. Music from a stringed orchestra drifted through the air creating a peaceful atmosphere. The outline of a door flush with the wall was the only break on one side of the reception area. While that side had only a closed door, the other side was different.

  Five doors were set in a convex bulkhead. Four were open and Warlock saw green plants along the walls of the offices and nets hanging from the ceiling. The nets gave the effect of lowering the overhead without closing in the room. In the nets were objects and each seemed to have a theme.

  After knocking on door three, Warlock pushed it open and stepped over the threshold.

  ***

  The room lacked the nets and objects. Here the space opened to the high overhead but with a purpose. Pictures decorated the bulkheads from just above the furniture to the ceiling. Two stuffed chairs, a comfortable looking couch, a utilitarian metal desk with an equally basic chair behind it took up only part of the deck space. Sitting in the rigid chair was a tall woman with a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes.

  “Master Sergeant Alberich, do come in and thank you for being prompt,” the woman stated in a direct manner. “Please, take a seat anywhere or stand, whichever you prefer.”

  “I assume, you’re Doctor Everhard,” ventured Warlock. “I’m here but, I don’t know why?”

  “You’re here so we can talk. Do call me Livina. May I call you Diosa?” inquired Doctor Everhard.

  “You’re a doctor and I assume an officer,” replied Diosa. “If you want to drop rank and go by first names, it’s your call.”

  “Excellent and thank you Diosa,” Livina said while indicating a soft chair or the couch.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’ll stand ma’am,” Diosa answered the question of seating. “What are we going to talk about?”

  “Well, that is up to you Diosa. I’ve been reviewing your files,” explained Doctor Everhard. “Is there anything troubling you? You can speak freely, I’m not recording this.”

  Warlock smiled, walked over and, with effort, lifted an upholstered chair. Struggling with the weight, she dropped it in front of the doctor’s desk. Doctor Everhard, to her credit, gave no indication that she was impressed and maybe a little frightened by her patient’s show of strength.

  “Do you mind?” Warlock asked indicating the goggle over her right eye.

  “No, please make yourself comfortable,” Everhard assured her. “Now as I inquired, is there anything you would like to discuss.”

  Warlock uncovered her right eye and twisted her head as if inspecting the pictures on the walls. Settling on one, she stood and walked to a picture of a laughing baby.

  “Does that picture trigger an emotion in you?” asked Everhard. “Do you find it appealing?”

  “It’s sweet,” Warlock said as she lifted her chin. The sound sensor caught the whirl of a recording device higher up on the wall. “But the bloody Marine on the stretcher above it is more profound.”

  “It is moving. Tell me about the picture,” urged Everhard.

  “Well, look at the stretcher. It’s incomplete with only three handles. And the fluid in the bag is whole blood. Field medics don’t carry that,” explained Warlock. “And no one gets transported with a gaping chest wound. It would have been packed before transporting the wounded.”

  “That’s very insightful,” commented Everhard. “But, I find the tragedy of a young person torn and bloody from battle disturbing. What are your feelings about the picture?”

  “Tell me Livina. Did you really read my file?” asked Warlock.

  “I thoroughly reviewed your file starting when you were taken onboard the Glynis Gavin and treated,” Everhard assured her. “I didn’t go back further because I didn’t want my judgement clouded.”

  “And how much of the surgery’s details did you have access to?” Warlock asked.

  “If you are challenging me, Diosa. I know you lost an eye,” Everhard stated. “It’s difficult for a career Marine Master Sergeant to be forced into medical retirement. I know you are suffering and I’m here to listen.”

  Warlock stilled and let her sensors sniff the doctor. There was no sign of excitement or excessive sweating or of a rapidly beating heart. The doctor was as calm inside as her professional exterior.

  “You have yourself a dilemma, Livina,” suggested Warlock.

  Then the door slammed open and a muscular Sailor burst into the room. At first Warlock braced for a confrontation but, the man ran to Doctor Everhard’s deck.

  “We have an armed Sailor on an upper tier of the flight deck. He said he’s going to jump and shoot anybody who tries to stop him,” he blurted out. “The Marines want to close in and kill him. Both his Chief and Lieutenant are demanding you come and talk him down.”

  “Master Sergeant Alberich. Can we continue tomorrow at
zero eight hundred hours?” asked Everhard. “I’d like to hear more about my dilemma.”

  “Absolutely, ma’am,” Warlock assured her.

  Livina Everhard and the Sailor raced from the room. Diosa casually followed them out.

  ***

  Diosa sat her tray of rare roast beef and a salad on a table in the NCO mess. It was early seating and the place mostly empty which was fine as she had to do some thinking.

  Why the Navy wanted her to talk with a shrink was beyond her. Strikers were put through regular batteries of tests to be sure none of them came off the rails. The difference was, the Striker Psychiatrists understood the warrior mentality, and they had background on each member of the team. Livina, bless her well meaning heart, didn’t have a clue what she was dealing with or the extend of Warlock’s surgery.

  On her third bite of roast beef, a civilian suit approached. Without asking, a middle-aged man with grey streaks in his slicked back hair sat across from her.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “This seat seemed to be empty.”

  “There could be a reason,” Diosa suggested. “Maybe, I want to be alone.”

  “This won’t take long, Master Sergeant Alberich,” the man assured her. “We have a mutual friend, Lieke Steyn. And we heard about you taking medical retirement and Stone Angel recommended you.”

  Lieke Steyn, call sign Stone Angel, had been through several rough missions with Warlock. But when the truth about the Constabulary Troops surfaced, he resigned from the Strikers and resumed his previous employment. Lieke and Diosa’s history didn’t have an effect on Warlock’s response.

  “Usually when I get recommended for something, I end up in a very bad place,” Diosa stated.

  “I can’t promise you that won’t happen,” the man acknowledged. “However, Agent Steyn recommended you for our domestic terrorist and anti-saboteur unit. How much shooting it out with bad guys would be up to you.”