On Point

by J. Clifton Slater

The courtyard mirrored the old White’s area. Where many of the Druids at the other courtyard were old having served their plant for years, here there were a score of children running around. As with all Druid offspring, they wacked each other with small, light fighting sticks. It brought back fond memories from my childhood. While I tripped down memory lane, a middle-aged Druid stepped from the vault.

  “I am Murielle,” he said as he approached me. “Elder of this family.”

  “Asthore’ Elder Murielle. Lieutenant Piran of the Galactic Council Navy,” I greeted him. “As a Knight Protector of the Clan, I have words.”

  His eyes shifted to the children then back to me. I wasn’t sure if he was just checking on the young or if he feared having a Knight this close to them.

  It had been a long time since the Druid Council of Elders had appointed a Knight Protector of the Clan. From what I understood, a Knight’s enhancements did exactly that, they heightened the person’s emotional response to situations. Some Knights were mean and cruel before being chosen. Druids and Folks stayed away from them as a matter of course. It minimized the damage when the enhancements kicked in and the person unleashed brutality far beyond their normal antisocial behavior.

  I’m a lightweight when it came to viciousness. Unless I was crossed or someone harmed a Druid or a member of my Clan, my worst fault was my mistrust of authority.

  “The children are beautiful,” I said. “Your family should be proud.”

  “Your words are kind,” Elder Murielle responded. He seemed to relax a little. Although with Druids, it was hard to tell. “Some are from the ancient White, others from the Blue.”

  The Druids had clustered their young at the safest compound. It was a good strategy as long as the Constabulary and the Marines were at a stalemate.

  “I’m here for a report on your situation,” I said. “Gwladys gave me an overview but I wanted your take.”

  “I am honored a Knight would bother,” Murielle replied.

  “Have you ever met a Knight Protector of the Clan?” I asked.

  “No,” he said flatly.

  “Then why the animosity?” I challenged.

  “The tales of brutality have been passed down,” he said.

  The first time I met Elder Gwladys, she expressed reservations about the Counsel of Druid Elders elevating a Knight Protector of the Clan. Because I failed the ritual, I wasn’t privy to Druid lore. I now had an idea of their views on Knights.

  “Report,” I ordered.

  “Our plant feed is growing low. Cat’s hunt. The family’s rations are low,” he replied. “We fear for the children.”

  Druids were preoccupied with the care of the plants and didn’t procreate much. As a result, children were rare and treasured. It made sense that he worried about them.

  “I’ll inform the Druid Elders. I’m going to the Blue Heart,” I said. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “I have no words,” Murielle stated ending the interview.

  ***

  The Marine on the machine-gun jacked the charging arm and shouted. Four riflemen spread out on either side of the heavy weapon. I jogged up the slope conscious of the need to drop if the Constabulary engaged from the far-off hill of the other ion wall.

  “Lieutenant Piran,” I said as two of the riflemen pivoted from the long-range target to my chest.

  “Odd direction you’re coming from, Sir,” a Lance Corporal observed.

  “I was visiting the Druid Compounds,” I explained. “Sergeant Bima can vouch for me.”

  “Yes Sir, just step out of range,” he advised.

  The riflemen followed as we moved to the backside of the hill. In a few second, the Lance Corporal spoke into his headset, nodded and signed off the call.

  “You are free to pass, Lieutenant Piran,” he said while waving the two Marines back to their posts. “Sergeant Bima asks if you need anything.”

  “I’m headed to the other Druid area,” I explained. “After that, I could use a rack.”

  “We don’t have staff for a visiting officers’ quarters,” the Lance Corporal stated. “But we have private quarters in the barracks, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Lance Corporal, that will work,” I acknowledge.

  ***

  Four Marines stood guard at the entrance to the spiral elevator. After they checked my officer’s tab, I entered the lift. The car rose and twisted to a face up position. I climbed the ladder and stepped onto the space mechanics’ changing deck.

  I passed through the lockers and high tables and took a passageway at the back of the changing area. Two Marines sat at monitors while six more lounged on cots. They all stood as I strolled down the corridor.

  “All’s quiet, Sir,” one said indicating the screens. “No sign of the Constabulary.”

  I leaned down to see two cinematic views of Construction station’s exterior deck. Two rotating cameras displayed the ribs of the unbuilt Navy Frigate and a shiny sepulcher. The protective shell of the Blue Heart plant sat midway in the bones of the unbuilt ship like an organ in a skeleton. Inside the metal encasement, the Blue Heart plant and the Druids waited for the Navy to continue work on the ship of war.

  Through the next airlock, I ran into four Druids. While the Marines watched the exterior deck, the Druids watched the Marines.

  “I have words for your Elder,” I announced while pointing to my collar.

  One eyed the Knight’s pin for a second before stepping out of my way. I marched between them heading to the vault door.

  ***

  “Get the children to safety,” the Elder of the Blue’s family said. It struck me as odd he would list their offspring first. “Feed for the Heart plant and rations for my Druids. The cats hunt.”

  After the solid but stoic responses from the White’s caretakers, it was a nice change to hear from the aggressive Blue minder. He’d listed the children first because the Blue Heart plant represented power. With that authority, this Elder had the freedom to put the children first and to make a specific request.

  “If I could, I’d take them out with me,” I said. “But this is a stealth mission. I’ll be lucky to get away myself. Your young are safer on Construction station than dodging Fighters in a Gunship with me.”

  “I have no words,” he stated.

  Chapter 8

  Late in the evening, I pulled the blanket over my head. Outside the door, Marines grunted, yawned and talked as they prepared to go on duty. I ignored the noises and attempted to catch a few more minutes of sleep. It didn’t work. My feet touched the carpeted floor and I shook my head to chase away the drowsiness. After grabbing a towel, I shuffled to the showers.

  ***

  “Sorry Sir,” the Marine said as a half cup of soup splashed into my bowl. “Rationing per Captain Djamila. But, we have crackers and cheese for your dining pleasure.”

  The military for some reason always had an abundance of canned cheeses and vacuum-packed crackers. Other than Marine field rations and Navy energy bars, the most prevalent foods were cheese and crackers. I wondered if our quartermasters were on the manufacturers’ payrolls.

  “Soup and crackers,” I said while picking up a package. “The all Galactic-Council-Realm lunch.”

  He dropped a thick round slice of cheese on my tray. “And to make it dinner, a little dairy on the side.”

  Better than energy bars, I thought, as I walked to an empty table. The soup, what there was of it, was delicious.

  ***

  Twenty-four hours from my last audience, I stood on the platform facing the ancient White Heart plant.

  ‘Messenger, only your hands,’ I smelled.

  “Only my hands, what?” I formed the question in my mind.

  A powerful aroma of sea salt washed over me. So potent in fact, my eyes watered and my senses blurred. When I could refocus, a folded flower burst from the rough bark. The bud grew, enlarged until the petals opened, and the flower bloomed. As I watched, a seed formed. About two hands high and larger around
than my fingers could stretch.

  ‘Messenger, only your hands,’ came the idea again. ‘Carry to my sisters. My essence, memories, remembrances for the forest.’

  I noticed the rough bark with the deep furls soften. The long spikes fell off and began to cover the platform like falling leaves. As if a piece of fruit had been left on a counter to long, the old White Heart began to wilt.

  “What is happening,” cried Gwladys as she watched the beautiful Heart plant settle on itself.

  ‘Young one. I go, leave, fade,’ replied the old White Heart to the Druid Elder. ‘You have been a faithful servant.’

  Gwladys sank to her knees, reached out a hand, and let tears run unchecked down her cheeks. The rest of the Druid family crowded around the inner sanctum and each placed a hand on the decaying trunk. While they mourned, I studied the seed to avoid gawking at the display of raw emotions by the Druids.

  Druids committed their lives to the care of a Heart plant. Gwladys was probably fresh from the Ritual when she arrived. Now years later, her world decomposed and her purpose died. While sad, as a non-Druid, I had no deep connection to the old White Heart. Reaching out, I snapped the stem and lifted the seed out of the flower.

  ***

  I stumbled away from the emotions coursing through the White Heart’s inner area. Mindlessly, I walked until I found myself in the courtyard holding the seed in two hands.

  After a short time, Gwladys limped through the vault doorway pushing two husky Druids in front of her.

  “It is with dignity we mark the passing of the White Heart,” she scolded. “She departs. Our family remains. Our compound guarded.”

  The two must have been on sentry duty. When the White signaled her end, they deserted their posts and went to pay respects. Their Elder wasn’t pleased.

  “What do I do with this?” I asked holding out the seed and offering it to the Elder.

  “Carry it to the Druid homeland, messenger,” Gwladys said as she pushed the seed back to me. “It is her essence. Protected and returned to planet Uno by you.”

  “Look, I’m here to gather intelligence for the Druid Council of Elders and the Navy,” I pleaded. “The Knight thing I work around. Heading off to our home planet before a battle, is not something the Navy will allow.”

  “Most Heart plants pass quietly. They leave no trace besides a rotting husk,” Elder Gwladys explained. “Not in recent memory has one issued a seed. You are her messenger. You will carry it home.”

  “I can’t actually carry it all the way in my hands,” I said. “Do you have a pouch or a case?”

  ***

  Gwladys had offered to send an escort of Druid warriors with me. I turned her down. Looking at the dark and narrow corridor ahead, I almost regretted the decision. On the plus side, I didn’t have to stop and give orders or directions. Of course, for balance, there were Constabulary Troops at the end of the hallway.

  I could backtrack up the three decks I’d navigated to reach this level. But, with the number of Troops lounging and watching any passageway leading from the Marines’ side, it made little sense. As always, there was a positive. Once past the watching Troops, I’d only have to deal with roving patrols.

  The dark alcove I’d ducked into was lined with shelves. Sections of alloy pipes, wires, cables, and joints lay covered in dust. There was little air flow this deep in Construction station so particles in the air simply settled. The grime showed me no maintenance workers had been here for a while, most likely since the invasion. Industrial utilities were built to handle manufacturing stresses. Even so, unless maintained, they would eventually breakdown. When the Galactic Council Navy finally retook the station, there would be a lot of work needed to bring it up to spec.

  I selected a long pipe, tested its value with a few practice swings and lay the pipe back in the dusty outline. Too heavy, I’d do better with my fighting sticks if it came to a fight. I needed to avoid a loud brawl. Marking loud noises and drawing reinforcements for your enemy was bad recon craft. My hand floated over a number of objects and stopped at a fist-sized pipe joint. I wrapped my fingers around it and picked it up.

  After pulling the Knight Protector of the Clan gear from the muffler, I slipped on the Knight’s trousers and the doublet. Then, I jerked down the hood. The dark nook flashed into spectrums of colors, heat and infrared waves. While the ambiance of the alcove and adjacent corridor changed, the status of the three Troops at the end of the passageway remained the same. They stood at their post. This I could clearly see when I stepped around the corner.

  I gripped the pipe joint and strutted towards the Constabulary. Increasing my pace, I covered half the distance. Then I lobbed the pipe joint in a high arching pitch. It sailed over the guards. Just before I reached them, the pipe join clattered loudly on the deck behind them.

  “Grenade! Grenade,” I screamed. “Get down. Down now!”

  The three Constabulary Troops dove to the deck while I broke into a full sprint. As they sprawled on the plating, expecting an explosion any second, I launched myself. Below me, three large bodies lay stretched out with their hands covering their heads. When my boots touched down on the far side of the Troops, my legs churned and I raced away. I didn’t look back.

  ***

  I easily avoided several patrols. Between the patrols’ routes, there were few Constabulary or their Realm collaborators. Before climbing the maintenance ladder to the Gunship deck, I made a note that most of their available forces were occupied with containing the Marines. Although my report lacked specific numbers, it may encourage Command to send reinforcements to the besieged Marines, Naval personnel and station security forces.

  At each level, I peered over the deck before continuing the climb. I only saw one person, and she was Realm. The traitor failed to see me. Six decks up, I spun the wheel and opened a hatch. The familiar corridor was empty and I jogged unnoticed to the revolving doorway. Once through, I headed for the pilots’ changing room.

  ***

  The flight suit restricted my movements and the face mask limited my vision. Flight suits were built to fit pilots to cockpit seats, not to allow Navy Lieutenants to sneak across a taxi deck and up to a tower. I was surprised when I waddled to the lift unchallenged. Still leery, I punched in the Gunship Control Tower floor and, unmolested, exited the car.

  The only guard snoozed against the door to the control room. He was Realm and bored. Good for me, bad for him.

  Once the guard was out of the equation, I turned the door handle and rushed, actually sort of hopped, into the control room. Two men reclined in chairs with their feet on a desk. Without giving them a warning, I crossed the room and tipped them both over backwards.

  I stomped on one’s neck and kicked the other in the head. As the first wheezed, I grabbed the gravity generator bar and slammed it to the off position. Looking out the wrap around windows and down to the flight deck far below, I watched for any movement.

  Two workmen frantically waved their arms up at the Control Tower. Being experienced space mechanics, they stopped gesturing as the zones of gravity faded and they became weightless. Both grabbed safety cables and began pulling hand-over-hand towards the exit hatch.

  I didn’t care about them, they were traitors working for the Empress. I did care about the closest Gunship. Without gravity, the docked Gunships rested on their sleds. After mentally selecting one near the entrance to the control tower, I pushed power to the clam-shell roof. Warning lights began flashing and sirens wailed. The space mechanics, without vac suits, pulled with more enthusiasm.

  Leaning forward, I craned my neck to look up at the roof. A few stars came into view as the halves separated. Small items, papers, tools, and some personal screens vanished through the widening crack. Below, a few of the Gunship sleds rose with the station’s air as it rushed towards space. Satisfied with my work, I smashed the roof controller and twisted off the gravity power bar. I’d be long gone, or dead, before the Constabulary repaired the controls.

  *
**

  The lift’s doors opened and I eyed the five safety cables radiating out from the base of the Control Tower. Grabbing the left most cable, I began pulling myself towards a Gunship dock. Time shouldn’t be an issue as any group coming to investigate would be forced to gear up in vac suits before entering the deck. Still, I hurried as Flight Control would scramble Fighters once they knew my actions were sabotage rather than an industrial accident.

  My body floated and the case containing the seed banged against my side from the twisting of my torso. I made good time and ate up the distance with rapid movements of my shoulders and arms. The dock grew closer and I located the Gunship I wanted. It was newish but docked at a circular mooring. A slightly used model with just a few thousand kilometers on the chassis. Well broken in but primed for an ion wall wrecking, and ion cannon burning escape.

  ***

  I stowed the White Heart’s seed and my Clan gear in cabinets. Then I leaped into the cockpit and triggered power to the ion wall. As with any broken in vessel, it took a second for the ion wall to fully activate. Once it registered a steady flow, I snapped on the ion cannons. Manually rotating the lower tier, I threw power to those three cannons.

  The Gunship’s nose elevated and I applied power to the last six cannons. A little too soon, I discovered, as the undercarriage brushed the center structure of the circular dock. The screeching of alloy against alloy lasted for the full length of the gunship. When the sounds of tortured metal ended, I rotated the ion cannons and went to full power.

  Sections of fuselage, large beams, and oversized units for the construction of warships easily passed through the wide opening. Of course, it was a major operation with weeks of planning to assure safety. For this operation, there was plenty of room for a single Gunship to reach space through the clam-shell roof. Moments after passing the huge doors, I lined up a course and went to exterior drive. Probably for the first time in Construction station’s long history, a warship’s ion trail touched the skin of the station and stretched away pointing towards deep space. Unfortunately for me, the ion tail also pointed out my direction to a flight of Constabulary Fighters.