“Specialist Tassila jumped to her death when I went to confront her about instances of sabotage,” I stated.
“Really? Maybe this will help you reevaluate your statement,” he said as he switched on the screen again.
***
Chief Silvan appeared sitting in probably the same bare room as Siham.
“Tell us about the first time you met Lieutenant Piran,” demanded Gnatia.
“Yes, Sir. I went to Lieutenant Siham’s office to report on two damaged Fighters,” Silvan said.
“And how did Lieutenant Piran react to the news about damaged Fighters,” Gnatia inquired.
“He got excited, Sir. Like it was the best news he’d heard all year,” Silvan recited.
Commander Gnatia’s methods became clear at that point. Once he proved he could get me convicted of murder, he’d press for a confession on his traitor theory. He was building a picture of me as a turncoat seeking to kill a cutout person to hide my real purpose. What I couldn’t figure out was why the conspiracy angle?
“Turn it off Commander and let’s talk,” I suggested.
Never have I seen a man’s face go from a scowl to sheer joy so quickly. I wasn’t sorry to disappointment him.
***
“Tell me Gnatia, why do you think I’m a traitor?” I asked. “If you were just investigating the death of Specialist Tassila, I’d have been interviewed and released. Speaking of that, I’m AWOL from my unit.”
“I messaged Major Wahid that you were assisting in the investigation,” Gnatia said with a chuckle. “You, Lieutenant Piran, are a double agent. Naval intelligence knows you faked the report from the mission. It didn’t take much to connect the dots and find a motive for your killing of Specialist Tassila.”
“I faked the report?” I gasped. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you want a resupply mission to move forward so the Constabulary can capture or kill the Marines and take the supplies,” Gnatia explained. “Naval intelligence believes that Construction station is lost. Based on the number of enemy flights around the station, there is no way any resistance could survive. As for your miraculous escape, pure bunk. You couldn’t pull that off without help from the Constabulary.”
Confirmation bias was always a problem for intelligence personnel. Too often an analyst reviewed data and drew results that fit a preconceived idea. With no contradictory information coming from Construction station, due to the signal blackout and radio jamming, naval intelligence reached a conclusion. My report clashed with the official line of the Empress’ forces being in total control of Construction station. Thusly, I must be a collaborator.
“Every word of my report is true,” I stated. “If you and the Navy ignore it, more Marines, Sailors and Realm citizens will die.”
“Your report Lieutenant Piran is an odd mix of conjectures and specifics,” Gnatia responded. “Like any good tall-tale, you put too much information in the lie. But, what tipped them off to your deception were the detailed side notes and the holes in your report. For example, how would you know about an ambush of a Marine unit but leave out what happened to the Constabulary machine gun? Or, how would you know what the Druids were thinking but neglect details on your movements?”
I couldn’t reveal details about the use of my Knight’s gear or my ability to communicate with the Heart plants. My report did have specifics a normal report lacked and, for sure, a lot of missing information about my movements. Naval intelligence interpreted these as confirming their suspicions. I was trapped between reality and things I couldn’t explain.
“We have you for murder. You might as well confess to being an agent for the Constabulary,” Gnatia said dramatically. “Things will go easier for you.”
I couldn’t fault the dedication of the political officer even if he’d watched too many police videos. We were at an impasse and ended up in a staring contest.
***
A polite knock on the door, before it opened, announced the arrival of a naval officer.
“Commander Gnatia. I’m Lieutenant Koloman from the JAG office,” the newcomer stated.
“Good. Do you have the charges finalized?” Gnatia asked.
“No, Sir. I’m here to inform you the charges have been denied by headquarters Judge Advocate General,” Koloman related. “Lieutenant Piran is to be released immediately.”
“There must be some mistake,” protested Gnatia. “I’m still investigating the death of Specialist Tassila and a possible connection to the Constabulary.”
“Sir. You are free to continue, but Lieutenant Piran has been granted immunity,” the JAG officer explained.
Gnatia snatched up his three screens and marched stiff backed to the hatch. Before he left, the political officer turned to me.
“There is something odd about you Piran,” Gnatia declared before vanishing through the doorway.
Lieutenant Commander Gnatia had no idea how right he was. I looked at the JAG officer and rattled the cuffs.
“I’ll summons the Marines, Knight Protector,” Koloman promised as he turned and left the room.
Many Druids joined the military. Apparently, some became lawyers and JAG officers.
Chapter 12
I went directly from the brig deck to my quarters and a hot shower. As I dressed in a fresh duty uniform, my PID pinged.
‘J-Pop. Need help with an investigation. Are you available?’ the message read.
The brief message from General Tuulia gave no details. It was vague by necessity. The Marine Corps Reserve General was in charge of the secret POW camp on planet Dos. I knew about the Constabulary Troops in the camp because I put together the plan that capture them.
‘Unavailable,” I typed back. ‘Suggest you seek out Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich. The Striker team leader is convalescing on Dos’ transit station. Call sign Warlock.’
Time and circumstances prevented me from going to planet Dos and helping the General. My duties with the Strikers, hopefully a mission to Construction station, took precedence over some obscure investigation. And, I still had to decide what to do with the White’s seed.
Warlock on the other hand, had time on her hands as she recovered from injuries suffered on a mission, top secret clearances, and she was good at putting together obscure pieces of information. Plus, Master Sergeant Alberich was a shuttle ride away from planet Dos and the POW camp.
Twenty minutes later, after our messages were filtered through the Heavy Cruiser’s communications center and the Galactic Council Realm net, I received an answer.
‘J-Pop. As always, I will take your advice,’ General Tuulia replied.
***
“Come in Lieutenant,” Folkert called from his office.
I’d gone to see the Admiral to let him know I was free from the political officer’s investigation. When I reported to his aide, he noticed me and called out.
“Piran, get in here. Take a seat,” the Admiral ordered. Then he called the Major, “Wahid, if you have a minute.”
“On the way, Sir.”
Seconds later, the Major marched in and took the seat next to mine.
“I was about to go and find you, J-Pop,” Wahid explained. “Commander Gnatia is taking his new duties a little too seriously. I caught him questioning the other Striker pilots trying to get them to say negative things about you. I confronted him and he tried it with me. Typical Navy POG, he doesn’t understand esprit de corps.”
“If you are finished denigrating the ship’s political officer, let’s bring Lieutenant Piran up to speed,” suggested the Admiral.
“Sorry, Sir. We held an all staff meeting for the Striker teams and the pilots,” the Major stated. “Here’s the short version. The Druid Council of Elders believes every word of your report. Navy command believes naval intelligence’s negative view of your report. So far, the Galactic Council hasn’t gotten involved. We’re going to run full loadout drills in preparation for a relief mission to Construction station.”
“I’ll pilot a
shuttle,” I said volunteering again for the more dangerous assignment.
“That’s not going to happen,” Admiral Folkert advised. “I require my best pilots in Gunships flying and protecting my Strikers”
“You have two hours to get something to eat and rest,” Major Wahid added. “We’ll be running the loadout for as long as it takes to get proficient.”
In other words, the Strikers and their pilots would be rehearsing preparations, boarding and disembarking their ships for hours. It was more to keep the Striker detachment busy than to practice those mundane tasks.
“Dismissed, Lieutenant Piran,” the Admiral ordered.
“If Gnatia bothers you again,” advised the Major. “Let me know.”
I left the office in high spirits. Even if there was no mission, the anticipation of drilling for one elevated my attitude. As I exited the Admiral’s suite of offices, I thought of the Marines on Construction station desperately holding out against the Constabulary and their collaborators. I felt good that someone was planning a mission. I did, until two Druids met me at the lift.
“Speak your words,” I ordered.
“Departure lounge, exterior flight deck,” one replied.
“You want me to go to the departure lounge at the exterior flight deck?” I asked in frustration. Druids were notoriously bad at delivering full messages.
“Yes, courier,” the other answered.
There was an additional piece of information. He called me courier, not Knight or Lieutenant. From the response, I suspected the request had something to do with the White Heart plant’s seed. I was partially right.
***
The Elouan drifted into view. I watched through the deck-to-ceiling porthole as the long ion tube on the front of the Yacht appeared. Soon the pitted fore section slid by and a space tech attached mooring lines. The Yacht eased to a stop and the tech connected an air-lock tube to the side and extended the flimsy tunnel to the Heavy Cruiser. I hated air-lock tubes.
Once the passengers, no doubt Druids in transit to An Tiodhlac Òir, cleared the passageway, I’d go on board and greet Captain Tanguy. Tanguy was a crusty old space pilot. I liked him and was looking forward to seeing him again.
The first person through the air-lock tube was a Druid. However, unlike most Druids, he wore short swords strapped to his hips. They weren’t disguised as sheers, they were sheathed and hung from a combat harness. On his back rested a large shield. This also was a departure from standard Druid equipment. The shield wasn’t disguised as a small watering pan. To confirm this Druid was a warrior, he carried pistols outside his robes.
Every tool the Druids used to care for a Heart plant was designed to be used as an offensive or defensive weapon. With this Druid, the pretense was discarded. The tools stripped of their gardening uses now showed their true purpose.
Even the identifiable dress of the Druids had been converted. The robe was still brown but something made it shiny and stiff in spots. I guessed Kevlar layers at hard points. From a free-flowing barrier, the Druid’s robe had been converted to body armor.
Behind the first Druid, I counted forty-nine more similarly equipped warriors. Then a pack of eight extremely large space cats bounded through the air-lock tube and sprang to the departure lounge deck. While the warriors lined up in military ranks, the cats took up positions at the four corners of the Druid formation. The whole affair demonstrated training and discipline.
It seemed the Druids, unlike the Navy, were ready to take the fight to the Empress’ Royal Constabulary. I took a step towards the mouth of the air-lock tube and my PID buzzed. It was time to get ready for the Striker drill. My visit with Captain Tanguy would have to wait for later.
***
Members of the Strike-Kill teams had it the worst. While the pilots ran preflight checks, and walled around their ships doing visual inspections, the men and women in the teams had to spread out every piece of their equipment. The gear was gone over first by their team leader, then Major Wahid pawed through each pouch, weapon, sword, and piece of armor. Finally, Admiral Folkert would arrive to give a speech and inspect the team.
I sat in the cockpit watching the mindless and seemingly never-ending inspections. Seven times now, a Striker team had repacked their equipment, dressed for combat and climbed onboard my Gunship.
“Welcome to the quickest and most boring flight you’ll ever take,” I joked as the team boarded.
“Will there be refreshments?” one of the big Ground Element Strikers asked.
“Absolutely. All the energy bars you want,” I teased. “Please strap in and prepare for the big circle.”
“More like the big circus,” added a Sky Element.
Flight control would bring the sled to an intake tube and I’d warn the Striker team about us entering the first air curtain.
Seven times we repeated the drill and every time, before the Gunship moved through the air curtain, I’d get the same message.
“J-Pop, secure from simulated launch,” the bored voice radioed. “You will be moving to the dock.”
And again, the Gunship and sled would float from the intake tube to my berthing area.
“Secure from mission segment,” I reported to the Strikers. “Good work.”
“It would be good if you’d find us someone to shoot at,” the team leader replied as he unstrapped.
“You know, I’ve located six patches on the skin of this ship,” I bragged. “And eight scratches.”
“Oh, good on you, J-Pop,” the other Sky Element said as he hopped to the ground.
The five Strikers shuffled back to their staging area and began unpacking their equipment. Then an exterior hatch opened and Druid Warriors floated onto the flight deck. The long robes hid their feet giving the appearance of levitating over the deck. I knew it was a practiced walk used to impress Folks because I was raised around Druids. What I’d never witnessed was fifty Druids drifting stately in formation across a deck.
***
Six of the Striker teams were pulled from the line and replaced by six Druid teams. There was parity as both the Druid Warriors and the Strikers used five-member groups. I watched as my Strikers were replaced by a Druid team.
Things were about to get interesting. Maybe I could learn where the Druids trained and a little about their specialty and purpose. There was no question about their skills with the weaponry. They were Druids.
I strolled around my Gunship looking for other flaws in the skin. After a few jokes with the pilots of adjacent Gunships, I climbed into the cabin and pulled out my clan strap. There was no reason other than when I was near Druids, things got tense.
A sheep dog came to mind. While the dog would defend the sheep against wolves with its life, most of the time, the dog herded the sheep. Now imagine the sheep were armed to the teeth and had bad attitudes.
***
I finished preflight and looked up in time to see a team of Druids heading for my Gunship. Their hoods were down.
“Asthores’, welcome to the quickest and most boring flight you’ll ever take,” I said as they climbed into the cabin.
I shouldn’t have as Druids weren’t known for their sense of humor. But I was bored with the drill and sticking it to a new group of passengers pleased me.
“You are only the pilot,” one, obviously the team leader, mumbled. “So, pilot.”
I concentrated and a few thoughts from the Druid team came to me.
‘Folks know nothing.’ / ‘Nervous about the mission.’ / ‘Trained for this.’ / ‘Ready to fight.’/ ‘Brace up.’ / ‘Hungry.’
Other than the first thought, the rest were just the sort of thinking you’d get from combat troops before any mission. I snatched a handful of energy bars from a cabinet and ducked out of the cockpit. After handing each of the Druids a bar, I squeezed back into my seat. Of course, no one thanked me. I got my satisfaction from the sounds of chewing and crunching that drifted to me from the cabin.
I snapped the harness into place and began
to call Flight Control. From out of my forward view screen, I made out Major Wahid and one of the shuttle pilots striding across the deck. The Major was waving for me to hold.
***
“J-Pop. The relief mission to Construction station is a go,” the Major explained. “The Galactic Council just sent word.”
“Sir, that’s the best news I’ve heard today,” I said with a smile. “And, good news for the Marines when we get there.”
Wahid had motioned me to come down from the Gunship. To my surprise, while I walked to the Major, the shuttle pilot climbed into the ship and took my place.
“Well there is bad news, at least for you, J-Pop,” the Major said lowering his voice to relay the seriousness of his words. “Naval Command will not allow you to fly the mission. They’re still hung up on your report.”
I was shocked and wrestled with what to say next.
“But you’ll know the truth when the convoy breaks through,” I stated. “Major, you need me on that Gunship. I need to be in this fight.”
“The Admiral and I realize that. You’re to meet with Lieutenant Commander Gnatia in the officer’s mess,” Wahid directed. “Once the mission launches, I’ll be there for lunch. And to be sure he doesn’t try to lock you up again.”
The Major’s offer was generous. For him to take time during an active mission to babysit me touched my heart.
“Major Wahid, your Strikers and pilots will be going into combat,” I said. “I know for a fact you’ll be too nervous to eat. I can handle the political officer by myself. By the way, what is the Navy’s regulation for beating the snot out of a superior officer?”
“I wouldn’t know Lieutenant Piran,” he replied with a smile. “I’m a Marine and we wouldn’t consider such a thing. However, if Lieutenant Commander Gnatia gets out of hand, let me know. A peer to peer confrontation isn’t out of the question. Now, get off my flight deck.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
As I shuffled across the deck towards the hatch, I tossed a salute at the Striker teams and the Druid Warriors.
***
“The chicken fried steak is delicious,” I said as Gnatia marched up to my table. “But the mashed potatoes leave a lot to be desired. Grab a tray and join me.”
On Point Page 14