Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty

by J. Clifton Slater

  He was bored and arrogant and I almost responded to the use of my surname without a title. But, I wasn’t reporting as a Navy Lieutenant, a Reserve Merchant Captain or even a Merchant Navigator. I was coming on Station as a lowly crewman with no clout, so Piran was all I would get.

  “A few weeks of rest and recreation,” I explained, “Figured I’d enjoy the Station before signing on with another ship.”

  “I asked how long,” he growled, “Not your life’s story. You’re authorized a three-week visitor’s visa. You’ll need to apply for an extension if you stay any longer.”

  I was four steps away when the security officer called out to me, “Piran, stay out of trouble on my Station.”

  “Aye, Sir,” I said over my shoulder.

  I so wanted to go back and shove my Navy Officer’s tag in his face. I didn’t, I kept walking to the revolving doors.

  The ex-frame panels rotated slowly and I eased into the gap between two of them. As I did, enriched air flowed in and the pressure increased until my ears popped. On the far side, I stepped away from the door, into the Construction Station.

  A three-tiered platform rose above me. Each platform faced tram rails which passed on their way to three destinations. One ran deeper into the Station, another traveled to construction decks B, C & D. I took the elevator to the third platform and the tram to construction deck A.

  If I was going to mingle with station workers, I needed to be among the largest group possible. A new Navy Frigate was under construction on A deck and that would mean multiple crews. So I entered the tram and it smoothly cruised away from the embarkation platform.

  An escalator carried me down from the tram at the A side platform. I emerged onto a street lined on one side by shops, restaurants and bars. On the other side of the street apartment cubes rose six high. A series of exterior steps connected the higher cubes with the deck, or street as I thought of the floor.

  It was hard to think of the deck as anything other than a street. Wide sidewalks fronted the retail establishments and the center of the roadway was lined to create traffic lanes flowing left to right. Electronic carts traveled by followed by taxis and personal vehicles. The traffic I saw seemed light. As was the foot traffic into and out of the ships. I expected more people and heavier traffic from people working on a capital warship.

  I hailed a cab and ordered it to take me to the A deck entrance. The vehicle left the retail area, climbed a steep rail, turned into a light commercial area with professional offices and repair shops lining one side of the street. A mural painted wall filled the opposite side of the street.

  Some of the paintings were beautiful scenes of tropical islands and others were of icy rivers and nature. A few were imaginative space vistas interspaced with raw graffiti. Tagging at its best or worst depending on your taste in street art. In other words, the wall had something for everyone.

  My mind was wondering when a piece of graffiti caught my eye. It depicted a group of emaciated people around an empty food bin. They were licking scraps of food from their bony hands. The taxi was well past the drawing before it registered, I’d seen that picture before.

  It was now ten blocks behind me and I was doubting I’d actually seen it. The same scene I’d found on the make shift torpedo ship. I filed the idea away as the taxi pulled over and the door opened.

  Chapter 18

  Across the street a block building faced the street. Behind it a serpentine elevator shaft rose twisting into air. It terminated high on the underside of the roof above me. This was the shipwrights’ access portal connecting to the airlocks and changing rooms for the space workers. The building’s lone occupant was a single Galactic Council Marine Corps guard.

  “Good day, Lance Corporal,” I said as I approached.

  “Sir. Can I help you?” he replied from behind his face shield.

  The face plate was clear and tinted blue to match is his dress blue uniform. The Marine Corps’ dress blues are the classist of all military uniforms and many young women and men have been seduced by the stately outfit. You can use your imagination.

  “I need to speak with the Sergeant of the Guard,” I said.

  His duty uniform was completed by a white webbed belt that supported his MC 45 in a white holster and a few ammo pouches. I know one of the pouches was an alert switch. The flex of his elbow triggered the alert. What I didn’t want was a full combat squad arriving and drawing attention to me.

  His face shield now was beaming back everything he saw to the command post. I pulled my tag, held it up too his face plate.

  “Lieutenant Piran, Galactic Council Navy,” I said looking around to be sure no one else was watching, “No emergence, just need a few word with the SOG.”

  “Aye Sir,” he replied, “I believe Sergeant Bima will be here shortly.”

  “I bet he will,” I said moving away but staying in the Marine’s vision and remotely in view to the command post.

  A lone Marine guard is a reflection of The Galactic Council authority and might. However, a lone guard is also a target for the same reasons. While he or she appears alone, there is always as Sergeant, Officer and Fire Team moments away if someone wants to test that strength.

  The vehicle was an ordinary looking carryall. A boxy rear fit for hauling cargo or six armored Marines and the glass in the windshield was triple thick. Thick enough to withstand an explosive blast. Looks can be deceiving unless like me, you were a former Galactic Council Marine Corps’ Sergeant. I knew the truck was designed for urban warfare transportation.

  Seeing that type of vehicle on Construction Station was a surprise, the Sergeant who stepped out of the passenger side wasn’t. He was on the short side and looked trim and fit in his spotless dress blues. The secret to measuring a diminutive man was to look at his hands. He may not carry slabs of showy muscles but the efforts at being super fit always showed in the hard, callused hands.

  Sergeant Bima’s hands were clawed like talons on a bird of prey. And his eyes scanned the area taking in the situation without much head movement. Bima in a silky, smooth kind of way was terrifying. The ribbons and medals displayed on his uniform were testimony to his ferocity.

  “Lieutenant Piran,” was his only greeting.

  “Sergeant Bima,” I replied.

  We stood for a few heartbeats until he said, “If that’s all? Sir.”

  Some people jaw, some people hesitate, and some were hard charging, the type you wanted standing guard while you slept. Bima was the latter and the Galactic Council Realm was at peace because Marine’s like Bima were never at peace.

  “Sergeant, I’m doing a little sneak and peak for the Council,” I lied.

  The lie was I represented the Druid Elders Council, not the Galactic Council. But on my level, in this small segment of the Realm, it wouldn’t matter.

  “Aye Sir,” he said.

  His hand hit my elbow and I spun around ending up facing the cold metal bulkhead. From the corner of my eye, I saw the Marine guard take a step toward us.

  “Did I relieve you of your post Marine?” Bima asked the guard.

  “Ah, no Sergeant,” the guard replied, “I just thought.”

  “You don’t get paid to think,” my capturer instructed, “The Marine Corps’ handbook has all the knowledge already thought out for you. Example, what is your 5th General Order?”

  “Sergeant. The 5th General Order is to quit my post only when properly relieved,” the Marine replied.

  “See, no thinking required, now get back to your post,” Bima ordered and to me he whispered, “Sorry for the treatment, Lieutenant, but we’re under observation.”

  “No worries Sergeant, I really just needed some guidance on where the workers, make that the less savory workers, hang out.”

  “There’s your first challenge, Sir, you wouldn’t find them on the A side,” he said as he ran a hand over me as if he were checking for weapons.

  “But the A side is building a Navy Frigate,” I said, “This side should be c
rawling with workers.”

  “There’s your second challenge, Sir. About three months ago, the Council decided to refocus the building effects to smaller ships. This side is nearly deserted,” he reported stepping back and allowing me to turn around.

  “Smaller ships?” I asked not understanding why the Navy would allow the Council to halt the progress of a Frigate in order to build smaller ships.

  “Aye, Sir. You’ll find the bulk of the work crews on the Alphabet side,” he said roughly taking my arm and running a hand scanner over my PID, “You can start in the Breached Plate. It’s a bar on the B, C, D, E side of the station.”

  “You say you’re under observation,” I said rubbing my wrist where he’d grabbed it. I was only half play acting, he had a grip like a vice.

  “Strangers wandering by at odd times,” he said, “Windows half opening on a regular bases and the same vehicles cruising my posts. None of them professional. My Marines are well trained so we know them and have their timing down. You didn’t fit the profile and my Lance Corporal thought you were a new threat.”

  He was keying in letters to his scanner and acting as if it wasn’t working properly. I could see the screen. It had already pulled up my credentials. He was delaying.

  “Final question Sergeant,” I said slouching against the wall as I imagined a thug would do, “Know anything about the graffiti on the walls. Specifically, the drawing of the starving people about fifteen blocks back?”

  “I’ve seen it,” he replied, “There are a few more like around the Station. Initials by the tagger are GWR. No clue to what they stand for.”

  “Thanks for your help,” I said stiffening up, “Appreciate it if my presence and rank didn’t get onto the net.”

  “I’ve got you covered Lieutenant. I’ve been undercover. Don’t envy you,” he said stepping back and indicating that I should move away, “And don’t come around harassing my Marines again. If you know what’s good for you.”

  I slinked away, scolded, put in my place with a little more knowledge then when I arrived. Using my PID, I hailed a taxi and ordered it to the tram station.

  The tram trip was actually longer then my journey to the A side. The alphabet side required the tram to climb around the center of Construction Station. Up and over the core where the Heart Plants and the two Internal drives resided, until the tram leveled off and I arrived at the BCDE deck.

  A long escalator ride down and I stepped into a bustling mass of humanity. The street was crowded and pedestrians had to use cross walks to move from the apartment side to the shops and dining establishments. I pulled up the address of the nearest hotel and shoved my way in that direction.

  Bilal had dark, wet eyes and a smile that creased the flawless skin around her mouth. Her dark hair, mid length, was black as space and her uniform was form fitted to accent the curvature of her hips.

  “Welcome to Hotel Imperial,” she said as I walked across the lobby to her station, “Can I help you?”

  ‘Why, yes ma’am, you can,’ I thought looking at her attributes. Stop, I’ve been in space far too long.

  “I need a room for, I guess, about three weeks,” I replied.

  “Orange or Brown?” she asked.

  “Orange or Brown? I don’t understand,” I said as confused as if I didn’t speak Realm.

  “Orange?” she said pointing to the door where I’d entered, “Or Brown?”

  She moved her arm until it pointed towards the opposite side of the lobby. I looked at the door I’d used and outside was light and the sidewalk full of people. A quick turn and I looked at the Brown door. Outside it was dark with the only illumination being from a few street lights.

  “The Station runs alternating day and night. It’s day time for Orange workers,” she explained, “and it’s night time for Brown workers. In about five hours, the light will fade on Orange and it’ll be dawn in Brown. Orange or Brown?”

  “I’m not working, just a tourist, so either is fine with me,” I said then thought of something, “Which side has the best food?”

  “We get that a lot from first time visitors,” she said flashing rows of even white teeth, “All the establishments have two doors, one Orange and one Brown. So, we’re all open day or night depending on which side you enter from. Understand?”

  “Convenient for the workers. They don’t have to worry about shops being closed when they’re off shift,” I said, “Give me Brown so I can catch a few hours of sleep.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she replied sliding a card key across the counter to me, “Enjoy your stay at Hotel Imperial.”

  Chapter 19

  The room was on the third level with a small balcony overlooking a street with spotty light from lanterns. It was the middle of the night in Brown while on the other side of the hotel, it was fully light in Orange. I pondered this as my eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep.

  Light poured in the window and edged across my pillow. As it neared me, I opened my eyes and be held the wonder of a sun traversing the sky over a planet. The light crept forward until it fully encased my head.

  It was a beautiful display of digital light manipulation. I stretched and snapped out of the illusion. GWR, the initials on the graffiti was a puzzle. It was more important for the Galactic Council and not part of my Druid duties as near as I could figure. But, I couldn’t shake the uneasiness of seeing the image from an unknown ship here on Construction Station.

  In the lobby, I glanced at the Orange door and sure enough it was dark and deserted beyond the well-lit lobby. Turning away, I pushed out into a crowded street on the Brown side. Food, specifically a knife and fork breakfast, was first on my agenda.

  Before I could locate a diner, I saw three Druids strolling down the sidewalk. Crossing the street, I picked a corner of an apartment cube and watched.

  They were still a good distance away allowing me the opportunity to watch the crowd’s reaction. Most people ignored the tall brown robes. A few smiled as they passed. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until they came abreast of two scruffy looking men. Both turned their backs to the Druids and faced a glass window display.

  They were really focused on the display. Then I realized they were following the reflection of the Druids in the glass. They weren’t window shopping for pink dresses, or maybe they were. When the Druids were by them, the two men quickly scurried away in the opposite direction.

  Druids serve as Judges in the Galactic Council Realm legal system and criminals often go out of their way to avoid Druids. Most likely, the two men had history with my Clan Brothers.

  The Druids were right across the street from my observation post. I was losing interest and about to turn away when three men hurried across the street and rushed to a position in the path of the Druids. Once there, they turned their backs on the rapidly advancing Druids and stopped.

  As the three figures closed the distance, I tensed. If weapons were drawn, as a Knight Protector of the Clan, I was sworn to intercede. It would destroy my cover, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  Then a strange thing happened. As the Druids reached the trio, they split apart and moved around the three men. Nice of the usually privileged Druids to give way and bypass a situation that was an obvious provocation. That wasn’t the strange part, it was when two of the men, untouched, loudly through themselves to the sidewalk.

  The center man stood with a look of horror on his face and an accusing arm out stretched towards the backs of the moving Druids.

  “Did you see that?” he shouted, “The brown robed devils just assaulted my friends. Can we do anything about it? No, because the Druids, damn them, are our Judges and juries. Did you see that?”

  I studied him as he continued his rant while helping his friends to their feet. He was big with broad shoulders and sandy colored hair. As the two rose, they joined in his rant. Except, their vices were lower and their ire was halfhearted. A small crowd gathered but quickly dispersed.

  Once the three were alone, the big guy
handed the two victims a wad of Pesetas and shove them towards an escalator. It was the first time I focused on them. They wore brown work uniforms.

  The Druids had disappeared down the street. Probably aware of the disturbance, but as was their way, ignoring the commotion. I decided breakfast could wait while I followed the instigator.

  The sandy haired man led me on a fast walk to a bar. I selected a dark corner of the bar. Beer’s liquid bread with yeast, water and grain. Plus, it’s delicious.

  My man went to a table, ordered a round of drinks for the occupants, had a few words with them and moved to another table. He repeated the drinks and talk at three other tables before heading for the door. I was quickly on his tail.

  After three more bars where he bought drinks and voiced the complaint about the Druids’ assault on poor working men, he left through the Orange door.

  If I followed him, he’d see the light when I opened the door. Not wanting to lose him, I rushed out of the Brown door and ran to the neighboring establishment. Inside, I inhaled the spicy aroma and almost stopped. Four beers on an empty stomach isn’t a good way to start the day. Ignoring my hunger, I wove between tables and eased out of the Orange door.

  A night scene greeted me. Low illumination lanterns cast pools of light up and down the street. My man was nowhere to be seen. My hand instinctively reached for the Clan Strap inside the plan bag. I could track him.

  “Ah come on baby, give us a smooch,” a male voice mumbled.

  “Stop it honey,” a girl said with a laugh.

  The love birds were sitting at a table in the dark on the other side of the door. No Knight action this time, I thought. I turned and reentered the restaurant. The aroma filled my nose and this time I yielded to the culinary temptation. Double portions plus dessert, I was famished and needed something to soak up the alcohol.

  Aimlessly strolling the streets after eating, I looked for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing happened so I decided to take Sergeant Bima’s suggestion and find the Breached Plate.