Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty

by J. Clifton Slater

  The flicker of a shadow moved over me. That alerted me to a body dressed in dark clothing, moving to my right. I swept the legs and arched my sticks over hand into the body as it fell to the street. It made a nice sold sound as it smacked into the deck. Following up, I drove a knee into the head and pounded the butt ends of my sticks into the center of its chest. That’s when I felt the cloth. Druid robes have a unique feel and it felt just like a Druid robe.

  ‘Why would a Druid attack me in the dark?’ I pondered as I peered around for another attacker. Druids almost never traveled alone so my caution was warranted. After a few minutes, no one came to the attacker’s rescue.

  I stowed the sticks and drug the body under a lantern. It looked like a Druid robe and felt like a Druid robe although the man inside didn’t fight like a Druid. No self-respecting Druid would go down from a simple leg sweep.

  “Wake up,” I said gentle tapping his cheeks, “Wake up.”

  He moaned, shook his head and grinned up at me. His teeth were bad which seemed odd considering his physique. Definitely not a Druid but still a thickly muscular man capable of doing damage in a fight.

  “The Druids strike again,” he laughed and asked, “Did I hurt him much?”

  The idiot didn’t remember getting knocked out. He was confused.

  “Who do we report too?” I asked hopping to get a name before he realized his mistake.

  Too late, he began to shove me trying to escape. I punched hard and his head bounced off the street. Lights out again, I hoped he wake up just as confused. I didn’t get the opportunity to question him.

  Feet pounding, flashlight beams blurring my vision, hands pulling me off the attacker and a command voice giving contrary orders, “Don’t move. Station security. Move away from that man.”

  They pulled me to my feet and pinned me to the wall. All the while a light was in my face preventing me from seeing.

  “I can explain,” I began.

  “Shut up,” the voice ordered.

  “Sergeant. Looks like fake Druid stuff in the bag,” a younger voice said from beyond the light.

  Great, he’d rifled through my bag and found my Knight Protector of the Clan gear. Hopefully, they wouldn’t realize what it was before I got this mess cleared up.

  “This one’s in bad shape,” a voice low to the ground reported, “Bleeding from the back of his head.”

  “Ambulance is on the way,” yet another voice reported.

  My hands were clamped tightly behind me and I was shoved into the back of a van. The doors closed and I was alone with my thoughts.

  The only thing I had to report to the Druid Council was their undercover agent was an idiot. Well there was the street incitement to turn people against Druids. And, the attacker disguised as a Druid. But overall I didn’t have a ring leader or even a suspect other than the sandy haired guy. No solutions, equals failure.

  It was almost comical when the security team booked me into the brig. Not spending the night in jail or the questioning that I endured between cell times. It was when they drug me in front of a Druid judge.

  Imagine you are a stately Druid steeped in the law with years of practice under your robe. Now, here comes a suspect in dirty cloths, with rings around his eyes from a sleepless night, accused of beating a man dressed as a Druid.

  It should be a slam dunk conviction. All the galley watching could see the guilt in the suspect. The security officers standing by as witnesses could attest to the man’s guilt. Even the court clerk, who’d read the charges, was convinced of the man’s guilt.

  Now, the bailiff carried in the accused’s personal belongings. She walked to the evidence table and dumped the gear. Out fell a Knight of the Clan strap with a pouch and bag. Next on the table were a few Pesetas, a card key for the Hotel Imperial, three hats and two pairs of sunglasses. Lastly, a Knight Protector of the Clan collar pin spilled onto the table…

  Birthe, the Druid Judge, stared for a second before issuing orders to the bailiff, “Repack the belongings and hand them to me. Prosecuting attorney, see me in chambers. Hold the prisoner until I call for him. Now clear the courtroom.”

  Chapter 21

  I was chuckling and almost out of the Justice Deck when the Navy Commander arrived.

  “Lieutenant Piran?” he asked.

  I just knew the Navy wanted a piece of me for street fighting. Judge Birthe was bound by tradition to render a Knight of the Clan aid, so all charges were dropped. The Navy had a totally different tradition and it could cost me my career as a pilot.

  “Yes, Sir,” I replied.

  My hand was a meter from the exit hatch and freedom.

  “Glad I caught you. I’m in command of Navy Flight Operations and we have a new ship, the DS GunShip,” he said, “Name’s Celio and I need a test pilot.”

  “The DS GunShip is the Navy’s answer for the recent increase in Piracy,” Commander Celio explained the next day, “We backed off on capital ships. They can’t cover enough territory. While Patrol Boats are good, the manpower requirements are prohibitive. The Deep Space GunShip is perfect. No wasted crew on this bird. Five specially trained combat troops and a pilot, hopefully one with Fighter experience. That’s the whole crew.”

  We were standing at an observation port looking across construction deck E. I studied the Navy’s newest design. The DS was close to the shape of a GunShip if the ship was on steroids and fat. Or a Patrol Boat if you had it on a starvation diet. In other words, the Deep Space GunShip was right in the middle of the two.

  “I need a pilot to take her to the range and run her through her paces,” he explained, “You’re perfect because when you report to Navy Special Operations, you’ll be the pilot of one of these. Let’s get you to the flight simulator.”

  And that’s how I ended up here closing in on the Armory Station. The DS handled differently than other Navy vessels. Her ion wall was shoved back to make room for long range crew comfort. Behind the ion drive, were two recon pods. In her nose were directional guns and four missile tubes while on each side were automatic guns. She’d out gun a Patrol Boat and turn like a Fighter. The only flaw was you would really mess up your combat troops if you flew like one.

  “Armory Station,” I called, “DS 1 requesting a test load, negative, request a full load and clearance to the missile range.”

  “I’ve got you DS 1, use bay three,” the Control Officer replied.

  The DS closed the distance, dropped momentum and I eased her into the loading bay. Munition bots and articulating arms shoved ammo boxes and a variety of missiles into my bunker. I dialed up the systems and watched as the load out filled the screens.

  “DS 1, stand by,” Control called.

  “What’s the hold up?” I asked.

  “I’ve got two Patrol Boats coming through the range,” Control reported.

  “Control, I don’t mean to be a stickler for semantics, but do you mean Patrol Boats on the range?” I cringed at questioning a superior officer.

  “No, they’re crossing the range,” he admitted, “Dumb of them. If you were an hour earlier, they’d be in among your targets.”

  I had a bad feeling. I don’t know of any Navy pilot who would intentionally take a short cut across a missile range. Most of us would rather spend an extra day in flight rather than risk getting shot during someone’s practice run.

  “Control, I need two things,” I said hoping for at least one of them.

  “DS 1, seeing as you’re our guest unnecessarily for the next hour, I’ll try to accommodate you,” Control replied, “What do you need?”

  “First, run a full scan on the Patrol Boats. You’re looking for any deviation from the standard Galactic Council Navy profile,” I said, “Secondly, slave my scanners to the Station’s so I can have a look.”

  “I can patch our scanners to you no problem,” Control said, “It’ll take a few to get clearance from Command to run a full scan.”

  Before he finished speaking, my scanners exploded with new informa
tion. I struggled for a minute refining the feed until it narrowed to the missile range sector. The Patrol Boats were merely two blips on the screen. I didn’t have enough fed for a profile. Then one of the blips turned on a course directly towards the Armory Station.

  “Control, what’s the status on the full power scan?” I asked.

  “Command is holding a meeting to decide the proper course of action,” Control reported.

  I could hear the frustration in his voice. My system, I switched to scan the area around Construction Station. The closest Navy Patrol Boat was two days away while the unknown Patrol Boats were hours away from the Armory Station and a few more hours from the main station. The bad feeling grew and clawed at my gut.

  I hit the test switch for a missile tube and triggered a trouble dynastic test.

  “Control, I’m showing a hot missile, request permission to move away from the Station for safety reasons,” I said with just enough strain in my voice to make it convincing.

  “DS 1, you’re on a test flight, permission granted,” Control said rushing his words, “Good luck.”

  I powered up and eased out of the bay. Once clear, I poured on power and set an intercept course for the blip. The kill switch ended the missile tube emergency.

  “DS 1, what is your status?” Control asked.

  “Issue resolved,” I replied, “Moving to the range.”

  “Rodger, but you are not cleared for weapons, repeat, DS 1 is not cleared for weapons,” he repeated, “We have friendly traffic on the range.”

  Friendly traffic on the range like a friendly galactic size pimple on my backside. You may have an enemy warship closing on your location while Command holds a meeting about running a full power scan. You may have a lot of things, but common sense in the chain of command wasn’t one of them. I tightened my harness, ran a dynastic on the weapons systems and waited.

  The wrap around panels in the DS placed everything within easy reach. I adjusted the seat so the gun screens were closer to my hand. Then, I idled there, the only Galactic Council Realm warship in the sector.

  “Control, what is the status on the scan?” I asked after a few minutes.

  “Still waiting DS 1,” came the reply, “Hold position.”

  I took a sip of water then sealed the pilot area and depressurized the rest of the DS. If I had passengers, I wouldn’t but I was solo. Alright, I was bored and full of nervous energy, so I was toying with different systems.

  “DS 1, we are commencing a full power scan of the incoming ships,” Armory Control said.

  “Look at the profiles,” I reminded Control.

  My ship was still slaved to the Armory Station and I watched as the images arrived. They showed a wide front and a fat center for an oversized ion wall. I’d seen those profiles before. They’d been hunting my GunShip. Then I was out of ammo and carrying injured Marines. This time was different, very different.

  “Control, alert command to scramble everything they have to this sector,” I said calmly and professionally, “Those are not, I say again, those are not Galactic Navy vessels.”

  “DS 1, command wants you to hold until they investigate the unknown ships,” Control said.

  “Control, if we wait for command, you’ll be dead and so will I,” I said, “I don’t feel like dying today. How about you?”

  There was a long pause before Control replied to me.

  “Ah, DS 1, proceed to intercept unknown vessels,” Control said releasing me and the DS GunShip.

  “Rodger, DS 1 is on course,” I announced just before throwing full power to the ion wall.

  Controlling a DS was like aiming a rifle by holding the butt stock. With the ion drive pushed back, the ship’s nose would drift and required computer assist to keep on course. Conversely, in combat, the DS handled as nimbly as a Fighter. She looked fat but it was all muscle.

  I evolved to External drive. Control in the Armory Station saw only a yellow streak and I was gone.

  The longer run out for the ions meant the nose cavity form quicker making for a swifter transition to External drive. I was thrown back into the command chair for a minute until the velocity of my body matched the ship. I had forty-five minutes to intercept. Then the Deep Space Gunship would prove itself worthy or not.

  The DS evolved to Internal drive and the yellow ion flow cleared. My first image and almost my last was a stream of rounds from the unknown Patrol Boat. I said she was nimbly and she was, I pivoted the DS on her tail and drove her under the Patrol Boat.

  All he saw was a sure victory drifting away, along with his gun rounds, into empty space. I came up and stitched her right underbelly. Looped up and over, pivoted down and I stitched her left side. Those GunShips tucked away behind the Patrol Boat’s ion wall wouldn’t be coming out to play.

  Somewhere in my brain a thought formed. If I could disable the Patrol Boat, the Navy would have some intelligence on this enemy. If I could, before I could finish the thought, he launched three missiles and they caught my scent.

  Your ship may be agile, however, unless you were in a BattlePlatform, you’d never dodge a missile. I evolved to External drive, snapped back two minutes later, turned and met the rockets head on. If you can’t out turn them, out run them. I had and my guns locked on and the three missiles exploded harmlessly in front of me.

  I surprised him by replying with a spread of four rockets. He didn’t expect it. GunShips aren’t supposed to have that much fire power. I did and he ate all four before he could counteract. The Patrol Boat vanished in cloud of expanding gases.

  A quick search and I located the second unknown Patrol Boat. He’d evolved to External on a course with Construction Station. The chase was on and the winner would be the ship who evolved closet to the giant orb. It was a classic game of chicken. Distance in space is measured in power and time. It’s not the going, it’s the sudden stop that will kill you. I took a minute to plot a course placing me as close to Construction Station as possible without colliding with it. Then, I evolved to External drive.

  I watched the clock and power of the External drive. I was blind of course and couldn’t tell if my calculations would be accurate. To quote Fire Dog, the plot was expedient.

  Time, I powered up the Internal drive, matched clocks, and evolved to Internal drive. Construction Station filled my screen and I rotated in an attempt to adjust my course. The DS slid, gravity, the Station was large enough to have some gravity. The Internal power was running at maximum and the Station was growing in my screen. I think I saw individual port holes and I know I saw some maintenance workers on space walks.

  Finally, the DS’s Internal drive overcame the inertia and she began to turn. I dropped the power to ease out of the slide. I could have reached out and touched the exterior skin of the Station or so it seemed. Once I was sure the GunShip would survive, I scanned for the second Patrol Boat. He’d played it safe and was closing with the Station from behind me.

  I flipped the DS and slammed on the power. If he fired missiles at this distance, I’d have a decision to make. Take out the missiles and save the Station or take out the Patrol Boat and save myself. I didn’t want him to have the choice.

  I launched two spreads of four rockets, gave them a minute to pace ahead, then snapped to External drive for thirty seconds. Evolving back to Internal drive placed the DS just behind the eight rockets.

  The Patrol Boat saw the futility of fighting eight incoming rockets followed closely by a GunShip. He began to turn. He didn’t finish the maneuver. Three of the rockets impacted mid ship and I follow up with a gun run. The Patrol Boat imploded and crinkled up like an old microwaved potato.

  I radioed Construction Station’s Flight Control. They didn’t answer due to an over flow of calls. It seemed all the supervisors were trying to talk at once. I orbited the Station waiting for instructions. When none came, I set a course back to the Armory Station to disarm.

  The shakedown cruise was done and as far as I was concerned, the Deep Space GunShip proved
its worthiness. I felt pretty good about my performance as well.

  I changed out of my flight suite and spent three hours debriefing with Commander Celio. He wasn’t happy with me taking an untested ship into combat but he couldn’t argue with the results. Finally, he dismissed me.

  Chapter 22

  The Hotel Imperial had held my room for the week I was gone. The bed felt wonderful after the bunk in the Navy section. Sleep over took me and I faded away.

  It was dark in Brown when I awoke. I needed to get moving on the task assigned by the Druid Council. There were thirty-five days left in my allotted travel time. In seven days, I’d absolutely have to leave for the Navy Command Station.

  I needed intelligence and I knew where to get it. The Knight Protector of the Clan pin went under the collar of my shirt but the Clan strap stayed in the plain bag. After checking to be sure the pin wasn’t obvious, I left the room and headed for the tram station.

  The last stop before the tram climbed to avoid the center of Construction Station was for engineers. It let them out within a short walk of the ion wall access hatch. I passed the hatch and took a small tunnel running parallel to the wall sector. The tunnel curved sharply up and over the ion wall. On the other side, it ramped down before ending in an atrium. My passage didn’t go unnoticed.

  Four Druids blocked my way at the end of the tunnel. They weren’t fooling around as each had their fighting sticks in hand, feet in a combat stance and their cowls shoved back. The four were in an attack formation. If I’d been a foe, even armed with a pistol, they’d suffer some casualties, but I’d be put down.

  “Restricted area,” the Druid on my right said.

  “Go back,” the Druid on my left ordered.

  They were making me shift focus from one end of their line to the other. The refocusing was by design. My head swum from the heavy rich air in the atrium and the shifting of attention. A normal citizen would be so confused by now, they’d turn and retreat back into the tunnel.

  I inhaled deeply and let the rich air from the White Heart plants fill my lungs. Sea salt aroma and happy visions from my youth danced through my consciousness. We were a typical family of Druids. My Father was a conservative Druid but his stern demeanor was balanced by my Mother, a healer with a loving soul. At a young age, my Father would take me high up in the structures surrounding the Heart plant. My Mother would drag me along on her charity missions. It was a simple life for a young man.