“Restricted area,” a Druid said but now he was on my left side.
“Go back,” ordered the another Druid formally on my left, who was now on my right.
Of course they shifted positions, its designed to confuse an enemy. I’d been so lost in the memories; I’d forgotten why I’d came to the Druids’ atrium. Just to be obnoxious, without warning, I pulled the plain bag off my shoulder.
Left and right move up two steps to flank me. The four were tense. I calmly pulled out the Knight Protector of the Clan strap, dropped the plain bag and draped the Clan strap over my head. Then I reached up and repositioned the Knight’s collar pin.
“I need to speak with an Elder,” I said softly, “and I don’t have much time.”
It’s hard to switch off aggression. Especially when you needed to do a complete reversal of emotions. Two of them caught on quickly, the other two followed their instinct and began an attack.
I rolled back and performed a summersault. While in motion my hands jammed into the pouch, and as I regained my footing, they emerged with wrist guards and the Knight fighting sticks.
The alloy tip of my left stick swiped across the wrist of the opponent on my right. Blood spurted across his brown robe and my shirt. He hadn’t seen the tip move from under my right arm. Then, both attackers were tackled and dragged away from me by the other two Druids.
My sticks in a pre-strike position, my feet set in an attack stance, I prepared to kill the four Druids. They’d dared to attack a Knight of the Clan. My vision was enhanced. I calculated the next several moves against the four Druids while being aware that the Ceremonial Gate on the far side of the atrium was opening.
A healer came running through the moving steel door. His hands empty and held up in a recognizable signal to stop. Behind him, a stooped really old Druid limped into the atrium.
“Pull back,” she commanded in a voice that didn’t fit her thin, stooped frame.
The two standing Druids grabbed the robes of their Brothers and dragged them to the Elder. As the healer tended to the wounded Druid, the Elder limped to me.
“Peace, Knight Protector of the Clan,” she said softly.
I looked down at the red stain on the tip of my left fighting stick. A flick of my wrist and the blood splattered on the deck. I retracted both sticks.
“Peace, Elder,” I replied.
“It’s a barbaric tradition,” the Elder said, “Once it was needed, but those were dangerous times.”
“If you’re talking about attacking visitors, I agree,” I said.
“I’ll have your name,” she said.
“Phelan Oscar Piran,” I answered.
“Phelan Oscar Piran, please take a few deep breaths,” the Elder instructed.
I inhaled deeply and the hyper focus faded as well as my righteous indignation.
“I am called Gwladys,” she said, “Rest the Knight and be yourself.”
“Asthore’ Elder Gwladys. These are dangerous times” I said, “I came here for help.”
“I know you don’t care why,” she said pointing back at the three standing Druids and the kneeling one with the healer, “Our young are on edge. They’ve been shamed in public, accused of crimes and we’ve not let them defend themselves.”
“This wasn’t a great time to unleash them. They almost died,” I said.
I wasn’t bragging, it was a statement of fact.
“Again, a barbaric tradition to elevate a Knight of the Clan,” she said, “You’ve been implanted with codes and enhancements that you can’t always control. A few minutes of talking and this could have been avoided.”
“I was about to introduce myself,” I replied, “When your young Druids decided to take their frustrations out on me. Do I look like punching bag?”
“And there is the other side of the Knight’s curse,” she said, “It doesn’t affect the Knight’s nature or personality. We’ve had Knights with mean temperaments. Those do well because they are always aggressive and people keep their distance. Then, there’s you. A personality who likes to push things to the edge. Sometimes as a joke and sometimes just to be belligerent. Only, your edge now, it’s a blade and your attitude will get people killed.”
“Like me or not Elder, these are dangerous times,” I replied, “I was picked. Didn’t have much choice in the matter when you think about it.”
“I know how the selection process works,” she said, “How can we help you?”
“About a week ago, three Druids were on Brown early morning,” I reported, “Three men blocked the sidewalk and two faked being shoved as the Druids passed. I need to speak with the third man and I can’t find him.”
“We will get word to you,” she promised, “Do you require anything else?”
“No Elder Gwladys,” I said, “Thank you for your help.”
“Believe me Knight of the Clan, despite how I feel,” she said stepping back and giving me a curt bow, “I appreciate what you are doing.”
“Asthore’ Elder Gwladys,” I said as I turned and walked away.
I stowed away the Clan gear as I retraced my steps to the tram platform. Once back to BCDE decks, I headed for the Breached Plate and a much needed drink.
“Rough day?” Bulan asked as he placed an ale in front of me.
“Oh, just a couple of run-ins with some unfriendly types,” I admitted, “Was your pal Gennaro happy with the turn out for his meeting?”
“I can rarely tell. He comes in, reserves the lounge, pays for drinks, makes his speech and leaves,” the bartender said, “He’s never given me any indication either way. Fine with me.”
“Say, Bulan, ever see a big guy, sandy hair in here?” I asked, “He likes to buy drinks and talk about how the Druids are pushy.”
“Oscar, man, most people who come in here have criminal records,” he said, “so one more trash talker wouldn’t stand out.”
I left a tip and headed for street level. There was nothing to do but resume my observations in Orange and Brown. It was boring and after ten laps from day to night and night to day, I had a meal and returned to the Hotel Imperial.
My circadian rhythm was way out of balance. On a ship, it’s consistent. On Construction Station, it depends on which street you’re on. I’d been on so many, I couldn’t sleep. That’s why I was awake when the knock came and I found myself facing two Druids.
“You have words?” I asked the silent pair.
“Ignaz is the one you seek,” a Druid said.
“25-1-12, Orange is where he lives,” the other reported.
They left and I sat to ponder, what to do with the information? I looked out the window, it was dark in Brown. I’d have to wait for Orange to go dark before I made a visit to Ignaz, the sandy haired instigator. Now that I had a target, the tension drained away. I fell asleep stretched out on the bed.
A weak light as if it were dawn breaking greeted me. I rolled off the bed and, after a visit to the body cleaning facility, I dressed and left the hotel.
The street was full of running people. I looked for an emergency but there were no signs of a breach, leak or fire. Three things feared by people living on a space station.
“Construction Station has been attacked,” a man running towards me shouted.
He was pointing to his rear and I thought the raiders were coming from that direction. Oddly enough, the people he passed were flowing in that direction.
“Get the facts in the park. Big meeting in the park,” he shouted as he ran passed me.
He looked familiar. I’d seen him before but couldn’t place the face. I couldn’t place him but the next man running and shouting, I did recognize. The last time I saw him, he was sitting at a table by himself with a computer at Gennaro’s meeting.
“Construction Station has been attacked,” he barked out the words as he trotted and pointed, “Get the facts in the park. Big meeting in the park.”
I had no idea why Gennaro’s men would be tasked with public announcements. If the authorities wanted
information dispersed to the public there were more efficient ways. The streets were lined with speakers plus almost everyone had a PID. I set my shoulders and jogged towards the park.
There was a sea of brown caps crowded around the center of the park. Spread among the workers in the caps were bare heads. The place was packed and they were focused on a single point. From the rear, I couldn’t tell what had their attention.
Gennaro became the focus. The fat man climbed, unsteadily, up on a tall planter. He rocked trying to keep his balance and a few arms reached up to catch him if he fell. He weaved circle with his upper body until some people gasped in anticipation of the little man tumbling off the planter. Steading himself after a full minute of gyrations, he finally stood straight and peered at the crowd.
“Friends, this is hard for me,” he said scanning from one edge of the gathering to the other.
I couldn’t tell if he meant the precarious perch or what he was about to say.
“This is very hard for me,” he repeated, “My name is Gennaro. A humble representative of the Congress for Galactic Wrongs Righted.”
He paused and several signs shot into the air. They were evenly spaced so anyone could turn to their left or right and read the lettering. Interesting timing on the signage. I needed to work my way around until I could read them, but for now, I held my position.
“I’ve just come from a meeting in Orange. There I gave the workers the terrible news,” he said holding out his arms as if to embrace the crowd. All signs of being unbalanced gone.
“Why is it, the Congress for Galactic Wrongs Righted, must be the barer of bad news?” He asked, “Where is the Council and their brown robes? They should be here meeting with you. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
I heard a few ‘you are right’ responses from the locations of the sign holders.
“At the start of last shift, Rebels attached Construction Station,” he reported and a few voices gasped, “A-deck is in wreckage. Why isn’t the Council here to tell you? Because, they’re hiding the details, from you. That’s not right. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
This time a few more voices joined the sign holders. I checked the Navy net on my PID for any news about another attack. There was nothing. The time he stated was when I destroyed the last Patrol Boat. He shouldn’t have had details about the space engagement. Yet, here he was, describing the event as if the attack had been successful.
“And more bad news. The Council and their brown robes don’t want you to know,” he said holding his arms out at his side, “the Armory Station with the ammo and weapons to protect Construction Station has been attached and destroyed. Why it is the Congress for Galactic Wrongs Righted must be the ears and voice for the people? Because the Council doesn’t care about you. They want to keep you in the dark. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
The crowd was in shock and looking for leadership. Gennaro’s planted team supplied it. “You are right. You are Right. You are right”, the chant began slowly and built in ferocity.
Thoughts ran around in my head and I pounced on a few. Gennaro or someone close to him had knowledge about the Patrol Boat attacks. He was using it to endear himself to the civilian population. And finally, his facts were out of date. He didn’t know the raid had failed. Some good would come out of this, I gained a new target.
“Where is the Council while our brothers and sisters are dying on deck A?” Gennaro shouted, “Where is the Council and their brown robed devils? Hiding the facts, hiding from you. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
He had all of my attention with the brown robed devil phrase. Enough that I almost missed the two signs that wove through the crowd until they were about two meters apart. They stopped and I could see their backs. The sign holders were speaking to the people around them. Some of these people looked around the signs holders at something or someone occupying the space between them.
The crowd was vibrating with nervous energy. Fists punched the air and heads pivoted looking for something to do. I dropped my eyes from Gennaro, who was leading the air punching and shouting, to look through the crowd between the sign holders.
I caught sight of a bench. Then, the crowd shifted and the sight of a small brown blur sent a shiver down my spine. The old Druid story teller was in his usual spot. Only now, instead of a garden full of children, he was in the middle of an angry mob. I didn’t doubt the sign holders were pointing out the Druid to those around them.
“Where are the brown robed Judges now?” Gennaro asked, “While the brave men and women of the Navy die in space? Alone, undefended, where is the justice for them? It’s not the Druids, not the Council. Your only defense is to ban together. Join in creating a new Galactic Workers Realm. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
You can meet and complain, it’s your right. But when you shout treason on the streets, you’ll pay a price, later. Right now, I had to save about twenty-five civilians. Not from the mob, but from the wrath of a Knight Protector of the Clan. If they touched the old Druid, they’d bleed, and I’d turn the park red with their blood.
I shook my head and took three deep breaths. They hadn’t done anything to him yet and I needed to stay in control.
I reached into my shoulder bag and retrieved the yellow hat and a pair of sunglasses. It took some muscle to work my way deeper into the surging crowd. I even added ‘excuse me’ and ‘pardon me’ to ease my way to the bench.
A sign holder attempted to block my approach as I moved around the bench. A low jab to his floating ribs doubled him over. The sign started to fall but someone snatched it and held it high.
“Asthore’ Brother. We need to leave the park,” I said kneeling beside the old Druid.
“The children will be here soon,” he said, “They like stories.”
“You’ll come back. Now is not a good time to be here,” I pleaded.
“The children will be here soon,” he said. His eyes were looking off at a different time and place. He had no idea of the danger surrounding him.
Someone’s leg brushed my back. I looked up and the other sign holder was leaning over me.
“Having trouble here?” he asked.
He wasn’t offering help. The sneer and the excitement in his eyes told of his intent.
“Back off friend,” I hissed.
“Maybe you should just leave,” he replied, “The old devil will be fine, right there.”
His throat was so close. His jugular pulsing and begging to be vented. I took a breath and turned back to the Druid.
“I have words,” I said in his ear.
“You have words for me?” he asked.
“Gwladys needs your help,” I lied.
“She’s so young. Yes, I best go and help,” he said slowly raising on old tired legs.
I needed to open a path through the crowd, watch the sign guy’s moves, and help the old Druid. If anyone was going to take a beating today, it would be me. I wrapped one arm around him and used the other to shove aside bodies.
It came as expected, the strike with the sign. Only the sign holder misjudged and I had warning when a man cried out in pain.
“You hit my shoulder,” a deep voice growled.
The man’s shoulder broke most of the momentum. By the time the sign struck me, it was only a ricochet. A painful hit but not debilitating. I continued to hover over the old Druid as we pushed our way out of the crowd.
We trudged by a few stores before the Druid steered us to a tea shop. He seemed to know the way so I followed closely, still guarding his back.
There were no customers in the tea shop. A pleasant mixture of aromas, earthy, fruity, orange and black leaves, were a welcome difference from the press of bodies in the park. The shopkeeper and a young girl stood looking out the front window. They turned to us as we entered.
“Story teller,” the girl cried.
She ran over and wrapped small arms around the old man‘s knees.
“Is he welcomed here?” I asked
.
“Of course, the story teller is a favorite of the children,” the shopkeeper replied.
The door opened behind me and I spun to challenge the intruder. A young man of maybe seventeen entered. He was tall with big hands one of which was pointing towards the window.
“Pa. It’s as bad as you feared,” he said to the proprietor, “That speaker has everyone juiced up.”
He looked around and saw the old Druid.
“Story teller. I’m glad you’re here,” he said walking over and taking the old wrinkled hands in his powerful mitts, “Can I get you a tea?”
“Zamrud, I haven’t seen you in the park lately,” the Druid scolded the tall young man.
“Father keeps me busy in the shop,” Zamrud replied gently, “How about the tea?”
“Tea, yes, tea would be welcome,” the Druid said.
I looked at Zamrud’s Father, the shop owner, and he returned my look and shrugged.
“My children grew up listening to the Druid tell stories in the park,” he explained, “He wasn’t always, confused, once he kept the park safe with stories and a stern rebuke to any of the children who got too rambunctious. Both my children grew up listening to his stories.”
I looked at the table with the Druid and the little girl. Her eyes were fixated on the old man’s face with a look of adoration. It’s not easy aging with dignity. The Druid had succeeded.
Zamrud returned with a large cup of tea. After setting the cup in front of the Druid, he hooked a chair with a long leg and dropped onto the seat.
“Did you know a cat once stole the sun?” asked the Druid between sips.
“He’s fine here,” the shop owner assured me, “Zamrud will see him to the tram station later.”
“Thank you,” I said reaching for the door handle.
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 18