After placing the knife and a pile of Pesetas on the closed lip, I backed away from the vendor and her booth. Another lesson from my Mother. Never turn your back on someone you’ve had a disagreement with in a Squatter’s Camp. They might hold a grudge. They might stab you to save honor or just because they felt like it. Mother may have been a gentle Druid, but she was no fool.
I ventured into the warren of paths in the Squatter’s Camp. They weaved between colorful tents. Even huts made from hard sided scraps of material had different colored fabric adorning them. I marveled at the search for normalcy our species seeks.
Our eyes separated light into spectrums and we saw colors. Not as broad as some bugs but more than was seen by lesser mammals. When we journeyed into space and began building and living on stations, there was little natural color. It wasn’t possible to cost walls with toxic material that leached poison into the air system. So we lived with a few rainbow light walls but most of the living and working areas were whatever color came through the manufacturing process. The distribution of Heart Plants eased some of the stress caused by the lack of color. With a Heart Plant in the environment, beyond the rich air, you felt satisfied with even a minute change in tone and texture. The citizens in the Squatter’s Camp apparently needed a variety of colors to feel normal.
I found the center of the Camp. It was a circle of intersecting paths with, what else, multi colored strips of cloth billowing out from a pole. High above the circle, an air vent blew large volumes of air down on the Squatter’s Camp. Sniffing the air, I realized the Druids hadn’t yet released the Heart Plants’ rich air into the mixture. It still had an antiseptic order and I still couldn’t place the elements of the concoction.
My trail was half way around the circle and I took it, marveling at the rainbow of colorful dwellings. She coughed not to alert me but from the medicinal smell in the air. Following another cough, she pushed aside the blue and gold curtain and stepped into the street.
“Tell your fortune?” the seer asked stumbling out of the tent to block my way.
She was old, stooped and having a hard time breathing.
“Fortune Teller. You don’t want to know my future,” I said smiling down at the elderly lady, “But here’s a question that might earn you some coin. Do you know Hippolyt?”
“Aye, bushy dark hair, missing teeth,” she said than stopped to hack a few times, “not too bright and looks for easy paydays. Yes, I know of Hippolyt.”
She ended the recital by holding out a hand. They should put up notices, the sign of greeting in the Squatter’s Camp was a flat, open palm.
“Nicely done,” I said peeling off a five and laying it on her hand, “Now, do you know where he is?”
“He’s here in the Camp,” she said pointing from one segment of the Camp to another.
The arm scanned about a quarter of the sprawling and diverse Squatter’s Camp.
“Close enough,” I said placing another five on top of the first one, “Can you be more specific?”
Before she could answer, a hacking cough racked her body. She did manage to shake her head no, but any further conversation would take minutes I didn’t have to spare.
“Go lay down and rest, Seer,” I suggested stepping around the stooped and heaving figure.
Whatever chemicals the engineers used to scrub the Station air filters was unhealthy to the elderly. I felt sorry for the old woman but just didn’t have time to render aid. I’d done what I could, the rest was up to Judge Birthe. The vendor’s testimony and the return of the hijacked Druid robes should help.
The path through the Squatter’s Camp twisted and turned. Eventually it ended at a wide façade of blue, red, orange and green. I hesitated for a second than selected a side and walked a long way to the end of the tent. Between it and the beginning of the next tent was a narrow alleyway. I squeezed between the cloth walls.
It was shocking when I stepped from the lighted explosion of pigmented cloth to the open expanse of a shadowed cargo deck. Colors to shades of gray, my eyes took a second to adjust. Once my night vision returned, I located a ring of white light off to my left.
The light was spilling over the top and around the sides of cargo crates. They were arranged in a circle with a wide space between each crate. I picked a pair and walked from the deep shadow of the cargo deck to a calamity of hammering, shouting and steel ringing off of steel.
In a squared off area in the center of the circle of crates, four men pummeled each other with long, heavy swords. Behind the melee, a tall man stood leaning on a broad sword. They were armored in a mixture of metal, plastic, leather and assorted materials riveted together for protection.
The protection was warranted as one of the four swung hard into the shoulder of another. The strike bowled the man over and he landed hard. Hard enough for me to hear his collision with the deck as clearly as I’d heard the sword smash into the armor.
Once the man was clearly out of the fight, the aggressor went to a squat, and rose twisting and spinning. He whipped the sword overhead and used the momentum of his whirling rise to disarm another opponent while parring the sword of the final attacker.
The disarmed man received a love tap from the hilt to the front of his helmet. He collapsed. The final knight, as that’s how they appeared, tried to recover from the over powered parry. He didn’t. The aggressor went from tapping the defeated foe into carving figure eights with his sword.
Eventually the aggressor stepped forward while increasing the speed of the revolutions for the figure eights. It was as if the defender walked into an air shaft fan. First his sword went flying, then his arms flew back and finally, his chest rocketed back carrying the man’s body to the deck.
I expected to see a match between the victorious knight and the man with the broad sword. They faced off for a few heartbeats. One breathing hard, the other standing statue still. Even the crowd around me drew silent. We waited for the final duel. It never came as the knight went to one knee and lay his sword down, hilt toward the tall man.
“One of these days, he’s going to say enough is enough,” someone in the crowd stated, “And take the old man out.”
“Haithem will never do it,” another voice replied, “he’s too loyal.”
“Shame, the team could use a stronger king,” the first speaker said.
I turned from the field of combat and began to peer into the crates. They had cut the sides from the crates leaving them as open work areas. Inside people were hammering on mismatched armor pieces, were grinding out gouges from swords with sanders or standing in groups talking. This must be the second gym.
After checking three crates, I turned back to the field of combat. The tall man was limping towards the far side of the field. The knight was turning in circles obviously searching the entire camp.
As he searched, he pulled off his helmet, followed by a shrug that lifted the upper portion of his armor. It rose high enough for him to get two hands under the bottom edge. He heaved and the chest and back sections rose over his head and he tossed them aside. A few snaps and he released the armored sleeves. They trailed behind him as he headed in my direction. The young man who moments before had been an armored knight was just as impressive in a tight tee shirt.
I began to turn away when his voice reached me.
“Lieutenant?” I tuned back as the muscular knight approached me, “Sergeant Bima sends his regards. Lance Corporal Haithem, Sir. Sorry for the delay but I got drafted into a game.”
“No problem Lance Corporal,” I assured him, “I just got here. Let me guess, the teams are shorthanded for junior combatants.”
“Yes Sir, we had to press knights and bishops into taking the place of rooks,” he stated as if I would understand the nature of his combat hobby, “It wasn’t bad until the end when I faced off against three experience fighters.”
“Looks like you did okay,” I said than asked, “Know anything about Hippolyt?”
“He sometimes fills in as a rook,” Hai
them stated, “Strong but not skilled. I asked around no one’s seen him. I figure he’s like the others, just missing the games.”
My heart sank, Hippolyt was my link to Ignaz and some answers to what was being planned on Construction Station. Then, Haithem started speaking again.
“But two shifts ago a guy asked for some bandages and medicine,” the Lance Corporal continued, “He used Hippolyt’s name. Said the guy was injured. I didn’t get a name or a location, but the man headed back towards the Squatter’s Camp.”
So Hippolyt was here. Hurt and stashed away in one of a couple hundred tents. I began to give up on finding the man. I tried a little more probing, hoping for some direction.
“If someone was going to hide a man, which tents are available?” I asked.
“There are always tents for rent on the outer edge,” the Marine answered, “We lease one during long tournaments. Beats sleeping on the open deck. The problem is, Sir, there are dozens and they are spread around the circumference of the Camp.”
“Suppose, I picked one quadrant to search,” I said remembering the Seer’s answer, “How many tents would we need to search?”
She might have been playing me for the money or she might have seen or overheard something about Hippolyt. I hoped the Fortune Teller was as nosy for information as she was bold in soliciting customers.
“6 or 8, at the most,” he replied, “Which quadrant are we searching?”
We rushed across the cargo deck. Me hoping to find some answers and the Marine following orders from a crazy, clairvoyant Lieutenant. Our approach brought us to the edge of the light spilling from the Squatter’s Camp.
“How do we identify the rentals?” I asked as we stepped into the Camp.
“The rentals have white Ls above the doorways,” he replied pointing to a tent adorned with the letter, “Could be trouble if we invade someone’s home.”
I snapped the custom sticks to full length and replied, “No there will not be.”
I lead and Haithem, despite his misgivings, was right on my six. The first two rental tents were empty. Tents might be an exaggeration. The cloth structures had walls and a door supported by an internal skeleton of braces. But, they didn’t have roofs as a ceiling would block the air from flowing to the inhabitants.
The third tent we invaded was occupied. A man stood and blocked our way. A woman and two children peered out from between his legs.
“We’re looking for a man named Hippolyt,” I said before he could voice a protest.
The man and woman were silent, heads bowed and waiting. Maybe their lives were so broken that two men barging in on their home was the least of their issues.
One of the children stuck a thin arm out and mumbled, “Four homes down.”
The child had big eyes and her gaze was locked on my fighting sticks. Even afraid, she’d managed enough courage to speak.
“Four homes that way?” I asked pointing in the direction she’d indicated.
She’d used up all her courage but confirmed the direction with a nod of her small head. I reached in my shoulder bag and all four began to shake. They needn’t fear as I pulled the remaining Pesetas out of my bag.
“Because the little one is brave and acts like a citizen of the Galactic Council Realm,” I said handing the money to the woman, “She gets rewarded. I’m leaving my information with you. When she gets to school age, you’ll bring her to the education deck. They will help her to become a productive citizen.”
My mother would have approved the gesture. We left their home and sprinted to the fourth tent.
“He’s a fighter and may have help,” Haithem whispered the warning as we stopped at the entrance, “Let me take point.”
“I’ll go left,” I said letting him know which side of the room I’d cover, “On your count.”
Lance Corporal Haithem had been drilled on dynamic entrances. He shoved aside the curtain, dived into the tent and screamed at the top of his lungs. Whoever was inside should have been paralyzed by shock.
Chapter 27
He wasn’t awed. As a matter of record, Hippolyt was unconscious and alone when we made our entrance. I went to his floor mat and directed the Marine to search the tent for any clue as to who had been tending to him.
The side of Hippolyt’s face was swollen and his head wrapped in dirty bandages. Spots of blood mixed with dirt were apparent in several places. I pulled a thread bare blanket down and saw the real damage. His right side was deeply bruised from his hip to under his arm.
I leaned down see if he were breathing. His breath was shallow and I smelled ketone in each breath. If he’d been starving, I’d expect it as his body would be burning body fat for fuel. But Hippolyt was fit, strong and well fed three shifts ago. That left one conclusion, damage to his pancreas. Without the organ’s insulin, he’d gone into diabetic distress.
“Lance Corporal Haithem, do you have medics at your games?” I asked waving him to join me at the sick man’s side.
“Not as good as our Navy Corpsmen,” he replied, “Mostly they sew up cuts and wrap sprains.”
“Here’s what I need,” I said looking him in the eyes, “The best medic you can find. Four of the fastest stretcher bearers you can locate. A stretcher and any insulin dose available. Tell them I’ll pay a bonus if they get Hippolyt to the Medical deck alive. Understand?”
“I’m on it, Lieutenant,” the Marine assured me as he bolted to the doorway.
I turned back to Hippolyt. His lips were cracked and dried. I dipped a cloth in water and dribbled a few drops onto his lips. They moved and I added a few more. He opened his eyes and chocked out something.
“I can’t understand you,” I said, “Say again, slowly.”
“Water,” he mumbled.
I lifted him and despite the moan of pain he gave, he took half the water from a beverage container.
“Hurt,” he said almost without moving his lips, “Damn kid.”
“Which kid?” I asked.
“Tea guy’s brat,” Hippolyt said, “Only going to scare him. Blame the Druids.”
His eyes were glassy and I don’t believe he was seeing me. But his mouth was working, sort of, in a stammering and mumbling way.
“You were dressed as a Druid?” I asked.
“Only going to scare him,” he repeated, “Damn kid kicks like an ion cannon.”
“He kicked you where?” I asked.
“In the head,” Hippolyt said, “Had a headache from the street fight already. Kid kicked me in the head.”
So my fight with him and the knockout punch had already given him a concussion. When Zamrud kicked him in the head, it doubled the damage to his brain. It also explained the bloody bandage on his jaw.
“What happened to your side?” I asked poking below the ribs to help him remember.
“Ouch, hurts. I went down and the kid kicked me,” he said, “I fought my way to my feet. We clinched. He kept punching my side. I got my hands on his throat. I don’t remember anything after that. Water?”
I was tempted. He’d beaten a fine young man to death. Even if he didn’t remember, he’d done it. I wasn’t finished questioning him so I give him another drink.
“Where’s Ignaz?” I asked.
“Working the plan,” he mumbled.
“What plan?” I asked.
He didn’t respond. I shook his shoulder and whispered his name. His breathing was almost inaudible. The only way I could tell he was alive was the odor from the ketosis.
“The plan? What’s the plan?” I asked my voice rising, “What’s the plan?”
He stirred and coughed. The cough triggered my memory and I knew what the smell was in the air and from Ignaz’s bottle. Antiseptic, alcohol and ketone, but who would drink a mixture with ketone and antiseptic in it?
Hippolyt opened one weepy eye and I asked again, “What is the plan?”
“Heart Plant, we’ll all be better off without the plants,” he said.
He closed the eye and was still. My
hand felt a faint heartbeat and I could still smell his breath. He was alive but Hippolyt wouldn’t be answering any more questions until he received proper medical attention.
A commotion outside alerted me to the return of Haithem and his stretcher-bearers. They came in and I stepped back to make room for a man who gave Hippolyt an injection.
“He’s in bad shape,” the man said indicating the men with the stretcher to move closer, “Lift him gently, strap him down then, we run for the lift. It’s his only chance.”
‘We’ll all be better off without the plants,’ Hippolyt’s words raced through my mind. As the words echoed around, I searched the room for his Druid robe. It wasn’t in the tent.
There were three Heart Plants on Construction Station. If Ignaz planned to attack the Stations’ White Heart Plants, he’d need to get through the vault door, traverse the deadly access tunnel, then breech the ceremonial gate. A hundred men might reach the vault if they crawled over their dead but the massive door would halt them. If they managed to open the ceremonial gate and access the Druid’s inner sanctum, they’d have to face Druids in hand to hand combat. I discounted an attack on the two permanent Heart Plants.
The one Heart Plant without a ceremonial gate or a kill zone was on A deck. Until the Frigate was built, the Plant lived in a cocoon of alloy connected to the Station by an airtight tunnel. There were Marine guards at the Construction entrances and Druids with the Heart Plant. How could Ignaz, even with a dozen thugs and three Druid robes, imagine successfully attacking that Heart Plant?
I pondered these scenarios as I retraced my steps to the armored combat gym. It was empty and the crates locked up. Beyond the gym, lay a lift I used to get to the main living deck. I was out of clues so I’d have to wait for something to happen. Reaction rather than taking action was disturbing but it was all I had at the moment.
After collecting my clothing from the pink dress shop, I checked into the Regal Hotel. My first step was to send a detailed report to Judge Birthe, Elder Gwladys and Sergeant Bima. Afterwards, I stripped down and inspected the bruising on my side. A little sore and discolored but it seemed nothing was seriously damaged. I lay down, felt my eyes grow heavy and darkness took me.
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 22