Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Navy vessel. This is the Sloop Hendrina, hold your fire,” the man screamed, “We’re experiencing a munity.”

  “Mayday, mayday. This is the Independent Transport Ayman asking for assistance,” the woman stated professionally.

  The reversal in tone from the two ships and the aggression of the Sloop, baffled me for a minute. A minute was all the Hendrina needed.

  A Sloop isn’t the fastest or most agile space vehicle. But, the transports are maneuverable. It’s a requirement for docking with small Stations, other ships, and moving cargo between out of the way space encampments.

  The Hendrina used that maneuverability to roll under the Ayman and out of range for my rockets and guns. My targeting lasers lost their lock.

  “Ayman. What is the nature of your emergency?” I asked.

  “Are you blind, Navy?” she asked sarcastically, “My Captain is dead, my First Officer is wounded, the ship’s all shot up and you’re asking for the nature of our emergency?”

  “Are you breached?” I asked trying to stay calm and work out if I should render aid or go after the Sloop.

  Given time, the Hendrina could plot a dirty course and snap to External. She was powering towards the Edge of the Realm so the chance of a collision with another ship was nil. He’d only need worry about space rocks and barren slow moving planets. I wanted him for two reasons.

  One, he was a Pirate and, as a Galactic Naval officer, I was sworn to prevent hijacking. The other reason being more personal, he’d fooled me with the mutiny lie.

  “Ayman. Are you breached?” I asked again.

  “No Navy. Our Engineer is effecting hull repairs,” she finally admitted, “We are not breached. We do need medical assistance.”

  She was killing me with the incomplete statements. A merchant Captain or First Officer would state the need and equipment necessary to resolve the issue. Her declarations only provoked more questions.

  “I understand you need medical assistance,” I replied while drumming my fingers, itching to go after the Sloop, “Do you need a doctor, supplies or help in evacuating the ship?”

  “Mama said medical supplies,” she replied then I heard squelch from an open mic before she continued, “Antibodies, antiseptics and bandages. Okay?”

  I suddenly realized I was speaking with a stressed, out of their depths young girl. Teenage or younger, either way, she had been thrown into a situation where she was the voice of a distressed ship. In my eyes, her shortcomings in communications was easily overridden by her courage in picking up the radio.

  “Can your Mama wait forty-five minutes for the supplies?” I asked.

  There was a long pause, she was still killing me with the delay, before she responded, “Mama said take two hours if you need it. I think sooner is better.”

  “I’ll make it as short as possible,” I replied while nosing up and applying power.

  One of the strengths of the DS GunShip was the turning radius. The rearward ion drive controlled the aspect of the nose. While accelerating, she would take a heading almost immediately. Center ion wall ships would need to account for the rotation of the aft section.

  The DS rose above the Tramp Steamer before I rolled her over the transport. As I rolled, I turned in the direction of the fleeing Sloop. My scanners located her and also detected the beginning of her External ion flow. I didn’t have time for a chase so I called up three rockets. Two armed with explosive warheads. The third wasn’t deadly but it did have a tracking system.

  I launched all three. My explosive rockets almost reached her, however, before they acquired a target, the Sloop snapped to External drive. These I auto detonated. The tracking rocket I let run. If the Hendrina performed a short run on External drive, my tracker might get a fix on her new heading. I didn’t have time to chase her now, but maybe in the future, one never knew.

  Forty minutes later, I piloted the DS to the Tramp Steamer. She was a mashed together ship consisting of a couple of Yachts, what appeared to be three Sloops and part of a Clipper ship. I’ll never understand how the idea came about to bolt and weld different types of ships together to create one of these strange transports. Or, how they survived repetitive evolutions.

  It took several minutes of searching but I finely located an exterior port that would fit my airlock tube. I could have recovered to a loading deck except there was no way to secure the DS if it was sitting on a cargo dock. It would be bad form to park on the cargo deck of an unknown ship and have the GunShip disappear. As much as I disliked airlock tubes, the security of my ship was more important. The matching port was curtesy of a dented section from a Yacht. I hoped it was access to the interior of the Tramp.

  I connected the airlock tube and pulled the medical supplies and my body to the port on the Ayman.

  I rapped on the exterior hull. An answering knock let me know the airlock was reachable by the Steamer’s crew. The wheel spun and the door slowly opened. A crewman in a void suite waved me forward and I stepped into the Independent Transport.

  We hiked on ramps leading to upper levels, along sections of runways spanning over partially empty cargo holds, through doors, some air tight, others simply a slab of material for blocking access to the next compartment. The layers of the Ayman were staggering. Some parts were recognizable as Sloop sections, some were so cut and pasted together they weren’t identifiable.

  The crewman pushed open a heavy airlock and I followed him into a medical suite. A doctor was bent over a groaning man with an ugly wound on his shoulder.

  “Ah. Ma’am, Navy is here,” the crewman announced before leaving.

  “Give me a minute,” the doctor said as she probed the open gash.

  “Yes Ma’am. Take your time,” I replied looking around the facility.

  It was old, well used, and recognizable. The medical suite was Navy surplus most likely from a Medical Boat. I was impressed. Around the treatment unit, cots were occupied by patients. A few more had sheets covering dead crewmembers.

  “Doctor Rojan Arya,” she said as she peeled off a bloody pair of surgical gloves, “Thank you for the supplies. And of course, for driving off the raiders.”

  “Lieutenant Piran, Ma’am. And it’s my duty to lend aid,” I replied setting the sack of medical gear where she indicated.

  “I see,” she said as she sorted through the supplies I’d brought, “It may have been your duty. But, this is a display of your generous nature.”

  The comment didn’t seem to call for a reply so I remained silent. Doctor Arya stopped sorting and grabbed a phone from the wall.

  “Parisa. Yes, bring yourself down here, please,” she said, “Yes, right now.”

  “You’ll supper with us?” she asked as she went back to placing the medicines in sealed compartments.

  “I appreciate the offer,” I said avoiding a commitment, then asked, “How did all this come together?”

  “We got the medical unit third hand,” she explained, “It took weeks to cut through the hulls to place it here.”

  “The hulls are where I’m confused,” I stated, “I saw Yacht and Sloop sections and modules from a Clipper from the outside. Inside, its well, a maze.”

  “First time on an Independent Transport?” she asked.

  I couldn’t tell her I’d fought Rebels and raiders on Tramp Steamers as a Marine. When you can’t tell the truth, lie.

  “Yes Doctor Arya,” I said, “I’m a registered Navigator with the Merchant Fleet and a pilot in the Galactic Council Navy. And right now, I couldn’t find my ship with a map.”

  “It’s not bad once you get used to the walkways and levels,” she said glancing at a sheet covered figure, “My husband’s family started with the wreckage of a Sloop and have been adding to the Ayman ever since.”

  “Your husband, Ma’am?” I asked indicating the covered body.

  “Yes, he was our Captain and leader,” she said displaying a crease around her eyes, “The Pirates came out of the Edge of the Realm. They hailed us and then threa
tened to cripple our ship. My husband decided to negotiate with them. They came on board and tried to take over. When my husband objected, they shot him. Our crew was armed but we were badly out gunned. If you hadn’t come along, our entire family would have been killed, or drafted into their pressgang. Or worse.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t arrive sooner,” I admitted.

  A light rap on the metal door frame drew our attention.

  “Parisa, my dear, come in and meet Lieutenant Piran,” Doctor Arya said while wrapping an arm around the shoulders of a slight girl.

  The teen looked about thirteen years old but it was hard to tell. Her long black hair and lean face with huge black eyes could be found on an older woman but her thin frame made her look younger. She was a little shorter than her mother.

  “Parisa. Nice to meet you. My name is Phelan Piran,” I said holding out a hand.

  “You’re too late, Navy,” she said looking around me at where the body of her father lay.

  “Parisa, Lieutenant Piran is a guest,” the Doctor said scolding her daughter, “And he brought gifts. In an Independent Transport we treat guests with honor and show appreciation for their gifts.”

  “Yes Mama. Lieutenant Piran, I thank you for the gifts,” she said but I could tell every word hurt as if they were grains of sand in her throat.

  “Parisa. I’m sorry for the loss of your Father. And, let me be clear there is no excuse. I was late. Oh, if I’d seen a distress signal, I could have been here to stop the Hendrina. Maybe?” I said, “But, I didn’t know about the Pirates. So no excuses, you’re correct. I was too late. And, I am sorry.”

  The young lady looked up into my eyes.

  “Nice speech Navy,” she said letting a slight smile grace her face, “Will you supper with us?”

  Now, I was going to have to make a commitment. While I was on a tight schedule and it was getting tighter every minute, I decided dinning with the grieving mother and daughter would be good for everyone.

  “I’m on a schedule,” I replied, “But I’d be delighted to supper you ladies.”

  “All the patients are stable. I just need to start some on antibody drips,” Doctor Arya said, “Parisa, take Lieutenant Piran to the dining deck. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Parisa took me on the long route through the Ayman. I had the feeling she was either punishing me or showing off her ship. In either case, we eventually arrived at the mess-hall and her mother came in a short time afterword.

  The messman had laid out a selection of fresh salads, meats and baked goods. It was better chow than the Navy provided. I filled a plate and sat down with Doctor Arya and Parisa.

  “You did a good job on the radio,” I said to Parisa between mouthfuls of roast beef.

  “No I didn’t,” she admitted, “Father taught me better but, I got confused. Still, it’s nice of you to say it.”

  “Do Independent Transports get attacked by Pirates often?” I asked Rojan.

  “More than Merchant Fleet ships but we also travel outside the shipping lanes,” she replied setting down her fork beside a salad bowl, “Our business takes us to out of the way Stations or to meets with other I.T. shippers. The Navy isn’t always around.”

  “Any reason Pirates would attack in a shipping lane?” I asked, “Seems they’re really desperate if they resort to taking down a ship when the Navy might be in the vicinity.”

  “That’s the problem, Lieutenant, the Pirates aren’t desperate,” Doctor Arya stated, “They’re embolden by their successes. All the reports we’ve receive note an increase in raider activity.”

  So the raise in Pirate activity was the reason for building a fleet of Deep Space GunShips. Less crew members but better trained and more firepower spread over more sectors of the Realm. It made sense to forgo building Frigates and Heavy Cruisers, even Patrol Boats, to concentrate on the DS fleet. I didn’t mention the new GunShips to Rojan or Parisa. The small talk over supper was about their travels to places the Merchant Fleet didn’t service.

  “Ladies. I appreciate the conversation and the fine fare,” I said putting down my knife and fork, “It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a meal with such delightful company.”

  “It was our pleasure Lieutenant,” Rojan said as she stood, “Thank you again for the supplies. Now, I’ve got patients who need care. Parisa will see you to your ship. Goodbye.”

  I shook her hand and followed her into the hallway. The Doctor went one way, her daughter led me in the opposite direction.

  “Thank you Navy,” Parisa said as we followed a serpentine path through the Tramp Steamer.

  “Not sure what for,” I replied, “You needed medical supplies. I got a great meal and a pleasant conversation. I’d say we’re even.”

  “Not for the supplies,” she said, “For sitting, eating and talking with Mama. She’s brokenhearted over the death of my Father. Oh, she’ll say she’s been busy with the wounded but inside she needed a little touch of normal. The meal and your company was as normal as we’ll have for a long time.”

  I glanced to the side as we walked and saw her trying to hide red rimmed and wet eyes. It was a personnel moment so I quickly looked away. My guide and I finished the trip to the exterior port in silence.

  “Thank you again Parisa,” I said stopping at the interior airlock.

  A crewman in a space suit stood ready to escort me it the exterior port.

  “Here Navy” she said pulling a string of dangling objects from a pocket, “A gift for your kindness.”

  It resembled a neckless with objects tied along a circle of wire. She touched several before settling on one. As she fumbled with the knot her hands shook. The tangle of wire finally yielded to her ministrations and the selected object came free.

  Parisa reached out, took my hand and turned it palm up. The object hung between her thumb and forefinger for several long seconds. She didn’t want to part with it. When it dropped into my hand, she caught her breath and stepped back.

  “It’s interesting,” I said studying the object.

  It was the length of my thumb but not as wide. A thing of tarnished metal and scarred plastic. Sometime in the past, a symbol had been stamped into the plastic but most of the shape was worn away.

  “You don’t know what it is, do you Navy?” she asked.

  “To tell the truth, I haven’t the slightest idea,” I admitted.

  “It’s a data storage device with an integrated USB interface,” she said flashing an evil grin.

  “Oh, why didn’t you say so in the first place,” I replied holding the object up closer to my eye, “What’s an integrated USB, whatever?”

  “An integrated USB interface,” she said the grin spreading and her eyes twinkling, “You need a really old computer to access the data. One with a USB port. Oh, the data on the device is a dictionary with lots of old words and symbols. The information is from the beginning of the Realm. But, it’s a pretty antique and one of my favorites.”

  “Where do I find an ancient computer with a USB port?” I asked than remembering my manners, “Oh, and thank you for the gift.”

  “You’re welcome Navy,” Parisa said and just before she disappeared out of the airlock added, “Try a museum.”

  Chapter 31

  I powered up the DS GunShip and angled it away from the Tramp Steamer. Once clear, I applied more and soon left the misshapen beast of a ship in my wake. All the while, I gripped the data device in one tightly clinched fist.

  The original calculations to my first evolution to External drive were trashed. The chase and visit to the Ayman combined with the time out of cruising power had put me way off. I pulled up my screen and started to reconfigure the turn point and attitude for the first evolution.

  Just for fun, I leaned down and looked under the console at the computer housing. No U.S.B. port, I sat up feeling foolish. Then, I emerged myself with researching astrological hazards and working equations.

  “Flight Control. DS GunShip, G.C.N. 48, requesting clea
rance to Armory Station for disarmament,” I radioed as soon as I evolved into Internal drive.

  I was tired from the trip and while the command chair was spacious, it wasn’t a proper bed. My back complained.

  “DS 48. What’s your call sign?” Command Station’s Flight Control asked.

  “Call sign, J-Pop, Control,” I replied.

  “Hold your position, J-Pop,” Control ordered, “Standby for a visual inspection.”

  I was days away from Command Station. They knew it but still wanted me to sit in empty space and wait for some Shuttle pilot to buzz the DS and see if all the parts were still attached.

  “Rodger Control, DS 48 is holding,” I said trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

  I clicked up the scan to half power for two reasons. One, I wanted any inbound vessels to know a ship was idling in open space. The other reason, getting a hot meal and taking a nap in a rack. Control could wait for my response when their visual inspector arrived.

  My stomach full, I unfolded a wall bed and climbed in. After stretching in the luxury of lying flat for the first time in weeks, my eyes closed and I drifted off.

  One hour later, the DS shook as a full power scan slammed into its skin and the deck around me rang and echoed from the energy.

  “DS 48. DS 48, this is Command Station, Security Flight 990,” a voice announced from the overhead speakers, “48 respond.”

  Great, one lovey hour of sleep and some Shuttle pilot wanted to be a hard man. Well, he could be as impatient as he wanted. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and strolled to the spiral ladder.

  “DS 48, this is your final warning. Respond,” the voice called again.

  Warning? What was going on and why would a Shuttle pilot on a visual inspection flight be threatening me with a warning. I picked up my pace and ran to the command deck.

  As I leaped into the chair, it occurred to me the DS scanner should have sent me advanced warning of a Shuttle approaching. It was screaming now so I punched off the claxon and pulled up a view of the space around me.