Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty

by J. Clifton Slater

  As if you’d shaken a jigsaw puzzle until a piece fell out, a section of the Streamer rotated and began to fall into space. But it wasn’t a flat piece. The section had twice the depth of its surface width. Trapezoidal in shape, the tail of the module slammed into the adjoining sections as it separated.

  “Abort. Abort pickup,” Thor ordered, “She’d breaking up. We’ll search for survivors once she settles.”

  It was a plan of sorts. Not a great plan because it relied on Strike-Kill teams having enough air to last until found.

  My orbit carried me around the Tramp Steamer and over the position of Team 4. They’d made up the lost decks plus one but were still deep in the ship. I checked the location of the remaining TNC. Two were right below Team 4.

  As the seven GunShips vacated space surrounding the crumbling Steamer, I radioed Team 4.

  “Team 4. Team 4,” I called having switched to the Striker frequency.

  The reply was scratchy and breathy with a touch of fear, “Team 4. We have two injured. Backtracking for exfiltration.”

  I ran a scan of the route they’d used going in and it led them by two more TNC locations. It also took them to a small port as an exit. With two injured, even if they reached the port before the explosion, they’d struggle to get to the surface. And once there, they’d find no GunShip to carry them off the doomed Tramp.

  “Negative, Team 4,” I said, “I’m sending you a different route.”

  “Are you our ride out?” he asked.

  I could get them clear of the explosions and into a section which might stay intact when it separated from the Steamer. Or, I could disobey Thor, the Flight Commander, and go down and try to collect them.

  The closest port large enough for the Shuttle was a landing bay a few sections from Team 4’s position. The debate between pilot Lieutenant Piran and the former Sergeant of Marines Piran lasted only a split second.

  “Rodger that Team 4,” I said, “I am your ride out. Sending you a new route but quick time it.”

  There was one advantage, I thought as I jockeyed the Shuttle into the landing bay. Team 4 wouldn’t have to climb as far to reach me. The down side was, the Shuttle sat deep in the Steamer and, a shift in its sections could easily trap me.

  I geared up and voided the air from the Shuttle compartment. Now, standing on the Steamer’s deck, I could feel the vibrations and see debris falling as another TNC charge went off.

  A hatch fell open and I couldn’t tell if it were the result of the bulkhead bending out of square or from being hit by a blast propelled projectile. It was neither. A member of Team 4 fell backwards through the hatch and onto the deck. He pulled another member through on top of him. As he scrambled pulling the body, another limped through. Behind the lame one, the final members of Team 4 emerged. Number four was walking and carrying the fifth.

  All accounted for, I thought as I bounded to lend a hand. The little gravity from the Steamer’s mass had been reduced as it broke up. I grabbed the two downed Strike-Kill members and towed them to the open hatch of the Shuttle.

  Without looking to see if the others followed, I crawled to the pilot’s chair. The oval of the landing bay was oscillating. As the ceiling bowed, sheets of material peeled off and began drifting down around the Shuttle.

  The light indicating the hatch was sealed let me know the other three were onboard. I slammed the power bar and the engines screamed as the Ion Cannons responded. A power surge, far beyond specifications, and all the hard work I’d done repairing the Ion Cannons was undone by the time the Shuttle hit open space.

  “Shuttle, a Medial Boat is inbound,” a voice on Combat Control’s frequency stated, “Meet the boat.”

  “Aye, Combat Control,” I responded.

  If Combat Control had stepped in to take over the operation from Flight Control, the Navy was taking this as more than a training accident.

  A flight of four Fighters dropped in around the Shuttle. They kept me busy explaining why a Shuttle was the last ship leaving a sabotaged Steamer. So the Navy was calling the incident sabotage. I was still explaining when we rendezvoused with the Medical Boat. They took Team 4 off and I was ordered back to the Tres el Fuerte. I never had the chance to meet Team 4.

  Everyone was hyped about the sudden variation from the normal routine of training. The former Fighter pilots all had a different take on how daring they were while rescuing the Striker teams. I didn’t join in; I went to bed.

  Chapter 34

  My PID light up and a warning came on clear and loud. Not just my PID, I realized, every pilot’s PID was sounding off. As a group we hit the exit hatch on the way, in mass, to the flight deck.

  I was two pilots behind Thor so I followed them when he headed towards Admiral Folkert and Captain Wahid. It wasn’t follow the leader, it was instinct. The Deep Ship GunShip sat alone on the flight deck. Six Marines stood guarding her.

  Another group joined us. Six of the Striker Teams’ Sergeants shuffled in very casually. As combat troops will, they took their time. While it’s drilled into pilots to rush for the flight line in times of crisis, Sergeants have learned to look before committing themselves or their troops.

  They didn’t know what it was, but they still headed towards the DS. Inside the flight deck she looked, well, obese. Her chest stuck out from the oversize ammo bunker and the lower deck. Those two elements set her apart from her leaner GunShip cousins. What drew most of the Sergeants’ attention were the large access hatches. Even their biggest Strike-Kill teammate could jog through doors of that size.

  The DS, I noticed, was graced by a smile from Warlock. She had a pleasant smile but not so pleasing a personality. At least not towards pilots.

  Admiral Folkert flanked by Captain Wahid turned to the assembly.

  Captain, ‘Champion of the Realm’, Thor cleared his throat for attention, “Attention on deck.”

  We all snapped our heals together and locked eyes on the Admiral.

  “At ease. Sorry to rouse you from your dreams and warm rack,” he said stepping away from his two Captains.

  They took the hint and joined us in facing the boss.

  “What you see here is a Deep Space GunShip,” he said pointing to the DS, “I’ve brought her out here for two reasons. One is for you to see and know that we have a fleet of them under construction.”

  All eyes turned briefly to peer at the new warship. I could feel the yearning all around me for a ship which fit the mission of Special Navy Operations. Then we snapped back to the Admiral as he continued.

  “The second reason is more immediate. You’ll notice the Marine guards around the DS,” he said nodding at the armed and armored troops, “Yesterday, while our training ship was sabotaged, two members of the Galactic Council were taken hostage.”

  Far up the deck, away from our gathering, a pump began churning. The clatter was all we could hear besides the pounding of our own hearts. Two Galactic Council members taken?

  “The Marines are here to guard against anyone tampering with the DS,” he said, “Because we are going to pick a team and a pilot. They are going to reclaim our Councilors. And leave a trail of bleeding Rebels in their wake.”

  Hands punched the air and voices cried out. Each and every pilot and Striker volunteered right there on the spot. We all wanted to be on the mission. For the Realm, for political advancement, for revenge or for the opportunity to see combat, everyone had a reason. So everyone shouted for the Admiral’s attention.

  “Warlock. Front and center,” Folkert ordered above the fray.

  The Sergeant with the white streak in her raven black hair marched stiffly to the head of our assembly. She snapped to attention in front of the Admiral. While he stood a half a head taller then the hand to hand combat instructor, she was wider through the shoulders. I was directly in line with them and standing to the rear of the pilots. The Admiral’s eyes were the only feature I could see as if he were on tip toes trying to see over her. It would have been funny in other circumstances.
<
br />   “Sergeant. Pick a team, four of the best,” the Admiral instructed her, “I don’t care who or what rank, the mission is critical, and the Galactic Realm needs your best.”

  “Aye, Aye Sir,” she said in a clear crisp voice, “And you’ll get our best. Who’s my pilot?”

  Thor stood a little taller, if it was possible. He usually walked around as if he had a steel rod up his back. So for him to rise in height, he must be on the balls of his feet. Unlike the Admiral, my Flight Commander was on tip toes.

  “Piran? Where the heck are you?” the Admiral asked looking over Warlock and around Thor, “Lieutenant Piran. Front and center.”

  I looked around as if he’d called someone else’s name. The hard stares of the pilots who’d turned, the suspicion in the eyes of the Sergeants who’d focused on me, all wondering, why him? Shuffling as if there had been a mistake, I went to face the Boss.

  “Warlock. J-Pop’s your driver,” the Admiral announced even before I’d reached him.

  “Now see here,” Thor blustered while coughing at the announcement, “As the Flight Commander, it’s my responsibility to pick the best pilot for the mission. I’ve trained with this.”

  “Thor. Enough. Does anyone else have something to say about my selections?” Folkert asked as he glared at the assembled personnel.

  “If you don’t mind, Sir,” Warlock said turning to look me up and down as if I were a prize steer on the auction block, “Why Lieutenant Piran? Isn’t he a Shuttle driver?”

  “Good question. For reasons, I can’t go into, J-Pop is qualified to get out of the DS and do damage on his own,” he said, “Also, he’s taken the DS into combat three times and successfully won each engagement. Those missions are also classified.”

  Thor spun around with a look of total surprise. His supply delivery driver had more combat experience in a GunShip than all of his pilots combined. You’ve got to love Fighter pilots and their egos.

  “Finally, during yesterday fiasco,” the Admiral stopped, looked around an asked, “Team 4? Where’s Hammer?”

  “He’s still in sickbay, Sir” Captain Wahid stated, “Corporal Halima, Hammer’s number two, is here, call sign Gent.”

  “Gent shout out,” the Admirals ordered.

  A large man, taller and thicker than any of the Sergeants didn’t shout.

  “Present, Sir,” he said raising a hand in the air to signify his position.

  “How’d you get off the Steamer yesterday?” asked Folkert.

  “Someone lacking common sense, pulled a Shuttle into crumbling landing bay,” came his reply in a voice so deep it forced everyone to lean in to hear, “The crazy pilot left his Shuttle. Forced his way through the debris, grabbed Hammer and me and dragged us to the shuttle and tossed us in. Then, the insane pilot sat patiently until the rest of Team 4 was aboard. That pilot is not in his right mind, Sir. And, I might add, I’d fly with him any day.”

  “Warlock. Ask Lieutenant Piran what he was piloting yesterday?” the Admiral suggested.

  “I don’t have to Sir,” the Striker Sergeant replied with a smile, “He’s already proven to be more than just a supply deliver guy.”

  They had me fitted for a set of Strike-Kill armor. It was basically Marine Corps fish scale with added hard spots but lighter in weight. In addition, I signed out a MP 45 and a ship board rebreather. I lugged all the equipment and my personal gear to the DS. A Marine sentry triple checked my Officer’s tab before allowing me to enter the ship.

  I stowed my gear. While I waited for Warlock and her Strike-Kill team, I read over the file supplied by the Admiral.

  Mission Brief: Author Admiral Folkert. Top Secret for Authorized Personnel Only:

  Lieutenant Phelan Oscar Piran and Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich.

  Two weeks ago the Yacht Suria, carrying Galactic Councilors Shi Peng and Khalida Jalal, was attacked and boarded by Pirates. It is believed the Councilors and the Suria’s Captain Maelle were taken captive.

  Our intelligence on the situation comes from reports by an Ensign Amara. She had radio watch when the Yacht was attacked. Based on her reports, three unknown ships were waiting as the Suria evolved from External Drive to make a course adjustment.

  It’s not known how enemy ships had knowledge of the route. Galactic Intelligent Inquiries Agency and Naval Investigative Services are examining the offices of Master of Transit and Naval Movement Command for the source.

  The Pirates have made unfulfillable demands for the return of Councilors Peng and Jalal.

  Side note. Peng is friendly towards the Military. Jalal, on the other hand, votes against us during sessions of the Galactic Council. Rescuing both will reinforce one’s stand and maybe change the other’s mind. In either case, for the good of the Galactic Council Realm, we must bring our Councilors home.

  During the assault on the Suria, the Pirates made no attempt to capture or salvage the Yacht. Other than the previously mentioned prisoners, they killed the entire crew and Druid detachment. Side note: Captain Maelle is a Druid with compensation from the Druid Council to serve as master of the Yacht.

  It is our strong belief the attack was premediated. One day before the raid, Navy elements providing security in that sector of space, were drawn away by a Pirate attack on a Merchant Fleet Sloop. The engagement was on the far side of the sector making them unavailable to assist the Yacht.

  Due to the above information, you are tasked with finding the Councilors and bringing them or their bodies home to Planet Tres. You are authorized to travel, belay that, you are ordered to travel without notifying either Merchant Fleet or Naval Movement of your course. Attached are the coordinates of the attack on the Suria and three locations of Pirate ships who’ve relayed communications about the ransom.

  One final note. We believe the raiders were supported, or otherwise aided, by fanatics. This is based on Ensign Amara’s final transmission. Quote, “They’re burning the ship. Help us, they’re burning the ship.”

  I sat numb for a second before my eyes clouded over and I reached for the power control. Burning a ship in space was difficult and cruel. Without air, you’d need a hefty supply of aluminum powder mixed with iron oxide. The self-sustaining extreme heat would melt metal and foul the air.

  But the what, wasn’t a maddening as the why. The only reason to burn the Yacht was to destroy the ship’s Yellow Heart. They’d killed Druids and a Heart Plant and for those offensives, the Pirates would die. I flipped the pre-ignition switch.

  “Lieutenant Piran, Sir?” one of the Marine sentries called into the hatch.

  I leaned back from the cockpit to see him.

  “Yes, Marine?” I asked tersely.

  “You have a visitor,” he said stepping back.

  I expected to see a tall figure. Instead an old Space Cat leaped into the passenger cabin. He strutted up and down the aisle before turning to lock eyes with me. With so many Druids on the Heavy Cruiser and a mature Red Heart Plant, I couldn’t sense his thoughts. After a few second of non-communications, the cat made three bounding arcs and landed in my lap.

  Space Cats were large felines. When they landed from a jump, they looked graceful. When they landed on your thighs, you hurt. It hurt enough for my mind to clear and for me to shove down the Knight Protector of the Clan emotions. I switched off the pre-ignition.

  Turning back to the Admiral’s brief, I pulled up the coordinates. The Yacht Suria’s position was of no use. Any Pirate worth the title would have left for a hideout far from the attack. My focus went to the three relay ships.

  Obviously, they were mobile cut outs so the Navy couldn’t trace the signal back to its source. But they did form a triangle and if I drew three intersecting lines, I might fine the sector of space where they held the Councilors. The question was, at what angle? I could look at the geometry and see a long sector leading out beyond the Edge of the Realm. Too big to search with too many dead planets. I needed a clue to narrow the search area.

  The cat was purring and his warmth soa
ked into my thighs and stomach. It released my tension and I was able to open my mind. Why did the sector look familiar? Along a line from one of the relay ships, the Ayman had been attacked. Somewhere out there was a tracking rocket. Its fuel expended and the battery nearly depleted, but with the route of the escaping Pirate still in its memory cell. If I could locate the missile, I’d be able to narrow the search.

  As soon as I realized the rocket was the place to begin my mission, the cat jumped off and disappeared into the tail of the DS.

  “ID’s and orders,” a rough voice demanded.

  I walked to the hatch and gazed out onto the flight deck. Two Marines blocked access to the DS. Facing them were five Strikers lugging bags and lockers of gear. Warlock didn’t look happy and she glared at me over the shoulder of a Marine.

  “Sergeant of the Guard. I can vouch for Master Sergeant Alberich and her team,” I said from the hatch, “We’re on a tight schedule and I’d appreciate your help in facilitating our progress by passing them through.”

  “Aye Sir,” he replied stepping back and directing the other Marine to give way as well.

  Warlock marched into the DS followed by a lean woman, a heavy man, a lean man and another heavy man. They were a textbook Strike-Kill team and if I knew Warlock, she’d handpicked the best.

  “Lieutenant Piran. May I present my Left Side Sky, Arna Thorsten call sign Thunder Eagle,” Warlock said as the lean woman stepped into the cabin.

  “Lieutenant,” Thunder Eagle asked, “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Granted and welcome,” I said then added, “Let’s make this easy. Call sign J-Pop. We’re in too tight a quarters for formality. Agreed?”

  “Aye Sir,” Warlock replied, “My Left Side Earth, Shigeko Amaya, call sign Heavy Rain.”

  “J-Pop. Permission to come aboard?” asked the muscular man.

  “My Right Side Earth,” Warlock introduced the other muscular man, “Lieke Steyn, call sign, Stone Angel. He’s also our master gunner. He’ll be your relief at the helm.”