“C.V. 48, this is Guardian Angel flight,” the lead Fighter announced, “We are at your command.”
My little DS GunShip was bigger than a Fighter but I had them all around me and they awaited my command. I looked over my shoulder at Shi Peng and Khalida Jalal. They were sitting in the two most forward acceleration seats not paying attention to me. Instead they were leaning into the aisle talking.
“Waiting for recovery instructions,” I responded, “Thanks for the escort.”
Three hours later, I slowed the DS as we approached the BattleShip.
“C.V. 48. It’s been a pleasure,” Flight leader for Guardian Angel said as he rolled away from me.
He was replaced by another Fighter who rolled in the other direction. The two flights single file pulled in front of me and alternated rolling away left and right. It was a beautiful exhibition of flying. Too bad the Councilors paid no attention.
Apparently Combat Control handled VIP flights as Flight Control had remained absent during the flight. Combat Control instructed me to use intake tube 1. I marveled at the VIP access flight deck for the BattleShip. Instead of a collection of different classes of warships crammed into narrow bays, this landing deck was filled with custom Shuttles and Yachts, both military and civilian. All widely spaced. The DS dropped onto a sled and I gave up control to the Flight Deck.
We were whisked to an oversized bay and the DS edged against an adjustable dock. My last act of the flight was to equalize internal pressure with the flight deck. Then, the hatch opened, ‘Admiral Ingar Rigmor’ rushed onto C.V. 48, and I lost all control.
“Councilor Shi Peng. Councilor Khalida Jalal. Welcome to the Galactic Council BattleShip, Ander El Aitor,” the tall blond officer in the custom tailored uniform gushed, “I am Admiral Ingar Rigmor, Protocol Officer for the Ander El Aitor. Do you need assistance? We’ve put together a small reception for you. Please step this way.”
We weren’t in the way, but the Admiral curled his arm in the air behind the Councilors as if one of us would dare reach out and touch a counselor. Without acknowledging the Strikers or me, he floated the arm in the air all the way out of the hatch. A band started playing and we gazed at the dock.
Civilians in suits and dresses, high ranking Navy and Marine Corps Officers formed two lines with an aisle between them. The Councilors waved as they emerged from the DS which brought a cheer from the crowd. They began walking the gauntlet stopping to shake hands and say a few words with selected people. All the way, Admiral Ingar Rigmor hovered just behind the Councilors.
The two lines folded into a mob and the entire reception flowed off the flight deck led by Councilor Shi Peng, Councilor Khalida Jalal, and Admiral Ingar Rigmor. A final note from the band and they collected their instruments and departed as well. I looked at Warlock. She replied by shrugging, dropping into an acceleration seat and doing a flourish with her hand to offer me the other seat. So, I sat down to wait orders.
Fifteen minutes later, someone slapped the skin of the DS and stuck her head in the hatch.
“What ship is this?” she demanded.
She wore a work uniform but sported Commander insignias on her collars.
“Ma’am. C.V. 48,” I said jumping to my feet.
“Never heard of it. What’s your Navy designation?” she asked after consulting her PID.
“G.C.N. 48, D.S. GunShip,” I replied.
“GunShip? What are you doing on this flight line?” she asked then with a horrified look blurted, “Is she armed?”
“Yes, Ma’am, full combat load. Guns, rockets,” I assured her.
Above her head hung a set of guns. She suddenly looked up and noticed the twin barrels.
“Declared passengers?” she asked lowering her eyes to take in the five Strikers and me.
“Lieutenant Piran, pilot, call sign J-Pop,” I reported.
The Commander of the VIP Flight Line typed into her PID. Then, she looked really hard at the five Strikers. I was accustomed to the muscles, the broad shoulders and height, especially the bulk of Stone Angel and Heavy Rain.
“Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich, Team Leader, call sign Warlock,” Warlock stated.
“Team? What team?” the Commander asked now furiously typing on her PID, “Are you armed with personal weapons?”
“Not at the moment, Ma’am,” Warlock replied, “But we have a full load out, minus a few hundred round, stowed below.”
The Commander didn’t say another word. She backed away from the hatch typing as she shuffled away from the DS.
“Master Sergeant,” I said, “I’ve a bad feeling about this.”
“Aye, Lieutenant,” Warlock replied, “I didn’t feel warm and fuzzes coming from the Commander. What do we do?”
“It’s the Navy,” I said sitting back down, “We sit and wait.”
The squad of combat Marines arrived five minutes later. They formed a semi-circle on the dock facing the DS. Thankfully, they pointed their weapons towards the deck. I’d had enough.
On my wrist was a bracelet with C.G.M.C. in raised letters. I mashed the M.
“Should we go out and speak with them?” Stone Angel asked.
“I don’t see an officer,” Warlock said, “No one with authority to speak with, so, no. J-Pop you seem relaxed.”
“Just waiting for reinforcements,” I replied putting my hands behind my neck, “Should be along shortly.”
Shortly was two minutes, I heard her before I saw her.
“Squad, attention, order arms,” a female voice who sounded as if she gargled space rocks announced, “Make a hole.”
‘Now that was just mean’, I thought looking out to see a Gunnery Sergeant. It was mean because a Marine at attention couldn’t move unless ordered to march, perform an about face or side step. There was no official make a hole. It caused confusion and the Gunny settled for pushing between two Marines.
“Lieutenant Piran?” she asked walking through the hatch.
“Aye, Gunny,” I responded standing to greet her
Then she locked eyes with Thunder Eagle and commented, “Corporal Arna Thorsten?”
“Hi, Gunny,” replied Thorsten.
“Let me guess. The Navy can’t identify your unit,” the Gunny stated, “They ordered you to the VIP dock and once the VIPs were gone, they panicked at having an armed warship on their pretty dock. Then, they discovered the GunShip was carrying a fully armed and dangerous Strike-Kill team. How am I doing so far?”
“Dead on, Gunnery Sergeant,” I replied, “Can you get this straightened out and us off this deck?”
“Give me five,” she said turning and going to a Sergeant standing at attention with the Marines.
The Gunnery Sergeant walked off the deck followed by the squad of Marines. I shrugged and sat back down. Five minutes later, I received a movement warning. As the DS rose with the sled, I moved to the pilot seat. Far down the flight line we entered a ship’s elevator and were dropped down to where warships were welcome.
Three crews from the Ander El Aitor met us at a cramped docking bay. One collected small arms ammo from the Strikers while another began pulling rockets and ammo crates from the DS. The third lined us up and marched us to be debriefed. So much for my few hours of being a pilot for important persons.
I’d been in a small circle of Naval Investigators for over an hour. The after-action-debriefing was a round robin affair. The five Strikers sat separately and were also surrounded by teams of people with questions. They’d already rotated the investigative teams three times. By my count we had three more rotations to go.
I was hungry and sick of answering the same questions over and over again. I could only imagine the attitudes of the Strikers. Especially Arna Thorsten, Thunder Eagle had been late to the party due to a visit to the Medical Deck. She looked absolutely miserable.
Ingar Rigmor breezed into the auditorium. All lanky, cocky and daring anyone to challenge his importance. I didn’t know it then, it was shortly after his entrance, I learned about
his character.
“I am Admiral Ingar Rigmor, Protocol Officer for the Ander El Aitor,” he announced after stationing himself in the center of the room and waiting for everyone to turn around, “This meeting is adjourned.”
“Now see here Admiral. We’re not done,” one of the civilian investigators said as he turned around in his seat.
Ingar Rigmor held up one finger signaling wait. The group watched the finger and waited for the Admiral to continue. He didn’t. Just stood in the center of the auditorium with its separated tables and individual groups. All eyes were on him until every PID in the room binged, bonged, buzzed or beeped.
All the investigators were suddenly reading their PIDs. Then, reluctantly in some cases, they all stood and meandered out of the auditorium.
As the last investigator reach the threshold of the exit, the Admiral broke his silence, “Kindly close the door on your way out. That’s a good man.”
“Now we have the room,” he said eyeing each of us by partially turning in one direction then the other, “You see this inquiry is unnecessary. I’ve just come from a meeting with Councilor Khalida Jalal and she suggested we deny the whole affair.”
“Excuse me Admiral,” I said standing so he could see my rank, “What does Councilor Shi Peng have to say about sweeping the kidnappings under a rug?”
“And who are you?” he asked.
“Lieutenant Piran,” I replied.
“Oh, the driver. Also the pilot who likes to run around in his underwear,” Ingar Rigmor replied, “I heard about your miss adventure. Councilor Jalal was quite shocked by your lack of seriousness in such a grave situation. Of course, it will be logged as a training mission. A chance for the Navy to show the Councilors, firsthand, the capabilities of our new Deep Space GunShip.”
“I’m sorry to repeat myself, Admiral,” I stated, “But what does Councilor Peng have to say about the lie?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ll humor you this one time,” Rigmor said, “Councilor Shi Peng fell ill at the reception. He’s hospitalized on the Medical Deck. So for now, Councilor Khalida Jalal has his proxy vote on the Council making her the most powerful person in the Galactic Realm. We’ve worked long and hard on making her a friend of the Military. Command believes this may be the turning point. So, Councilor Jalal says it’s a training mission. It’s a training mission. Councilor says to park the DS GunShip on the VIP dock to show it off to dignitaries. The DS GunShip gets parked. Whatever she wants, the Navy will make happen. Clear Lieutenant?”
“Aye, Sir, Clear,” I said then under my breath mumbled, “Even if she wants the total destruction of the Navy?”
“What was that Piran?” Rigmor asked.
“Nothing Sir, just clearing my throat,” I said adding a slight cough to belay any misunderstanding.
I noticed a couple of Strikers had raised their hands. The Admiral didn’t call on them. He waved their hands down as if they didn’t matter. Well, I guess if you were the Protocol Officer on a BattleShip and had the responsibility for two Councilors, you were way too busy for lowly enlisted NCOs.
“Now men. I have some good news,” Admiral Ingar Rigmor said strolling to the door, and just before leaving finished as if he were leaving before the applause started, “When we get to Planet Tres, you’re granted 30 days of shore leave, Planet side. Enjoy.”
And, he was gone, leaving us confused and angry. The Strikers had risked their lives to save two Councilors. I knew better but wasn’t about to burden them with the truth. One Councilor didn’t need rescuing. Now their acts of bravery had been reduced to a training mission and our DS GunShip was denigrated to a show and tell display. I needed to speak with a Druid Elder, as soon as possible.
It wasn’t to be as I was delayed twice. First, I received a message on my PID and headed for the supply deck. The ships’ Quartermaster had questions about a missing set of Striker armor. Seems, missing armor in combat was excusable, but on a training mission, it was unforgivable. And costly, to the tune of my pay being docked until I repaid the Navy 150,000 Pesetas.
The second delay was more productive.
“Lieutenant Piran,” the dark haired Captain, who’d stopped me on the way off the Supply Deck, asked.
“Yes, Sir. Call sign J-Pop,” I replied, “How can I help you?”
“You spoke with my cousin about the Pirate Clipper ship,” he said, “Captain Kahina.”
“Priestess, Assistant Chief of Flight Operations on the Glynis Gavin,” I said, “The Captain who likes to snack off of other people’s plate?”
“If you were dining on pieces of Fil Fil Mahshi, yes. She’s been doing that since we were children,” he said then introduced himself, “Captain Haitham, call sign Eaglet. I’m the Assistant Chief of Flight Operations on the Ander El Aitor. Tell me about the Yacht and its crew.”
“You mean on the training mission?” I asked bitterly.
“It was my Fighter pilots who escorted you,” he said sharply, “Those men and women depend on me and I’m asking you for intelligence on a possible threat. So, yes, on the training mission.”
“Sorry Captain. I’m tired and hungry and a little fed up with protocol,” I admitted, then explained, “We’ve, no, I’ve had experiences four times with an unknown organization. Each time they’ve been destroyed before the Navy could question them, or their operators have escaped. I don’t know who they are but they have financial resources, a military organization, and new ships. Whoever they are, your pilots will encounter them again. That’s the best I can do.”
“That’s pretty much what Captain Kahina reported except the three additional contacts,” He said, “Anything else?”
“Eaglet. From one pilot to another,” I said trying to be as safe as possible, “Watch your six. Something about Councilor Jalal isn’t right.”
“J-Pop. That’s dangerous talk,” Captain Haitham warned, “If I were you, I wouldn’t repeat that to anyone.”
I would repeat that and a lot more an hour later in the Druid atrium. Unfortunately, I received almost the same result. After leaving Eaglet, I took a lift to the Red Heart Plant’s deck. It took a few attempts and as many threats before an Elder come through the stainless vault door.
“Asthore’ Elder,” I said to the ancient Druid, “As a Knight Protector of the Clan, I have words.”
“Knight. Know, we of the Ander El Aitor are warrior Druids,” he began without introducing himself, “We need no assistance from a Knight. Say your words.”
The Red Heart was the rarest of the Plants and the most powerful. Its effect created aggression and a sense of invulnerability. On a BattleShip, these were good traits, except when a contradictory view point was offered.
“Councilor Jalal is a traitor to the Galactic Realm,” I said bluntly, “She is conspiring with an organization threatening harm to Druids and Heart Planets.”
“A rouge Knight is always a possibility,” the Elder reflected then said, “It is your words that are threatening to Druids and our precious Heart Plants. You will say no further words that cast doubt on Khalida Jalal, a friend and supporter of Druids.”
Political favors, protection or just social identity; In any case, Khalida Jalal had subverted the honor of the Druids on the Ander El Aitor. I wondered if the few Druids on Planet Tres were like wise effected.
Druid Clans, although separated from their neighbors, must live and thrive in culturally different societies. From time to time, Druid families gone beyond coexisting and actually embraced the neighboring cultures. Warrior Druids in the Marine Corps or the Navy were examples of sympathizing with outside cultures. But, the worst and most damaging cases were when Druids became fully integrated in local institutions. I feared the Druids in this sector of the Realm had descended to that level.
“Asthore’ Elder. I will take your words under advisement,” I said.
He turned and I watched him disappear through the safety of the Druid’s vault door. I wondered how safe he actually was behind the b
arrier.
Chapter 39
The best things about cruising on a BattleShip was the chow, the variety of recreational activities and the distance the capital warship covered in a short time. We entered orbit around Planet Tres and I boarded a Shuttle to begin my 30 days of shore leave. I hadn’t seen much of the Striker Team. They being enlisted and me being an officer, we traveled in separate circles on the ship. The military rules against fraternization were strictly enforced on the Ander El Aitor. My Shuttle was officers only, except for the crewmen. We docked as the sun rose over the city’s Space Port.
The hotel was pure luxury and extravagantly expensive. It rose above the upper deck of the city and was convenient to the landing port.
I checked into the hotel, stowed my gear, and went out to hail a taxi. The sun of Planet Tres was weak this time of year but basking in direct sunlight felt adventurous. In space, without an atmosphere to filter the rays, your naked skin would become sunburned in just a few minutes.
My first visit would be to a farming community. A Druid Elder might have political status to guard. A local Druid teacher wouldn’t have the same restrictions. The taxi dropped through the levels of the city before joining the flow of traffic on a highway. We left the city behind.
I could see three buildings and the ruins of an old structure far off to our left. The driver told me it was the old palace and the adjacent buildings were the Great Schism Museum and the Hall of Heroes.
Two hours later, the taxi took an off ramp and we drove between fields of cultivated crops. I lowered the window and inhaled the sweet smell of green plants, damp earth and fertilizer. It reminded me of my time as a Druid candidate on Planet Uno.
The cab took a turn following the directions on a sign. A few meters further down the road, we drove between giant shade trees and approached a compound. A rustic stone wall, which also reminded me of my Clan’s area on Uno, surrounded six farm houses. Each family’s house had a tree lined lane leading to their barn. I was smiling when I stepped from the taxi.
“Sister. Can you direct me to the village Druid?” I asked of a little girl who was herding a gaggle of geese.
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 32