Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty

by J. Clifton Slater

  “J-Pop. Good to see you,” he said looking quickly up at me before returning to his PID.

  “You too,” I said and was saved from being ignored by a full figured waitress, “I’ll have an ale and get another drink for my busy friend.”

  She vanished and I turned back to watch the big man. She returned with our drinks as I studied the delicate finger work going on at the ends of the thickly muscled forearms. Mass and manual dexterity are an odd mix.

  “Stone Angel. You got it yet?” Fire Dove asked as he sat down grabbing one of the two full drinks.

  “And, now, that’s it,” The big man said with finality.

  He dropped the arm with the PID on the table and announced, “Good intelligence but no help.”

  “What were you looking for?” I asked.

  “Warlock wasn’t happy with Councilor Jalal’s account of their capture and her treatment by the Pirates,” Fire Dove explained pointing with his half empty glass to Stone Angel, “She asked our team brain to do some background on the woman.”

  “And what did you find?” I asked puzzled that the Striker Leader would be suspicious of the same Councilor, I knew to be a traitor.

  “The Jalal family earned its wealth during the Great Schism,” Stone Angel reported, “Then slowly over the years, they turned from business and began building one of the most powerful political entities in the Realm. On Planet Tres alone, family members hold important offices in all the major cities along with major and minor positions in the world government. Add the Galactic Councillorship, and the Jalal’s control pretty much everything from leveling taxes to enacting laws. What surprised me the most? I couldn’t find one case, not a whiff, of scandal, bribery or deviant behavior in the family’s history.”

  “They must be pure of heart,” Fire Dove said, “or hire very good fixers.”

  “Or live by a code,” I said remembering the oath then discounting the idea.

  “They’re an impressive lot,” Stone Angel said, “from Colonel Jalal who personally led the final attack on the Empress’ Palace, where I might add his twin brother commanded the defenses, to Khalida Jalal, a Councilor of the Galactic Council. And, not a pervert in the flock.”

  “Stone Angel. What are Extra Low Frequencies used for?” I asked realizing that the Master Gunner was a wiz at digging up information.

  “Mostly communications in thick environments such as seas and oceans,” he said not even looking at his PID, “ELFs are magneto hydrodynamic waves where ions oscillate in response to a restoring force provided by an effective tension on magnetic field lines.”

  “Ah, can you break that down in Realm?” I asked seeing Fire Dove fight to hold back a snicker, “I know, I’m not the brightest Lieutenant in the Navy.”

  “You do alright J-Pop,” Stone Angel said, “What it means is the signal is sent by powering up large antenna arrays. It’s different than forcing power into a high frequency source to broadcast a signal. Clear?”

  “What good would it do to generate an ELF field with depth instead of with a large array?” I asked.

  “You’d create a hot spot. With specialized instruments, you could see it from half way across the Galactic Realm. Think of an ember in a dying fire. It doesn’t emit a light beam, but if you look for it in the dark, you can hone in on its location. Like a reverse homing beacon,” he explained, “Why do you ask?”

  “Nothing. It’s just something I was reading,” I lied.

  “What have you got for me?” Warlock asked leaning around me.

  “Not much, good family and politically connected,” Stone Angel said to his team leader, “Sound credentials all around.”

  “I don’t get it,” Warlock said, “Councilor Jalal was lying through her teeth. I’d bet my stripes on it.”

  “If anyone hears you say that,” Fire Dove added, “You will have.”

  I snagged Warlock’s elbow and began walking her away from the table.

  “Sorry. Command meeting,” I said to the two Strikers.

  “Oh, Warlock’s in trouble,” Stone Angel said as the team leader and I put some distance between us and the two Strikers.

  “Lieutenant. I’m sorry for the disrespectful language,” she said once we stopped and I turned to face her, “I know the Councilor is an important person. It’s just my gut feeling.”

  “Master Sergeant. One of the strengths of a good NCO is following her gut,” I said then took us both into a dangerous place, “I can’t explain now but you’re right. Councilor Khalida Jalal is a traitor.”

  “She’s a what?” Warlock asked her jaw dropping so her mouth formed a perfect circle, “A traitor. As in a turncoat to the Galactic Council Realm?”

  “I witnessed it with my own eyes,” I admitted, “Someday, I’ll explain but right now, I’m working on gathering information. To what end, I don’t know. The Councilor, as you rightly pointed out, is an important person.”

  “What are we going to do?” she asked stiffening her shoulders as if a battle were about to start.

  “Right now? Right now, you and the team are going to buy me a drink of really expensive liquor,” I said smiling at her, “But, I need to ask you to keep the team together while on leave. I may need your help later.”

  “Roger to both,” Warlock said before raising her voice and announcing, “Fire Dove. J-Pop is here and we need a toast. Gather the team and bring on the good stuff.”

  Fire Dove, obviously having prearranged the signal, raised his arm and began waving it in the air. Three things happened. Heavy Rain said something to the tiny woman and she sulked away. Thunder Eagle jumped up among a choirs of protests. The two Strikers walked towards the table. Before they reached us, the waitress arrived with a dusty bottle and six glasses.

  The bottle of James Daily was placed in the center of the table after Fire Dove filled our glasses.

  “To Team Work,” Warlock shouted and as one, we tossed back our drinks.

  I rolled over. Snuggled deeper into the warm bedding, and promised myself another hour of sleep. I didn’t make it. The nagging idea to decipher the picture book’s wording, I’d felt at the club all evening, returned. My hour of sleep became five minutes before I tossed back the covers.

  After pulling on the Knight’s doublet and linking my PID, I began. Empress to Realm, line by line, page by page, until I had the translation of the picture book.

  Page #1, I translated to Realm.

  “Many deaths preceded my awakening. I was born in blood, tears and the misery of my subjects. Yet, I was born to the throne. Until my old advisers died at the end of a noose, I neglected my worshipers. Now, with them gone, I assumed my proper place. For those who died on the exodus, I have only blessings. For those who survived the journey, I give you these words so you will never forget. Bow your heads, all reading these word, and be thankful for eternity. Immortal, just and benevolent, I am your Empress.”

  The first picture depicted a sad scene. A kneeling man holding a thin child. An air mask covered the emaciated face while the man’s face seemed to scream in anger. The background was muted but from the lines, cables and rounded edges you could tell it was the interior of a space ship.

  I translated the accompanying words from Empress to Realm.

  “I slipped away from the Constabulary and walked among my people. I saw misery, knowing to some, death was the only escape. The air and the people stank. A father gave his air to a sick son. The child died. A mother gave her food to a starving daughter. The child died. Strong adults were giving away their rations. I decreed, only the strong must survive. The airlocks hummed with use around the clock leaving a trail of tears and my smallest subjects to mark our passage. I am your Empress.”

  Another picture came to mind. This one painted an agonizing scene. Men, women and children with ribs protruding lay around an empty food bin. Their cracked and dried tongues seeming to lick scraps of food from their bony hands.

  The words going with this picture became a paragraph.

  “I ve
ntured to the commissary and my heart broke. In the passageways, the hungry huddled and fowled the air with the reek of ketone. I proclaimed, a chemist would create a royal elixir. Now everyone exhales the smell of starvation. I stooped, and of the famished, tenderly inquired about their lives, their families, and their skills. Then, I ordered the food freezer doors opened. The hungry, the ones without skills were helped in. They could still prove their usefulness. I am your Empress.”

  Another picture came to my mind, the illustration of a massive passenger space ship half destroyed in a crater. Beyond the cascading dirt, smoke and fire, the vista changed to a pastoral scene. Among lush grain plants and tall sturdy trees, people in torn clothing wandered wide eyed.

  The words for this picture were as follows.

  “I am gracious and have guided my people to their new home. Upon the announcement, there was much rejoicing and celebration. Subjects from my new planet required a lesson in how to worship me. Our ships were unarmed and took much damage from the warships of my new subjects. Without arms or armament, I decided to be proactive. All of my Captains were replaced before proceeding. Our space transports dropped below the atmosphere and we landed hard on the fertile soil. I am your Empress.”

  This poster portrayed a regal experience. A tall woman in flowing robes with an ornate headdress walked among bodies. As she passed, her hands reached out and a few people stood and followed her through the piles of corpses.

  I translated the Empress’ words.

  “I am merciful and compassionate. My loyal, Royal Constabulary is not. Like children, they destroyed without compassion showing no mercy to my new subjects. Hamlets, towns and cities were toppled and trampled into the earth. There was no regard for life on either side. It took my noble presence to curtail their fervor. The new subjects welcomed my mercy. From the ruins and wreckage, they rose up in mass to embrace their rightful ruler. I am your Empress.”

  My stomach tightened as I brought back the memory of the next picture. An imp or demon in a brown robe was being chased by a mob of angry people. Waving farm implements instead of weapons, their mouths set in sneers or firm resolve, they chased the gnarly devil. Driving it surely towards the gallows where other robed fiends already hung.

  Her words I translated to Realm.

  “I provide food for my people. Like a good gardener, it took years of traveling across my new world, to weed out the bad. I found a story book about brown robed teachers who helped farms become more productive. I read their lessons but, the more scorched earth I ordered scraped up and buried, the more I realized the Druids were evil. They enslaved people by withholding the secret to food production. Other, older books told of the imps’ air trees. These surely were also evil. I am your empress.”

  The last picture in my memory was the most painful. It was of a gang of ferocious people desecrating a Heart Plant. The blasphemy knew no bounds. From bodily fluids to poisons thrown on the beautiful plant to attacks by flaming torches and hatchets, the vile despoilers were murdering the Heart Plant.

  The words translated to these thoughts.

  “As the ruler, I am always aware of the mood of my subjects. The world was healing but some still denied my rule. For those who took up arms, my answer was the Royal Constabulary. Others chose idols and these hurt me the most. One group, who’d traveled on the ships, began worshiping Druid trees. I have sympathy for ritual so provided my subjects with a worldwide cult. Henceforth, all subjects upon reaching the age of majority, must participate in the annual destruction of a large tree. It’s festive, with lights and food and medical care as the destruction must be done with hand tools. I am your Empress.”

  There was no picture on the back page of the book. The passage however, didn’t recall past observations. It translated to future plans.

  “Thus, I traveled to a far planet. My subjects thrive and industry has grown back quickly. Now, we are ready to return to my original planets. The Royal Constabulary has ships, manpower and the strength of my will. We will begin by crippling their economy, then their Navy and finally the evil old ones of the Galactic Council. My rule is preordained and the mechanics put in place before the journey began. Know all who read these words, I am your Empress.”

  I pondered the translations. These were the words of an Empress, but the Great Schism had been hundreds of years ago. I concluded the book was written by a succession of Empresses. It was a myopic distillation of her history set down in a prayer book. How Ignaz came into possession of a book produced Galaxies away, I couldn’t fathom.

  I loaded the translations of the Book and List into an e-mail and sent it to Warlock. This way if anything happened to me, there’d be another copy. I received a reply almost immediately. She must be awake, as well.

  ‘Message Failed,’ was the reply. The server had analyzed the content and refused to send it. Now I know why my search for the symbols had come back with no results. The Galactic Council Realm web servers had blocks on any information dealing with the Empress or her language.

  Chapter 41

  I dressed and reached a decision on the way down in the elevator. The Druid Elders must see these documents. The door opened and I stepped into the marble, glass and brass themed hotel lobby. I was six steps across the marble floor when I spotted two familiar figures.

  Captain Haitham and Admiral Ingar Rigmor were standing at the registration counter. A hotel manager was behind the counter. I changed direction and headed for them.

  “Admiral. Captain. Good morning,” I said as I approached.

  “Piran. You’re staying here?” Admiral Rigmor asked in disbelief, “Pretty rich on a Lieutenant’s pay. Especially, one being docked to repayment of lost equipment.”

  Of course he knew about the missing Striker armor. He’d already let me know he knew I performed a rescue missions in my underwear.

  “Yes sir. But not the penthouse, I didn’t see the value in it,” I explained using the most extravagant suit I could imagine.

  He ignored me and went back to speaking with the hotel manager.

  “J-Pop. How is your leave going?” Captain Haitham asked with no malice in his tone.

  “Are you and the Admiral on leave?” I asked not bothering to answer him.

  “Not in the normal sense,” he replied, “Councilor Khalida Jalal wants to show her appreciation. She’s ordered the Ander El Aitor’s command and section heads to a grand ball. Given in honor of the Galactic Council Navy and its service men and woman.”

  “You’re going to strip a BattleShip of all command and control staff?” I asked in horror.

  Admiral Rigmor overheard my tone and rounded on me.

  “You’ll keep a civil tone when speaking of command or the Councilor,” he scolded me, “In the future, try to remember, you are a Naval officer.”

  “Aye, Sir,” I replied.

  He marched off leaving the Captain and me standing together.

  “He’s right, you know, J-Pop,” Captain Haitham offered, “The Gala is a great honor. Besides, the ship is in a low orbit around a heavily patrolled planet. A day without section leaders will be good experience for our junior staff members.”

  “Eaglet. I’ve come across some intelligence,” I said pointing to my PID, “And I need some guidance on how to handle it. Can I buy you breakfast?”

  We selected a table overlooking the not to distance Space Port. Shuttles rose into the blue sky as if they were birds with their wings pulled back. After we ordered, I related the translations without telling him how I’d seen the original drawings or symbols. Or, where I got the dictionary to transcribe the words.

  “J-Pop. It looks as if you’ve stumbled across a cult,” Eaglet suggested, “They may be a danger to a civilian facility. I’d take it to the local authorities. Then, go enjoy the rest of your shore leave.”

  I agreed verbally as I ate. Except, I didn’t agree at all.

  “How’s Councilor Shi Peng?” I asked trying to change the subject, “I imagine he’s at a planet side hospita
l by now.”

  “No, as a matter of fact, the Councilor’s still on the Ander El Aitor,” Captain Haitham explained, “The doctor has cleared the Councilor. The old guy wants to get back to his Galactic Council duties, as soon as possible. We’re to carry him to a transfer point when we get underway. He wouldn’t even come down for Councilor Jalal’s Gala.”

  “When’s the Gala?” I asked.

  “That’s why the Admiral and I are here,” he stated, “We’re securing hotel rooms all over the city for our personnel. And we only have a few days.”

  “Captain. When’s the Gala?” I asked again.

  “In four days,” he replied.

  My stomach knotted and I set down my fork. I was no longer hungry.

  The End

  On Duty, Galactic Council Realm

  Thank you for reading my books.

  If you enjoyed the adventures of Phelan Oscar Piran,

  please leave a review on Amazon.

  Sincerely, J. Clifton Slater

  Galactic Council Realm Series

  On Station

  On Duty

  On Guard

  Appendix

  Characters / Reference for meanings of Clan names: http://www.babynames.ch/

  Asthore’, Term of endearment. Used when addressing Druids or Clan Elders. Clan Celtic: My Dear

  Amara, Radio operator on the Yacht Suria. Clan Igbo: Grace

  Ander El Aitor, GC Navy Battleship assigned to the Western Region of the Galactic Council Realm. Tres Sector. Clan Basque: The Brave Father

  Arna Thorsten, GCMC Corporal assigned to Special Navy Operations, SNO, position Left Side Sky. Call sign Thunder Eagle. Clan Icelandic: Eagle and Thunder

  Ayana Tani, Galactic Council Navy Lieutenant. Pilot of GunShip 1 on the Swanhilde. Clan Ethiopian: Beautiful Flower and Born Monday

  Ayman, Independent Transport, Tramp steamer. Clan Arabic: Lucky

  Bilal, Desk clerk on Construction Station’s Hotel Imperial. Clan Arabic: Satisfying Thirst