“To an eleven-year-old the weeks of visiting my father in the ward seem like forever,” she said bracing her back as if she were still that little girl. In fact, Arna Thorsten was a highly trained operator and a skilled warrior.
“Between visits, we moved to a small apartment on level five,” she continued, “It’s right across the street from Dilshad’s. Still there and still a rundown mess. They brought my father there when he was discharged. It took four men to carry him up to the fourth floor.”
She paused, took a deep breath, and said, “He used a walker. The stairs were inaccessible and the apartment became his prison. For hours I could hear him practicing his exercises trying to relearn to walk. My mother took a job on level four. She was gone for long hours and I started school on level five.”
“On the second day, three older boys were waiting for me when I left the apartment building. One demanded my lunch money. When I refused, another one pushed me down. They took the few Pesetas my mother had given me for lunch. What made me mad was I fell into the dirt. I went to school in the dirty dress and no one wanted anything to do with me. On the third and fourth day, they didn’t even ask. One would shove me to the ground and another would take my lunch money. Life on level five was turning out to be miserable.”
“When I got home from school all broken and dejected, I didn’t go to the sad little apartment. I climbed the stairs, bypassing the fourth floor. I located a door to the roof. It took me half an hour to jimmy the lock,” she said with an evil grin, “From the roof I looked down on the street. My tormentors were there hanging around waiting for their next victim.”
Arna Thorsten, call sign Thunder Eagle, took a sip and her posture shifted.
“I considered suicide for a minute but then I spotted a board. It was probably left over from an apartment rehab. That made me think of the daily exercises my father was doing, trying to get his legs back. My self-pity faded as I looked from the two-meter length of the board and mentally measured the distance from the low wall of the roof to the strut supporting the deck of level four. Maybe four meters, just a little short, but certainly within jumping distance. One end I shoved under an air handling unit letting the other end of the board hang off the roof. Yup, only about a meter short,” she said shaking her head in wonder, “Back then, I couldn’t judge distances. The meter turned out to be about a meter and three quarters when I jumped from the end of the board.”
“I missed the strut. From a layout dive position, I kicked as if I could swim the extra distance. The strut rose further out of reach while I was kicking and grabbing air. Would my parents think I committed suicide? Would the gang of three, fourteen-year-old boys, believe I killed myself because of them? That was the worst possible outcome. I got angry. Somehow I had the presence to tuck and roll. When I unfolded, my legs shot out and I contacted the support beam. Contacted? My feet slapped into the I-beam and my face followed. But I managed to wrap my arms around the beam which slowed my decent. Once I hooked my legs around it, I slowed to a stop.”
Thunder Eagle closed her eyes, raised her chin, and opened her eyes as if looking up at a strut.
“I started to climb. Passed the window for my apartment, up until I reached the strut. Once I’d gained the top of the slim beam, I rested. The tip of the board looked a kilometer away from the safety of my perch,” she said while knotting up her forehead in thought, “It seemed like a good idea so I crawled to where the strut connected to the I-beam and the underbrace. Level four’s deck was an arm’s length overhead. First I got a grip on the brace beam and walked my hands out before letting go of the strut with my legs. I swing my legs up and locked my heels on the beam. I don’t remember the actual crawl but on the other side of the street, I shimmied down to that strut. After a sliding decent, I reached the roof of Dilshad’s.”
“You crossed the street by climbing to the roof of level five?” I asked, “At eleven years old?”
“Compared to what I do now, it’s nothing,” she stated, “but yes, it was quite the feat for an eleven-year-old.”
“Impressive,” I said thinking of the high roof over level five.
“I located the roof hatch at Dilshad’s and dropped into the attic of the restaurant,” she continued, “Mostly the attic is storage with boxes of extra dinnerware, chairs and tables. Except for the area over the gambling hall. That’s a separate room with seating around the floor placed at observation lenses. Look up. If you study the carvings closely, you’ll see the eye in the sky areas. They’re for gaming security to watch for cheaters.”
I peered at the ceiling but couldn’t separate out the eye in the sky from the carvings. They were built in tightly as if the carvings were done specifically to incorporate the lenses. If Dilshad’s offered gambling when Tres was under construction, then the woodwork must date back to that era. Again, I wondered about the craftsmanship and how it could resemble Druid artistry?
“Iesha, the hostess you met, found me. I expected to be arrested for trespassing,” Arna said, “Instead, she asked if I wanted to work for the restaurant. Of course, I said yes. For the rest of my school days, I washed dishes, ran errands and eventually waitressed at Dilshad’s. The money helped my family and my association with the Dilshad family stopped the boys from stealing my lunch money.”
“So you stopped climbing the beams over the street?” I asked.
“Oh no J-Pop,” she said with pride, “I did it every day to get to work. It’s why I qualified top of my class for Airlock Technician when I joined the Marines. And why, Special Navy Operations selected me. I’m an expert climber and I owe it all to three, thirteen-year-old hoodlums.”
“So you forgave the boys?” I asked.
“I have now,” she admitted, “After completing my SNO training, I took leave. They were still on the corner looking for trouble. Three, twenty somethings, looking for an easy mark. Imagine their joy when I showed up. Here I was, one of their first victims, come to visit the restaurant.”
She let out a wicked chuckle and continued, “They did say hello before one of them grabbed my arm. He still limps from the busted knee I gave him. The other two jumped in but I held back. They only ended up on the Medical Deck. As they were loaded in the ambulance, Iesha rushed across the street to check on me. After we hugged, I told the moaning boys, I forgive you.”
“Did you visit your parents?” I asked trying to be sensitive to her father’s plight.
“Not on level five,” she said, “Three years after the accident, my father conquered the stairs. He found a garage and traded his welding skills for a work space in the back. In that room he began to create alloy artwork. Five years later, art patrons were lining up to buy his sculptures and support my father. If you look around at any upper crust home or building on Tres, you’ll find an original Thorsten. Now, my parents live in a condo with a level one view.”
As she finished her story, a door opened, and in strolled Warlock’s right side elements. A Strike Kill team was composed of five operators. Warlock was the center. On her right and left were an earth element and above them a sky element. This allowed for quick searches and attacks in the corridors of enemy ships. Shigeko Amaya, Heavy Rain, holds the position of Left Side Earth with Arna Thorsten, Thunder Eagle, positioned above him as Left Side Sky.
The two figures who walked in were the thickly muscular Lieke Steyn, Stone Angel, the Right Side Earth and the Iñaki Uxue, Fire Dove, the Right Side Sky. Now I had the elements here, the only thing missing was their team Leader.
While I wasn’t sure the Striker team would help me, they were the only unit on Tres I trusted. Hopefully, they trusted me.
Fire Dove got to the cognac first, and after dropping in three ice cubes, he poured a healthy dose of the liquor. Behind him, shaking his head, Stone Angel observed his partner’s movements.
“Barbarian,” he said taking a snifter and gently pouring in enough to cover the bottom of the glass.
The big guy swirled the liquor around, sniffed at the ‘Tom
Keller XO’, swirled the liquid around some more, sniffed again then took a tiny sip. “Excellent,” he proclaimed, “you’ve got to experience the aroma to fully appreciate the vintage.”
“It’s got burn,” Fire Dove replied, “That’s all I need.”
Stone Angel shook his head and carried his glass over to where Heavy Rain was studying the roulette table. I watched the two Earth elements and thought, they wouldn’t look out of place at a bodybuilding competition. Meanwhile, Fire Dove was sprawled on a chair next to Thunder Eagle. The two Sky elements were rip cord lean and taunt like gymnasts. The Strike Kill team was designed, trained, and put together to counter space raiders. I wondered how they would do on a planet side mission. Or, if they would even go operational on my word, alone.
The answer to both burst through a door. She was built somewhere between the Earth and Sky elements and there was no question as to who was in charge.
“Gather around,” ordered Diosa Alberich, call sign Warlock, “Sorry I’m late but I had to stop off and acquire a set of Dress Blues. Seems Councilor Jalal requests the pleasure of my presence at the Gala.”
“You, too,” I said, “Anyone else get an invitation?”
The four Strikers shook their heads no. Only Warlock and I would be attending the Salute to the Galactic Realm’s Military Gala.
“Lieutenant. I hope you have a mission,” she said as the four Strikers moved to either side of their Sergeant. Two on her left and two on the right, just as they’ve been trained.
“I don’t know where to start,” I admitted, “I have questions and suspicions but I wouldn’t know where to start issuing orders.”
“Sir. With all due respect,” Warlock said, “You don’t issue orders. You layout the parameters. We’ll break them into tasks. The tasks will dictate the orders, and, if we plan correctly, the mission will be a success.”
“Let me state a few facts. Some of them you’ll know,” I said motioning them to take seats, “Councilor Khalida Jalal is a traitor. I believe the Gala is an excuse to clear the Ander El Aitor of its command staff. For what reason, I’m not sure. There’s an Ambassador on Tres representing, I believe, the Empress. This Ambassador has troops with her. I think they’re Empress Royal Constabulary, her shock troops. I don’t know exactly how many but they seem to be everywhere. Why so many for a diplomatic mission, is another mystery. Also, I witnessed an ELF field at the Hall of Hero’s museum and I don’t know who it’s signaling. Finally, Councilor Shi Peng is in orbit on the BattleShip. He was sick when Councilor Jalal come down and although well now, he decided to stay on board. So you can see, I don’t have a direction or a mission really. Just suspicions and conjecture.”
Warlock looked to her right and Fire Dove showed teeth and shook his head yes. His partner, Stone Angel, said, “We’ve got enough to start intelligence gathering.”
The team leader rotated to her left and got approving nodes from Heavy Rain and Thunder Eagle. She paused, studied the top of the table for a long time before lifting her face to me.
“Lieutenant Piran. As the ranking officer for Special Navy Operations on planet Tres, are you prepared,” Warlock stated in a voice that carried weight as well as a warning, “to activate our Strike Kill team. And assume all legal ramifications from said operation?”
It felt like I’d been asked to open the door of a cage and release a pack of wolves on a herd of unsuspecting sheep. I guess in a way I was about to do just that.
“Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich. Yes, I do assume responsibility,” I said to Warlock, “When can you and your team go operational?”
“Right after we eat,” Fire Dove said, “Lunch is on you J-Pop.”
Thunder Eagle jumped up and jogged to the back of the Gambling Hall. She reached a table between two doors, grabbed a bell and rang it four times. By the time she returned to our table, three waiters had entered with carts of beverages, place settings and appetizers. I had a feeling lunch wouldn’t be cheap.
Between the opening salvo of finger food and the arrival of everyone’s individual order, Warlock began issuing assignments.
“Heavy Rain, you’re on the Extreme Low Frequency,” she said, “I want to know when it goes on and off. From that, we’ll have an idea of the direction it’s signaling. Check with Stone Angel about the instruments you’ll need. Stone Angel, you’re communications. Set up a command post and procure communications equipment. I want an open channel to the Ander El Aitor as soon as possible. See Fire Dove about the location. Fire Dove get us a safe house and secure some transportation. I want us mobile until we can isolate targets. See Thunder Eagle about a location and vehicles. Thunder Eagle, you know the city, you’re our scout. I want to know about the Ambassador’s troops. Numbers, disbursement, equipment and locations, see me about coordinating the information.”
“Warlock. If I may,” I said retrieving the tote bag from the corner of the room, “I believe you’ll need operating expenses.”
From the tote bag, I pulled five other totes and stacks of Pesetas. I set them on the table in front of Warlock.
“Operating cash,” I announced.
“You’ve just saved us from breaking, oh, I don’t know how many laws,” Fire Dove said.
“I’d say about an even dozen,” Stone Angel replied, “If you grouped them in categories rather than specific instances of crime.”
“You were planning on stealing all the vehicles and equipment?” I asked in horror.
“We prefer to call it operational acquisition,” Heavy Rain stated.
Thunder Eagle added, “But, yes Sir, we were.”
I guess my analogy of wolves and sheep was closer to the truth than I’d thought. The money and tote bags were swept off the table before the main courses arrived.
“We’ll need you to check out of the hotel,” Warlock said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Operational security,” she replied, “I like all of my team in one place. Makes it easier to adjust to the situation. You have a problem giving up your plush suite?”
“No, Warlock. But I have things I need to do as well. Wait, how did you know I had a plush suite?” I asked and added, “I have my dress whites being delivered to the hotel.”
“We kept tabs on you as soon as we landed,” she said, “We’ll secure your whites.”
‘Wolf pack,’ I thought.
We discussed details as we ate and after an hour, I stood.
“Transportation?” Fire Dove asked, “Preference J-Pop, car, truck or motorcycle?”
“Car,” I said, “I’d love a motorcycle but it’ll stand out at the hotel.”
A set of keys came flying across the table from Warlock.
“Is it?” I asked.
“No J-Pop. It’s a rental car,” Warlock replied with a wink.
I said my goodbyes, paid the bill and left Dilshad’s. It was late in the afternoon and I wanted to get back to the hotel and the ‘Festival of the Boughs’. And hopefully lay eyes on the Ambassador.
Chapter 5
Traffic on the long driveway of the hotel was bumper to bumper. Eventually I drifted to seventh position from the valet station. As I crept up, I watched as six young adults in jeans and tee-shirts climbed out of a car. Behind them a man in a dark suit held the door for a woman in a cocktail dress. The rotation of dressed up and dressed down held as people stepped from alternating vehicles. I could only assume some were going to the Ambassador’s reception while the rest were there for the Festival of the Boughs.
I slipped a five Peseta bill to the valet and follow the six dressed in jeans. The open expanse off the drive had been fenced in while I was away. A wide entrance had been left open and I followed the group through the gap. They continued in while I stepped to the side to see the layout. As I stood observing the setup, two more couples wandered into the festival grounds. It was impress for a quickly put together event, I thought. I began to turn when a shadow fell across my face.
“Sir, please enter as a participant,” a uni
formed officer said, “or leave. No spectators admitted.”
I hadn’t been on Tres very long and my knowledge of local uniforms was shallow. He wore black trousers with a red strip along the seams that were bloused over spit shined combat boots. The tan shirt displayed two chevrons on the sleeves and a black cover was perched on his head. It didn’t resemble any uniform I’d seen before. Plus, the meter-long Prod he held, as if it were a rifle at port arms, wasn’t Galactic Realm issue.
“Just leaving officer,” I said and for fun added, “If you’ll get your fat ass out of my way. And oh, you might want to visit a body washing station. You stink.”
I wasn’t intentionally insulting an officer of the law. I was testing the discipline of the trooper. He was far from fat, although the material at his shoulders was straining against the muscle under the cloth. Adding to my insult, I stepped towards him.
He didn’t like this disrespectful civilian invading his personal space. His finger, at my eye level, triggered the Prod. A fingers length of sparks erupted from one end and he began to swing the dangerous electronics in my direction. I was balanced and ready to dodge the sparks.
“At ease there,” a woman’s voice cut the tension between the trooper and me, “Sir, please leave the Festival grounds. Corporal, on me.”
His fingers lifted from the Prod’s trigger at her first words. He didn’t even give me a threatening glance. Every Marine and Navy Shore Patrol I’ve ever known would have taken a half second to transmit a quick ‘if the officer hadn’t stopped me, I’d pound your butt into the deck’ look. This guy looked as if he would rather be anywhere else but on his way to face the woman. As I turned towards the gate, I saw her.
She was dressed in the same black and tan uniform except her collars sported gold bars. I didn’t know the rank insignias of her unit. However, it surely was higher than one would expect for a detachment commander at a festival. At least I’d learned something about her troops.
Elite units, especially combat troops, don’t hesitate to get physical. An unexpected insult combined with a closing move had set him off. A police officer would have used a verbal warning to keep me away. A riot control trained trooper would gently push me with the Prod to maintain distance. This guy had gone full combat or, at least, he’d started. And there was the second point about elite units. They respond quickly to orders. He froze at her first words.
Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard Page 4