On Point (Galactic Council Realm Book 4)

by J. Clifton Slater

  A metallic glint off to my left caught my eye.

  “What’s over there?” I asked.

  “The Marines moved some equipment in while you were with the Blues,” she said without looking away from the valley.

  “What equipment?” I asked ignoring the valley and studying the trees where I’d seen the flash.

  “I don’t know. There were big helicopters with nets hanging below them,” she reported. “For a full day they dropped the nets in several places. They did the same on the other side of the valley.”

  Marine Corps’ installations in the mountains around the Druid valley can’t be good. Or could it? At least the Galactic Council was taking the Empress and her Royal Constabulary seriously.

  I’d just finished the thought when my PID buzzed.

  ‘This is an all military announcement,’ the message read. ‘All leaves are cancelled. All temporary duty stations are recalled. All military personnel are to report to their units or to the nearest post or base. This is an all military announcement…’

  “What is it Phelan?” she asked using my first name. “Your expression suddenly changed.”

  “A recall,” I informed her. “I’ve got to get back. Where can I find transportation to the Striker training post?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Gwendolin. “But Umber Pirkko is from Uno. He may know.”

  ***

  We made it to the stone paths that circled around the domes. Gwendolin hugged me before going to tend her White Heart plants. I began a search for the other Umber. I found him outside the Red dome.

  “Asthore’ Pirkko. I need transportation to the other side of the mountain,” I said.

  “That side?” he asked pointing to the mountains Gwendolin and I had just climbed.

  “The ones on the other side of the valley,” I corrected while pointing at the distant peaks.

  “There is a bus but it’s old and breaks down a lot. A few farmers have trucks, but they have suspension for off road. Terrible for paved highways,” he listed and discarded a number of travel options. Then he smiled. “My uncle has a motorcycle. He’s too old to ride, but every weekend, he’s in the barn working on it. Will that work?”

  “Umber Pirkko, it’s perfect,” I assured him.

  ***

  I couldn’t take my sea bag and suitcase on a motorcycle. Considering the cold air and the long drive, I dressed in my flight suit. After packing my shaving gear, another set of boots, a few personal items and my forty-five with the shoulder holster in the seed case, I hung its strap over my shoulder. The Clan strap was next. I looked around the cabin one last time before walking out the door.

  Umber Pirkko met me on the stone path at the White dome.

  “Just use my name and tell him, I’ll come for the Holidays,” the old man said.

  “Is that important to him?” I inquired.

  “I’m old and have few years left,” he explained. “He is older and has fewer.”

  “I understand,” I replied.

  Before we parted ways, a sound carried down to us from the mountain. I didn’t have to look to recognize the source. But I did look and it was confirmed. The tips of several rockets poked through the tress. High above us, the Marines had gone on alert and activated their rocket batteries.

  A vision of incoming missiles rocked me back on my heels. But my imagination added a new element to the nightmare. As if domes in ruin and Heart plants burning wasn’t bad enough, now I envisioned the broken and twisted bodies of children, the Druid candidates.

  I turned and sprinted away from Pirkko and the Heart Plant domes. The hill down into the valley was steep and the air cold as I sucked it into my lungs. As I ran, my head kept tilting towards the sky. I wondered if or when a shower of Constabulary missiles would rain down on the Druid homeland.

  ***

  By the time I reached the farmer’s house, I was sweating and breathing heavily. My feet hit the steps leading up to the porch and I raised my hand to knock. Before I crossed the porch, a stooped old man opened the front door.

  “Spotted you running down the hill,” he said while stepping back and waving me into his living room. “Come in. Seeing as you made a beeline straight for my house, I figured you wanted something.”

  “Elder Pirkko sends his greetings,” I said as I crossed the threshold. “You have a motorcycle and he suggested you might lend it to me.”

  “Does it have anything to do with those rocket batteries on the mountains?” he asked as he ushered me through the front room and into a warm kitchen.

  “Maybe. Command has issued a recall for all military personnel,” I explained. “Something is going on.”

  “Sit down. Let me get you a bite to eat,” he said.

  “Mister Pirkko, I really don’t have time for a visit,” I protested.

  “Call me Madoc. You’ll not get to the Striker training post if you pass out from exhaustion and exposure,” he warned. “When I was younger, I drove every road on planet Uno. In every kind of weather, in every season. The one thing I learned, you’ve got to keep yourself fueled up.”

  He pulled up a sleeve and displayed ugly scars on his right arm.

  “Laid one bike down on the highway after pushing through a rain storm,” he stated. “Should have stopped and rested but I was so confident in myself. One minute I was in the wind and the next I was kissing the pavement. Sit down.”

  I pulled out a chair and dropped into the seat. The old man pulled a ham from his refrigerator. In a flash, he cut thick slices, tossed them on four pieces of bread then turned to me.

  “Mustard?”

  “Yes, please,” I replied.

  A chipped plate holding two ham sandwiches clicked onto the table. He added a large glass of water before returning to the ham on the counter. As I ate, Madoc wrapped two more sandwiches in waxed paper. Then he measured out scoops of coffee and shoved a pot into the brewer.

  “For the road,” he explained while placing the extra sandwiches beside the plate. “You’ll want to stop shortly after the highway splits.”

  “Better than energy bars,” I observed between bites. “How far is it to the training post?”

  “I tried an energy bar once. I’ll take a meat sandwich any day,” he said as he took the chair across from me. “The route’s pretty easy but it’s a long ride. I’ve done it in nine hours but it was summer and I got an early start. It’ll be dark by the time you reach the highway. If you push through the night, you’ll get there after daybreak.”

  He stood as I finished the last of the sandwiches. From under the counter, he pulled a large dented thermos. After pouring in most of the pot of coffee, he capped it and set the thermos down beside the wrapped sandwiches.

  “Grab your road grub and follow me,” he ordered.

  ***

  Most of the barn was given over to farming equipment and tools. In the back, behind a large tractor, the old man had walled off part of the structure.

  “This is my getaway from farming,” Madoc announced as we stepped through the door. He flipped a switch.

  An overhead light flickered on and I saw a classic racer sitting in the center of the room. On the walls hung tools, scarred and dented helmets, old jackets with rips and scuffs, and shelves full of trophies and awards.

  “I thought you rode for fun?” I ventured.

  “Racing is fun,” he said. “Or it was before my old bones refused to heal. Now even riding a short distance is too much for my back. But, I still like to tinker with my rides.”

  “Rides?” I asked pointing out the low slung, racing motorcycle.

  “Follow me,” he said walking to a double door located on the side of the room.

  He pulled the doors and let them glide back. I saw another room with a retractable door, an obvious exit to the exterior of the barn.

  “You take that racer and your butt will be spanked raw before you reach the highway split,” he said indicating the classic behind us. “What this trip requires is a touring bike.
Easy on the spine, lots of power for the road, and entertainment to keep you awake.”

  There were three cloth covered motorcycles in the room. Madoc Pirkko walked directly to the one in the center and yanked the cover off. Underneath the cloth sat a monster of a touring bike. Hard sided saddlebags, foot boards, a wide fairing with an oversized windshield, and a sloped dashboard added width and height to a motorcycle that, even naked, was a beast.

  “What do you want for it?” I asked. “Umber Pirkko just offered to come for the holidays. It doesn’t seem like enough.”

  “He did? That should pay the rental,” the old farmer gushed. “The bike isn’t for sale. You bring her back with minimal scratches, or ship her back to me, and we’ll call it good.”

  He walked to a closet and lifted out a leather coat, gloves and a long scarf. After handing the cold weather gear to me, he selected a helmet.

  “Wireless connection to the radio with a heads-up display,” Madoc stated. “I wouldn’t recommend you watch videos while riding, although I have. But I was familiar with that long stretch of highway.”

  Watching the old man prepare me for a winter ride, I realized he was reliving trips from his youth. Would I take this much joy in helping someone with their adventure when I was his age? I hoped so.

  Chapter 16

  I made the western pass in just over an hour. As the bike climbed the twisting narrow road through the mountains, I settled back and let the motor do the work. When I first set off from the farm, I over steered the heavy motorcycle and spent too much effort on the throttle.

  Finally, I had a feel for the brute. My grip lightened as I settled into a rhythm of gentle leans that steered the bike around sharp turns. The winter sun was still high above the western horizon when the road straightened and I powered out of the western side of the mountain.

  The old man had estimated three hours on the dual lane road to reach the highway. I twisted the throttle figuring to cut the time. But the reality of the road corrected my ego after I lifted out of the seat coming up the far side of the first two dips. Backing down the power, I came through the next depression seated solidly on the touring bike.

  ***

  It was a relief and a little unsettling when I motored up the ramp and onto the highway. Finally, the low sun was out of my eyes. In exchange, night approached and I anticipated a long dark ride ahead. Five lanes of northbound highway stretched out marked in lines of rear taillights. I let the big motorcycle run with the traffic and flipped on the radio. It was like being in the comfortable chair at the Druid cabin. If the chair was clipping along at one hundred forty-five kilometers per hour and falling asleep meant a trip to the medical center.

  ***

  I wolfed down the sandwiches and most of the coffee at a roadside scenic area. Of course, the only scenery were the few stars I could see in the dark sky and what I thought was the outline of the mountains in the distance. Somewhere out in space the Glynis Gavin orbited, guarding planet Uno from the Empress’s Navy. I hoped the Constabulary didn’t come or, if they did, I’d be up there to join the fight.

  After arching and stretching my back, I lifted my leg over the seat and cranked the ion motor. There were fewer vehicles when I eased the bike back onto the highway.

  ***

  Sometime in the early hours, the cold worked its way through the layers of clothing. I shivered but there was nothing to do about it. Although cold, at least it hadn’t snowed. Slick roads at high speeds, even to a heavy touring bike, presented trouble for any two-wheeled vehicle. That’s what I was thinking as I took the off ramp and glided onto a single lane road. With the lower speed, the cold lessened but then the first flakes appeared in my headlights.

  Old man Pirkko had estimated the travel time for this leg at three hours. I glanced at the dash. Zero three hundred hours meant about three hours until daylight and a little warmth from the sun. Unfortunately, all I could see was the swirling and drifting snow falling in my headlights.

  The bike wobbled on the building layer of snow. I eased off the throttle and slowed. At this rate, I’d be another five to six hours in the saddle. There were no hotels or stores along the roadside. It was odd considering at the end of this lonely stretch sat a military post.

  When visibility dropped to a few meters in front of the bike, I thought about stopping. But the blizzard, according to the newsman on the radio was stalled against the northern edge of the mountain. They expected a heavy buildup over the next few hours. I switched off the radio because I didn’t want to hear any more bad news.

  The bike went sideways and I saved a spill by leaning hard in the direction of the slide. It rattled me and I got frustrated. With no buildings nearby, there was nowhere to comfortably stop and shelter from the storm. The bike was almost idling and I revised my travel time from six hours to eight or nine hours. I inhaled the cold air and tried to calm myself. And unexpectedly, I experienced a feeling of serenity.

  As if I were back in the Blue Heart dome, the Druid mind took over. The bike suddenly felt light. Almost as if I were part of the machine, I could feel the slick road. It became manageable and the big bike stabilized. I visualized a path through the falling snow and increased power.

  ***

  The Marine on duty must have been as surprised as me when my headlights broke through the wall of white. His guard shack, the road barrier, and fencing on either side of the gate popped into view. I locked up the breaks. As if on a bobsled run, I balanced the bike and guided it to a gentle stop. My front tire came to rest a hand’s width from the barrier.

  “Good morning, Marine,” I said as I stripped the helmet from my head. “Senior Lieutenant Piran, Galactic Council Navy, reporting in.”

  “Sir, where did you come from?” he asked while holding out a hand for my officer’s tab.

  “From the highway,” I explained while pointing back the way I had come. “The road is a little slick but I managed.”

  “Sir, if you’ll wait here,” he said as he backed into the guard shack. The Marine snatched up a phone and spoke into the receiver.

  Seconds later, another man appeared out of the snow on the other side of the barrier. He stepped into the backdoor of the shack, spoke with the Marine, then walked out the door towards me.

  “Lieutenant Piran?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sergeant. Reporting in per the temporary duty recall,” I responded to the Sergeant of the Guard. “Is there a problem?”

  “Well Sir, you caught my Marine by surprise,” he explained. “They closed the access road and locked down the post three hours ago. We didn’t expect any traffic, let alone a motorcycle.”

  “Yet, here I am, cold and hungry,” I said.

  “Yes, Sir. Please park at the duty office and we’ll get you checked in,” he said before turning to the guard. “Open the gate.”

  ***

  “Time of check in zero five forty-five,” the Sergeant stated as he typed my information into a desk screen. “There’s a shuttle to Fleet scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. In the meanwhile, Lieutenant, we’ll put you up in the visiting officer’s quarters. We’re a training post so it’s not much on luxuries.”

  “Sergeant, if it’s warm and near a mess hall, I’ll be happy,” I responded.

  “That’s an affirmative to both, Sir,” he assured me.

  “One thing more. Can you arrange for the motorcycle to be shipped to a Mister Pirkko in the Druid valley?” I asked.

  “Madoc Pirkko? That’s a Madoc Pirkko parked in the snow?” the Sergeant asked in horror.

  “Yes, he’s the owner,” I replied. “I just want to be sure he gets it back.”

  “Please wait one, Sir,” the Sergeant begged. Then he grabbed the phone and dialed a number. “Corporal. Make a hole in the mess hall for a display. Yes, you’ll like it. Do it now because I’ve got to get it out of the snow. Great, I’ll see you shortly.”

  “Sergeant. Enlighten me,” I asked. “What is a Madoc Pirkko?”

  “Madoc Pirkko was a moto
rcycle racer who managed to win several championships. But, he never reached the top of the racing world,” the Sergeant replied. “However, when he retired from competition, he started building bikes. That touring bike, you rode in on, is probably worth a hundred and fifty thousand Pesetas.”

  “And what do you propose to do with it?” I asked.

  “We’re going to display it in the mess hall for a week. Our staff and trainees will love it,” he explained. “Then we’ll ship it back to Mister Pirkko, at no charge to you, Sir. The videos of us with the bike will go viral on the social nets. Every military post and base on planet Uno will be eating their hearts out with envy.”

  “Sounds like a good morale builder,” I said. “Now, which way is the VOQ?”

  ***

  I cleaned up and trudged through the snow to the mess hall. The motorcycle, now washed and waxed, sat inside the entrance with stanchions and rope barriers protecting it from idle hands. I watched as Marines and Sailors posed for videos beside the famous bike.

  After a quick meal, I was high stepping in the snow heading back to my quarters when a familiar voice called out.

  “J-Pop. Lieutenant Piran, hold up, Sir!”

  I turned as Striker Sergeant Iñaki Uxue strutted towards me kicking snow out of his way. At the end of our last mission together, team medic Fire Dove had been assigned as an instructor at Striker Training Command.

  “Sergeant Uxue, good to see you,” I said while yawning.

  “You’re sending contradictory messages, Sir,” he said while bringing his hand to the bill of his cover. “Nothing unusual about that.”

  I returned his salute and replied, “Late night, Fire Dove.”

  “And Senior Lieutenant, your overcoat is not regulations,” teased the Sergeant. “Nothing unusual about that either.”

  I was out of uniform but Fire Dove had seen me in what he called my long johns. In the Navy flight suit with a long scarf, and a full-length leather coat, I resembled a cheesy vampire hunter from a second-rate video.