Op File Treason

by J. Clifton Slater

  ***

  As Warlock cut the corner, Ritva arrived and began screaming at his injured soldiers.

  “What are you doing shooting in that direction?” he yelled. “The children are down that hallway. If you hurt one of them, I’ll shoot you again.”

  Before the soldiers could defend their actions and explain that the woman claiming to be a Constabulary officer had directed them to shoot, two salvage base mechanics came from the fifth ring. Alerted by the rifle fire, they arrived as the Captain finished berating his men.

  “You’re shooting at the children?” one demanded.

  “No. The children are fine,” the Captain assured them.

  Both workers jogged down the hallway to the classroom door with the Captain right behind them. When they entered the classroom, they found the disoriented guard leaning against the desk.

  “Where are the children?” questioned one of the mechanics. “What have you done with them?”

  The Captain glanced around as puzzled by the children’s disappearance as the mechanics. Then, he drew his pistol and shot both of the mechanics in the face.

  “As soon as you regain your wits, stand guard in the hallway,” Ritva ordered the guard. “No one enters the classroom. Understand?”

  “Yes sir,” the soldier replied.

  With his leverage over the workers on this side of the base gone, the Captain fumed. He should have brought enough men to secure the entire facility. But had he attempted to bring two squads, the base’s defenses would have downed the shuttles. Infiltrating twelve had been hard enough even with the bribes to Pablo Luz. Now in order to maintain control until the Constabulary warship arrived, Ritva needed to keep the knowledge of the missing children a secret.

  He left the classroom and walked towards the medical clinic to speak with Doctor Marikit.

  ‘This operation is crumbling by the hour,’ Captain Ritva thought as he entered the clinic. ‘What else can go wrong?’

  ***

  Warlock brushed against the interior bulkhead as she jogged around the fourth ring. Ahead, a sign pointed to an intersecting hallway and the Command Deck. It wasn’t good form to run blindly into unknown enemy territory. She opted for reconnaissance and the best way was to blend in with the environment. Slowing to a steady march, the former Master Sergeant slung the rifle on her shoulder and slipped the pistol into the back of her trousers.

  Around the corner, a glass façade separated the hallway from a large room with desks and monitors surrounding a raised platform. Banks of radar screens, radio mics and communications equipment filled most of the platform. A ledge circled the raised area with room for walking around pairs of stools. The broad ledge and the entire Command Deck had only one occupant. A man sat on one of the stools in front of a control board.

  Further along the hall another man reclined in a chair outside a pair of doors. Warlock stopped about three meters from him, faced the Command Deck and rapped hard on the glass. When the man at the communications station glanced in her direction, Diosa pointed to her ear and up at the overhead. At first, the radioman looked confused by Warlock’s motions. When she repeated the actions, he nodded, understanding that she wanted to know if the Constabulary warship had reached the moon’s approach. He replied ‘no’ with a shake of his head.

  Warlock threw her arms up displaying frustration at the news and spun on the soldier guarding the hallway.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Warlock as she approached the sitting soldier. “If you are on guard duty, then stand up, and be alert. I know it’s boring waiting for our ship but, at least act like a professional soldier.”

  The guard swallowed the challenge he prepared when the woman entered the hallway. She seemed to have authority and certainly acted the part of an officer. Rather than question her, he stood and braced at attention.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he stated confirming his acknowledgement of her authority.

  “Captain Ritva wants me to question Iska Maricor,” she announced. “Something to do with the supply of available diodes and filaments.”

  “He’s in the room on the left,” the soldier informed her while making no move to produce a key or unlock the door.

  Remembering the distracted guard sitting at the hatch and the one in the classroom, Warlock pondered the meaning of their lack of discipline. And the unit’s inability to press the attack on Ryo’s position to reach, let alone breach, the barricade. Plus, the Captain’s over bearing manner of dealing with the workers on Salvage Moon, depending on the kidnapping of the children to control them. Solidifying her suspicion was the case of Enyd Kealan. Captain Ritva failed to use the skills of a Constabulary Major and, Traveler Kealan’s disinterest in helping the Soldiers of the Empress, spoke of his arrogance and her opinion of the Captain. The proof was Enyd’s choice to stay in a room rather than help prepare for the arrival of a warship. Then there was the total lack of military bearing and supervision. Altogether, it led her to one conclusion. This was a hastily thrown together militia and not an experienced unit. It also meant something else. The soldiers had no experience with Travelers or Troops and the sickening environment the Constabulary required. As convoluted as it might sound, Warlock was saving some of them from death by asphyxiation. At least those who survived her assault.

  “I trust the door is locked. If not, I’ll have you on report faster than you can say the Empress loves me,” barked Warlock.

  “Yes ma’am, the door is locked,” responded the soldier.

  “Well, unlock it for me,” ordered Warlock. “And start patrolling the hallway. From here to the second ring corridor and back.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket, walked to a door and unlocked it.

  “Now, walk your post,” she directed turning so he couldn’t see the pistol tucked in the waistband. He might question her about not having a holster. “And I better not find you sitting when I come out.”

  The guard marched away. Figuring she had about ten minutes before he completed a circuit, Warlock pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

  ***

  A young man, somewhere in his mid-twenties, sat at a desk typing on a keyboard.

  “Captain Iska Maricor?” Warlock inquired while closing the door behind her.

  “Yes. Who are you?” Iska replied. Lifting his hands from the keyboard and pointing at Warlock with a finger on each hand, he smiled and tilted his head to the side.

  “Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich, Galactic Council Marine Corps,” she informed him. His expression didn’t change nor did he drop his arms. It was as if he was frozen in place. “The Empress Constabulary is about to overrun your base.”

  “It seems to me, they have already,” observed Iska. He dropped his arms and slumped in his chair.

  “No. Those clowns are amateurs,” reported Warlock. “There is an Empress Navy warship about to dropped into orbit with real Troops and they aren’t good for your base. Not now and certainly not for the future of the base or your mechanics.”

  “The Captain and his crew may be clowns. However, they managed to get control of half my facility,” Iska mumbled. “And there’s nothing I can do.”

  “You’re talking about the children? They are safe with Ryo’s crew,” Warlock assured him. “As is Doctor Marikit. Does that change your options?”

  “It does place the situation in an entirely new light,” Iska admitted. Again, he pointed with both hands at his door. “But there is an armed guard outside my room and another on the Command Deck.”

  “Easily removed,” Warlock informed him. “If you were free, what can you do?”

  “When he took over, Captain Ritva switched our communications to the Constabulary frequency. But he didn’t know how to reprogram the PIDs and we didn’t volunteer the knowledge,” Iska explained holding up his device and tapping it with a finger. “He not only cut our ability to send messages, he cut off his ability to connect with his men. If I can get to the Command Deck, I can act
ivate the base’s emergency frequency. Only my people will see the messages.”

  “That’s great. They can take down the soldiers and we’ll see what we can do about the Constabulary warship,” Warlock said with relief. “Let’s go.”

  “Not so fast, Master Sergeant. There are several issues preventing us from taking them down as you so eloquently stated,” Iska advised.

  “Several problems? I think I’m missing something here,” Warlock commented. “Bring me up to speed.”

  “Salvage Moon was founded by former Constabulary Navy personnel,” Iska said. “As the base grew, our business expanded, and the original crew was replaced with new mechanics as they age and died off. For generations, the mechanics who migrated here have a few things in common. They are skilled. They didn’t fit in with the outside Realm and hate life on spaceships. And, they are screened to exclude violent personalities. Most, I’m afraid are risk averse and, won’t fight. Especially now that you’ve removed the children and their reason to fight.”

  “With that make up, your base should have been conquered years ago,” suggested Warlock.

  “We have surface to orbit missiles,” Iska said. “Excellent for fending off pirates and hostile shuttles. No freebooter would attempt to harm us from orbit because we offer services to everyone. If they attack the salvage base, their support around the sector would vanish. A warship with armor and loyalty only to the Empress, is an entirely different story. I fear if we could overpower the Captain and his soldiers, the warship would destroy the base and kill my people.”

  “In the military, we break situations into parts and find solutions for each segment,” advised Warlock. “I’ll take care of the Captain and his men. Although, it would help if I had Marine Corps armor and a forty-five over and under instead of this thirty-five. Then we’ll discuss the warship.”

  “The main armory is just down the hall,” Iska said pointing with both hands in the direction. “I believe we have a wide assortment of armor and weapons.”

  “I thought the armories were in the warehouses?” Warlock pondered.

  “Those are for resale,” Iska replied. “The base’s armory contains items we don’t sell.”

  “I thought your people didn’t fight?” Warlock reminded him.

  “I said most. We have a few abnormal personalities,” Iska said. “How do you propose getting me to the Command Deck?”

  “Hold on a second,” Warlock offered as she walked to the door.

  ***

  The soldier spotted the officer when she emerged from the prisoner’s room. Answering her wave, he marched to her.

  “Come in here, I want to show you something,” Warlock stated.

  “Yes ma’am,” he said following her into the room.

  He didn’t think anything about it when she stepped behind him and shut the door.

  “What am I looking at, ma’am?’ he asked as the pistol pressed into his back.

  “Drop the rifle and put your hands behind your back,” instructed Warlock as she unhook the key ring from his belt.

  The keys she tossed on the top of a dresser. After shredding a sheet, Warlock used the strips to tie and gag the soldier.

  “If you manage to free your hands and step out of this room,” warned Warlock. “I will put a kinetic round through your forehead and into your brain. Understand?”

  The soldier, stretched out comfortably on the bed, nodded and grunted his acknowledgement. Tying the man’s hands and feet and placing him on the bed was Iska’s idea. Warlock would have preferred eliminating the threat.

  Once the prisoner was secure, Warlock look at a pleased Captain Maricor.

  “Give me three minutes and come running,” Warlock instructed him.

  “Please spare the soldier, if you can,” begged the leader of salvage base.

  “If I can,” Warlock assured him as she walked out of the room.

  Master Sergeant Alberich intentionally held the rifle vertically as she opened the glass doors and stepped into the Command Deck. Then she let the rifle fall forward and slap loudly into her left palm. It was a familiar sound to anyone who’d ever participated in manual of arms drills.

  “Hands up or die. This is a pass-fail test,” Diosa growled. “I’m hoping for fail but it’s your call.”

  The radioman raised his hands, slid off the stool and turned around. Seeing the large bore of the thirty-five, he breathed out a sigh of relief. For a split second, he had almost reached for his pistol.

  “Down the hallway to Captain Maricor’s room,” Warlock ordered.

  They left the Command Deck and walked diagonally down the hall. The radioman bumped into Iska as he entered the room.

  “You are the woman, Master Sergeant Alberich,” exclaimed Maricor while backing up and pointing at her with two bouncing fingers. “Let me help tie him up.”

  “No, Captain. Get to the Command Deck and fix the communications,” urged Warlock.

  “Are you sure?” he questioned.

  “Go,” she ordered. Once Iska left, she spoke to the radioman. “I’m going to tie you up beside your comrade. As I informed him, if you get free and leave this room, I will shoot you dead. Is that clear?”

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied.

  Diosa finished tying up the radioman. Then she checked the bonds on the other soldier before leaving the room. In the hallway, she jogged towards the entrance to the Command Deck. Reaching out, she pushed on the glass doors she’d entered just a couple of minutes earlier. They didn’t budge. She pushed harder. The doors were as solid as the glass walls on either side of their steel frame.

  “Captain Maricor, the doors seem to be locked,” Warlock said while knocking on the glass.

  “And so, they are,” Iska commented from the raised communications platform. His voice came from a small speaker mounted over the doors.

  “Will you unlock them for me?” Diosa requested.

  “No,” Iska stated. He didn’t look in her direction but continued to adjust knobs and levers on the control board.

  “I could smash the glass,” suggested the Master Sergeant.

  “You can try,” Iska offered.

  Warlock used the buttstock of the rifle and hit the glass. It thumped with a flat note as if she’d struck a metallic wall.

  “Impact proof glass?” she inquired. “I assume the entire glass front is hardened.”

  “Your assumption is correct, Master Sergeant,” Iska assured her.

  “But why?” she asked.

  “To maintain the security of salvage base,” Maricor responded.

  “I meant, why lock me out?” she insisted.

  “It’s the same answer, Master Sergeant Alberich,” Iska replied. “Under normal operating parameters, you would be invited to leave the moon base. In this case, there are extenuating circumstances. I have unlocked the base’s armory. Please take whatever you need for personal security. We’ll settle up your bill at a later date.”

  “I rescued your children and before that I stopped an attack on Ryo’s position,” listed Warlock. “I freed you and am prepared to stop the Empress’s soldiers and return control to you and your staff. And, you are charging me for weapons?”

  “Would you prefer a rental agreement?” Iska offered. “I’ll advise you, the additional wear and usage fees on armor and weapons is cost prohibitive. An outright sale has better terms for you. It’ll save you a tremendous number of Pesetas.”

  “You aren’t taking the Empress’ Constabulary threat seriously, are you?” questioned Diosa.

  “Since the founding of salvage base, we’ve deflected every attempt to void our neutrality,” Maricor explained. “This danger to us is dicey but not new. We’ll negotiate a resolution.”

  Diosa wanted to tell him about the real danger of the Constabulary environment and their total loyalty to the Empress but decided against it. He wouldn’t believe her.

  “Where is the armory?” she inquired.

  Iska Maricor stood up from the stool, pointed at her
with two fingers extended and used both hands to sweep further down the hallway.

  “Excellent. I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” he said before returning his attention to the control board.

  Former Master Sergeant Alberich followed the hallway passed Maricor’s old room with the two soldiers and another door. Set in the wall a few meters beyond the residential suites, a thick steel door was opened a crack. Swinging the door wide, she stepped into a brightly lit room with weapons, ammo and different types of body armor.

  ***

  Diosa, dressed in the green and black fish scale armor of the Galactic Council Marine Corps, stepped from the armory. Strapped on her hip was a forty-five kinetic pistol and a forty-five over and under hung from her shoulder. Both barrels of the rifle had either a round or a sonic grenade chambered. She carried the helmet with the full-face guard under one arm. It wouldn’t help until the shooting started as there were no other Marines on her net.

  Iska Maricor jumped from the platform and ran to the glass front. Pressing his nose against the glass, he watched as the armored Marine approached his old room. She paused to give him a wave before pulling the hand cannon from its holster and vanishing through the doorway. He screamed in frustration knowing that her type of personality would kill the soldiers in cold blood. With slumped shoulders, he went back to the platform. His first motion was to close the door to the base’s armory.

  When the woman, now decked out in armor and military grade weapons, entered the soldiers on the bed started sweating. Motionless, as if they were bedspreads, they followed her with their eyes waiting for their fate.

  “Sticking with the plan, I see,” Diosa commented as she crossed the room and picked up the key ring from the dresser. “Just remember our deal. You stay here and live, or step into the hall and die. It’s simple, isn’t it?”

  Both captured men nodded their heads in agreement. Warlock checked their bindings and headed for the door.

  Iska didn’t see her exit the room or see the keys rattling in the lock for the suite next door. Warlock did notice the closed door to the armory.