Op File Treason

by J. Clifton Slater

  Chapter 17 – Supervisor Luz

  “Pablo Luz, I presume,” Warlock ventured as she entered the room. With a quick motion, she lifted the goggle to her forehead.

  A muscular man in his late fifties was stretched out on the bed. With pillows stacked to support his back, he had placed his hands behind his head for support. Through half closed lids, he peered at the armored woman invading his room.

  “I take it, you’re not room service,” he said with a lop-sided grin.

  “Are you Pablo Luz?” Diosa asked.

  “Maybe yesterday. Today, I’m moon dust and H2O,” the man replied.

  “Moon dust and water?” inquired Warlock.

  “Mud, lady. Today my name is mud,” Luz announced and his vitals remained level. “Why do you ask? Did the Empress’ Captain Ritva misplace me?”

  “I have no idea but I do have several questions,” Warlock stated.

  “Go ahead, I’m not going anywhere. But you seemed to be dressed for a party,” Luz observed. He hadn’t moved and the grin remained on his lips. But his brown eyes opened and seemed to twinkle in amusement. “Fire away.”

  Warlock glanced down at the pistol and back up at Pablo before she holstered it.

  “Why did you request a vote to deny Galactic Council Navy ships?” Diosa asked.

  “Because if a Constabulary warship and a Galactic Council warship both came in for repairs, there would be an exchange in our orbit,” Luz explained. His sweat and carbon dioxide output were stable. He wasn’t lying. “The salvage base and the moon’s surface would become collateral damage. When two giants fight, small people get crushed. I figured if we sent notice to the Galactic Council that we weren’t servicing them, maybe they would offer to recognize salvage base as neutral territory.”

  “And you expected the Empress Constabulary Navy to go along with it?” Warlock inquired.

  “I did. But that was before Captain Ritva and his trade delegation arrived,” Luz stated with a laugh. This time the ammonia and carbon dioxide increased but it appeared more from nervousness than from Pablo making up a story. “I really thought I was doing the right thing. You know, playing reverse psychology on galactic powers. When they took my Nephew and the rest of the children and placed them under guard, I protested stringently. And wound up in here.”

  “Under guard in a suite adjacent to Iska Maricor,” Warlock added.

  “They locked up the boy wonder? It was bound to happen,” Pablo Luz said making a familiar face. Diosa had seen that expression and the bright eyes before.

  “Your Nephew, what’s his name?” inquired Warlock.

  “Pio and he’s an amazing boy,” bragged Pablo.

  “He is. Pio helped distract the guard so I could get the children and Doctor Marikit over to Ryo’s crews,” Warlock informed him. “Without them as hostages, I thought Iska would help stop the Constabulary.”

  “Captain Maricor, our Master of Business Administration and expert on history?” Pablo exclaimed. “He came back from school after years of being away. Immediately, he began lecturing everyone on our ancient business practices and the quality of our work force. Then, he fired ten excellent mechanics because they had violence on their records.”

  “Why did the crews go along with him?” inquired Warlock.

  “He has the family name,” Pablo said as if it was obvious. “We’ve always had a Maricor at the helm.”

  “He’s locked me out of the Command Deck claiming it’s for the security of the base,” Warlock informed him. “I’m about to go have a talk with the Empress’ Captain and his crew. And there is a Constabulary warship on the way here for repairs.”

  “Iska has access to missiles and can fend off small or less armored ships,” Pablo stated. “But a warship is not either of those. If he screws with them, he’ll kill us all.”

  “If you allow them to bring down Troops and Travelers, you’ll lose the base, most of your kids and a third of your mechanics,” Warlock advised. “All due to an environmental adjustment that’s better suited to their physiology.”

  “I thought they were just like us,” confessed Pablo. “Captain Ritva and his soldiers seem fine.”

  “The Captain and his boys aren’t Constabulary,” Warlock informed him. “They are barely soldiers. I’d almost bet they’ve never had contact with the real Constabulary. I’ve fought them and they are relentless and merciless. Captain Ritva is in for a surprise when they arrive. Now that you know the facts, where do you stand? In the Command Deck with Iska or with me in the corridors. Of course, you can stay here until the Troops come down and take over.”

  “Hold on a second,” Pablo ordered looking down at his PID. A frown dropped his face into a long droll expression. “Interesting. Our boy prodigy has issued a directive.”

  “And what has Captain Maricor decided is the best approach?” asked Warlock.

  “All crews, shelter in place at your warehouses,” Pablo read. Then the grin returned. “I think we need to regain control of salvage base. We’ll decide what to do about the warship after the Empress’ Captain is under arrest.”

  “Please don’t tell me you have an aversion to violence,” begged Warlock.

  “No ma’am. I’m the one who threw the first punch during the debate,” admitted Pablo. “I need to get to one of my warehouses.”

  “Follow me and stay close,” Warlock said. “The Marine Corps armor is only so wide.”

  Pablo Luz scooted off the bed, stood and stretched his back. Then he walked up to Warlock with his hand out.

  “And what’s your name little lady?”

  ***

  Warlock snapped on the helmet, slipped the rifle off her shoulder and eased into the hallway. Pablo Luz followed her. Iska waved at them from behind the glass. She couldn’t see Luz but assumed he returned the wave based on his comment.

  “Hello there, you clueless weasel,” Pablo whispered.

  The Empress’ Captain and four men raced around the corner. They were stacked with the fastest soldier in front. Warlock popped three rounds into his chest. Rather than return fire or retreat, the four remaining Soldiers of the Empress froze in surprise. An armored Marine was the last thing they expected. Another tight burst sent a second soldier spinning into the bulkhead. He bounced off and fell to the deck. This roused the other three and they scrambled back around the corner.

  Warlock wanted to chase them down and eradicate the threat but she had Pablo Luz in tow. Racing to the edge of the corridor, she dropped to a knee before swinging her barrel around the corner. She expected to be greeted by their rounds. Instead, the slowest soldier vanished down a hallway. To encourage their flight, the Marine triggered a sonic grenade. It arched to within a meter of the high curved overhead before angling down and exploding in the center of the intersection.

  “Moving,” she announced as she ran across the corridor.

  “What?” asked Luz from far behind her.

  Looking back, she saw Pablo standing on the other side of the corridor. Anger flashed and she started to chew him out for not following orders. Then the Striker remembered, Pablo Luz wasn’t trained in combat. Backtracking to the corner, she sighted down the corridor watching for the Captain and his two soldiers.

  “Come to me,” she urged.

  Luz jogged across the corridor and as he drew parallel with her, Warlock fell in next to him.

  It went against all her training to leave an enemy force on her six. Of course, they might not be hanging around but taking side passageways to get ahead of her. Now she had to protect Pablo Luz, watch her back, guard against an ambush and walk point. Most people would find the tasks overwhelming. Retired Master Sergeant Alberich wasn’t most people. She was an experienced Strike Kill team leader. Feeding off the combat stress, she rode the adrenaline spike allowing it to heighten her senses.

  “Better than fishing,” Warlock said while pivoting her head to check their rear.

  “Better than what, Master Sergeant?” inquired Pablo.

  “
Nothing Supervisor Luz,” she replied. “We have to cross two more corridors before reaching the first ring. When I say move, follow me. Duck is obvious. Back means step back a few paces. Clear?”

  “To a point. But your voice is stifled by the helmet especially when you turn your head,” Luz informed her. “How about we combine the verbal with something I’m familiar with.”

  “Make it quick,” Warlock encouraged him. She put her back to the wall and divided her attention between Pablo, the hallway to their front, and to their rear.

  “We transport large sections of hull plating, using cranes to load them. Let me teach you a few of the hand signals we use for the crane operators,” offered Luz. He held up an arm and made small circles with his fingers then dropped the arm so the fingers were pointing down and again made small circles. “Up and down respectively.”

  “I can work with that,” Warlock said. “What else?”

  Pablo raised his right arm, extended his right thumb and jerked it to the right. “That’s move right. We use the left arms to indicate moving to the left,” he explained. Then he held his arm out level with the deck and palm down. “This is stop.”

  “Your left and right are a little awkward,” Warlock commented letting the trigger guard go as she waved her right arm in the air. “I kind of need to grip the rifle. I’ll use the basic hand signals in combination with voice. We need to get moving.”

  “Lead on, Master Sergeant,” Luz said.

  At ring three, Warlock visually cleared the corridor before sending Luz across the intersection. No one shot at him or the armored Marine as she followed him to the other side.

  “It’s too easy,” she observed as they traveled further up the hallway. “My instructors always said if it appears too good to be true, it isn’t either good or true.”

  The instructors’ lesson proved valid before they reached the second corridor ring.

  ***

  A sign hung out from the top of an alcove. It alerted anyone suffering from an oxygen loss to the location of rebreathers at a charging station. Diosa and Pablo had just passed the alcove when kinetic rounds from behind them began bouncing off the bulkhead. Warlock grabbed Pablo and pushed him into the alcove, letting her armored back protect him.

  “The timing and targeting is wrong,” Warlock stated as she shoved him further into the rack of rebreathers.

  “Seems right, if they’re looking to kill us,” Luz commented.

  To him, the Marine appeared manic as she jerked her head from side to side. Then he assumed she was praying when she tilted her head back and looked towards the sky.

  “That bad, is it?” he asked.

  “From down here, yes,” Warlock replied.

  “Do you believe there is a deity up there?” Luz questioned.

  “What? I was thinking the pipes were a better vantage point than standing on the deck in a crossfire,” Warlock explained. “Bend your knee and put your cupped hands on your thigh.”

  Pablo took a second to glance up at the pipes high overhead. For maintenance, crews used large scissor lifts to reach and repair the utilities. How the Master Sergeant could even consider jumping up there was beyond his comprehension. But he braced himself between the rebreathers, bent his knees, interlocked his fingers and rested his hands on his thigh.

  Diosa Alberich stepped back then ran at Pablo Luz. He almost flinched when the armored chest blocked his view of the hallway. One of her hands touched his shoulder as her foot pounded into his hands and compressed the thigh muscle. The pressure lifted and the armored chest shot upward trailing her leg and a boot.

  The other leg kicked upward higher than her head and the back of that boot clicked on the sign over the alcove. Using the small purchase of the heel, Warlock folded her leg dragging her body higher. The extended leap allowed her other boot to reach the top of the sign. From the tiny surface, the former Striker launched her body up and away from the sign, the alcove, and the bulkhead.

  Warlock arched over. The wall transitioned to the ceiling and for a heartbeat, her face was a little over an arm’s length from the utility pipes. Falling as she sailed just under the pipes, she flexed her abs and pulled her feet over her head. She began to flip over.

  As Pablo expected, she missed the pipes. For a split second, he debated whether to rush into the rifle fire and try to catch the falling Marine. Survival mode decided and he remained between the rebreathers.

  The tops of Warlocks boots caught on a pipe and she reached up and grabbed between them. Once sure she had a firm grip, the Striker pointed her toes allowing her legs to fall. They dropped and swung back up until she could lock her ankles over the pipe. Releasing her grip, she hung upside down as the Empress Captain and four soldiers leaned around the second ring corridor and flushed the hallway with thirty-five kinetic rounds. The rifleman at the third ring pulled back as the ballistics from his unit ricocheted down the hall.

  Warlock twisted and sighted on a soldier. A red spot blossomed on his forehead before he fell to the deck. He was partially in the intersection with his legs hidden by the corner. The other soldier turned his head in surprise. His confusion as to where the round came from delayed his action. A forty-five-round punched through his temple and, per design, it rattled around in his brain. The cranial bone on the far side prevented the round from exiting. His next action was to fall dead to the deck.

  Being totally engrossed in the ambush that he didn’t see two of his soldiers fall, the Captain slammed another magazine into the housing and kept firing. When the neck of the soldier crouched down beside him exploded and splattered him with blood, the Captain of the Empress forces jerked back. A forty-five round clipped the deck where he had been standing. After noticing the three bodies, he turned and sprinted away.

  Warlock waited once the firing stopped. When no one peeked around from the second corridor, she twisted to face the third. The Marine wasn’t the only one waiting in the silence.

  The soldier who had prematurely started the ambush peered around the corner. After the deluge of rounds, he was cautious. One quick look and he pulled his head back. Something didn’t seem right. Despite all the shooting, he didn’t see any bodies on the deck. As he leaned around for another look, a forty-five-round split his collar bone and clipped the top of his lung before tearing out the back of his left ventricle.

  Pablo Luz remained between the rebreathers watching for a sign from the inverted Master Sergeant. She didn’t give him any signal or directions. Rather, the Marine grabbed the pipe, uncrossed her ankles and began swinging. With each back and forth swing, her legs lifted higher and higher. Finally, Diosa let go and she flew at the wall. Just before smashing into the bulkhead, she splayed her feet, let the rifle hang from its sling, and stretched her arms out. As if a cutout figure or a boneless piece of meat, Master Sergeant Alberich allowed her body to absorb the impact. As a result, she didn’t bounce off the wall. Her body slid down the damp surface to the deck. She landed hard.

  “Moving,” Warlock announced while pointing with her thumb.

  “Moving,” echoed Pablo as he step from the alcove. “That was interesting.”

  “Just interesting, Supervisor Luz?” Warlock responded. “Don’t you mean totally amazing?”

  “That too, Master Sergeant,” Luz agreed letting a smile replace the tension lines at his mouth.

  “Thought so,” the former Striker replied as she moved towards the second ring corridor.

  ***

  The hallway ended at the first ring corridor. Open on both sides with a line of sight until the curvature blocked any riflemen, the intersection was a classic kill zone. Warlock extended her arm and placed her palm face down.

  “Hold,” she advised Luz as she crept forward.

  No shots came at her even when she walked to the middle of the corridor presenting a big green and black target.

  “They either have great fire control or there are no soldiers,” Warlock announced. Then she pointed to a spot on the deck. “Stay close to the b
ulkhead and in front of me.”

  “Am I now your human shield?” inquired Luz as he moved to the position indicated.

  “It’s easier to get behind me when the shooting starts than get shot in the back,” advised Warlock. “Moving.”

  Together they walked slowly, following the curving wall. When the entrance to a warehouse came into view, Warlock stiffened but no one attacked.

  “I’d rather take incoming,” the former Marine said. “At least that way, I know where the enemy is.”

  “It appears, Master Sergeant Alberich, they are not here,” ventured Luz.

  The passageway to the warehouse grew and as they neared, Warlock had them cross the deck to the outside bulkhead. There were no sounds drifting in from the work areas. The quiet worried Warlock.

  “It seems your people are goofing off on the job,” she noted.

  “I agree. There should be cutting tools, cart motors, and the racket of trucks being loaded,” confirmed Luz. “But Iska did order everyone to shelter in place.”

  They peered around the corner and saw ten mechanics and shipfitters sitting with their backs to the entrance. Before Warlock could stop him, Pablo Luz rushed towards his crew. She took four steps after him when a voice called out.

  “Nice of you to join us, Supervisor Luz,” Captain Ritva greeted him.

  Ritva and a soldier on his left stepped from behind crates and walked to stand in front of the ten workers. Another soldier appeared from the right side of a crate. The warehouse workers all turned at the mention of their supervisor’s name.

  “And I see you brought your Marine,” Ritva added. He used his pistol to point at his two soldiers and the assembled crew. “Please drop your rifle. Or would you like to see a warehouse full of dead mechanics.”

  Luz and the crew members were between the soldiers and Warlock. Without a clean shot, she held the forty-five over and under out, at waist level, released it and let the rifle clang to the deck. Then she reached up and unsnapped the helmet. With it dangling in her left hand, the former Marine rapped it against her left hip several times. It appeared she was frustrated at the situation and was taking it out on her helmet.