Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station

by J. Clifton Slater

  The tug sidled up to the air lock tube and I fell from the zero gravity of the work tug to the one plus of the clipper ship. Like everyone transferring from zero to one gravity, I failed in my attempt to land on my feet. Instead, I ended up on the mat, butt first. The soft mat was a nice effort at hospitality.

  “Welcome to the Uno Shoda. I’m First Officer Kala Bha,” a woman said looking down at my sprawling frame. She had a wicked smile plastered on her face.

  “Permission to come aboard, ma’am,” I replied while attempting to gain my footing on the fluffy mat. Maybe the mat wasn’t for hospitality but for the crew’s entertainment.

  “Permission granted,” she responded, pointing to a man standing behind her also with a smile on his face, “This is our engineer Ide Tadhg. He’ll get you squared away.”

  The appointments on the commercial vessel weren’t as plush as the military Clipper ship. But the civilian ship made up for the lack of décor with every electronic and personal convenience available. On the walls were image screens so a traveler could dial up any scene for ambience or viewing of videos. Private restrooms and body cleaning stations were just off the sleeping quarters and a small work space held a desk and file cabinets. It was a lot of space for a recent graduate who had lived in a small cube for two years.

  A knock on the hatchway alerted me to a tall man standing in the door frame.

  “Enter please, sir” I said recognizing the Captain’s bars on his collars.

  “I am Dabir Xhosa, Captain of the Uno Shoda,” he stated in a resonating bass voice.

  “Ensign Phelan Piran,” I said, “thank you for the ride and the extravagant accommodations, sir.”

  “I go through this speech every time we have Navy personnel, so, I’ll do it shorthand,” he said with a lowering of his eye brows.

  Navy Captains don’t like repeating instructions, that’s a fact. So I figured Captain Xhosa didn’t either. Whatever instructions he was about to deliver, I was all ears. In the Marines and the Navy, the proper way to show interest was to come to the position of attention. This showed you were fully involved in the words of the Captain.

  Stomach in, chest out, feet at a 45-degree angle, thumbs along the seams of my trousers, chin ticked in, and my eyes focused on the center of the Captain’s chest, I replied, “Aye, aye, Captain Xhosa.”

  “This never works in reality like it does in my head,” he said with exasperation, “Okay shorthand. This is a civilian ship and we don’t come to the position of attention. We don’t salute. Everyone aboard works and stands watch. I am Dabir or Captain. We don’t stand on military formality. However, we do have responsibilities for the safety of the ship and crew. Finally, we have cargo to deliver, and although you are cargo, you are expected to help out.”

  “Yes Sir,” I said relaxing my posture, “What duty?”

  “Well, that remains to be seen. Do you have any specialties?” he asked.

  My clothing was a simple unadorned jump suit so of course the Captain had no idea of my rank or qualifications.

  “Ensign Piran, certified in piloting all small boats and ships, armament, weapons usage, maintenance, repairs and navigation,” I related my skill sets.

  “Well, we have two forward guns, I don’t believe we’ve ever used them. Check with Ide, my engineer, about their state of repair,” he said as if thinking out loud, “You’ll stand watch while we’re in External drive but, I’m not ready to turn over the ship during Internal drive.”

  “Aye Captain,” I replied, then asked, “Think I can sit in with navigation during trip planning?”

  “I don’t know. That’s up to Agdta Hernan, it’s her call. Get settled in then check with Ide about our guns. I’ll speak with Kala about scheduling your watch,” he responded then turned and walked out of the hatch.

  Not everything was different between civilian and military Captains. When they were done imparting information to you and they were done talking to you, you were dismissed.

  I found Ide Tadhg, the Uno Shoda’s engineer, after a twenty-minute walk aft of the ion drive wall. The long tubes that ran alone the inside of the hull spanned the Clipper ship from just behind the crew compartment to the tapered tail section. Outside the hull was the cargo sleeve which wrapped around the Clipper ship proper. Access to entry points and connection controls were located along the walkway tube. While it was safe to leisurely stroll here when the ship was on battery power or low Internal power, you wouldn’t want to be in the aft section when the External drive was engaged.

  “Mister Tadhg,” I called out in greeting as I approached the engineer.

  He was reaching up running his fingers daftly over a key pad mounted in an open hatch in the bulkhead. As he entered data a pair of green eyes peered out of the darkness at the opening. They slowly melted into a furry muzzle that emerged further into the head of a big cat.

  The space cat rubbed against the engineer’s hand a few times before jumping lightly to the deck. It walked around me three time then sat in front of me. From the deck it locked eyes with me and I felt that she, it was a female, was happy on the Uno Shoda and she hoped I wouldn’t be disruptive. She stayed for a full minute but after not getting a reply from me she stood. I watched as the big cat strutted back along the walkway before disappearing into another open hatch.

  It had been years since I could sense a space cat’s mental images. When full Druids were near, as they were on big ships and stations, my inherited ability to feel a cat’s meditations didn’t work. On the Uno Shoda, without any Druids, I could register the cat’s emotional thoughts. However, I couldn’t reply in like images. I wasn’t a Druid.

  “That was Svana. She seems to like you,” Ide Tadhg observed, “Just a second, let me finish this cargo adjustment. You don’t have the volume of the containers we exchanged for you.”

  Once he’d restructured the shape of the cargo sleeve to better fit its attachments to the Clipper ship, he turned and studied me.

  “Ensign are you? Most graduate pilots are at least a Lieutenant Junior Grade,” he said looking up and down as if he could discern my character by visual inspection, “Are you a screw up?”

  “A screw up? Well that would depend on who you ask,” I answered, “I was enlisted before going to Flight School, so not being an officer and a gentleman recognized by the Galactic Council, I’m lucky to be just an Ensign. Good enough answer?”

  “Honest enough, what can I do for you?”

  “Captain Dabir suggested I look at the ship’s guns. He doesn’t think they’ve ever been used.”

  “Can’t say they’ve ever been test fired let alone used to shoot at anybody. So go look,” he said pointing back up the long tube towards the crew compartment, “Let me know what you find.”

  “Aye, Sir,” I replied and began to turn.

  “What’s your name, Ensign?”

  “Piran, Phelan Oscar Piran,” I answered, “and no, I’m not a Druid.”

  “Didn’t think you were,” Ide said, “You can call me Ide or Tadhg or Engineer, but not, Sir or Mister. Got it?”

  “Aye Sir, I mean Ide. I’ll report after checking our weapons.”

  “You do that,” the engineer replied.

  During the extensive stroll back to the fore of the ship, I pulled up the weapon’s schematics on my PID. Twin old style rotation guns using one of two types of rounds. I would have to sort through the ammo to see what was stored. At least I had a job to occupy my time.

  I was sitting with twenty cases of gun ammo stacked around me when the bolts on the hatch to the bunker began spinning. The room was built to contain an explosion on the ship and so we called it a bunker. When the bolts finished loosening the hatch swung open and an intense woman stepped into the room.

  “If you finish playing with your toys, you can join me at navigation,” she stated.

  “Agdta Hernan, I presume,” I said, “I’m Phelan.”

  “Never presume Mister Piran,” she replied, “Be at the navigation station at the st
art of first watch if you’re interested.”

  “Yes Ma’am, I’ll be there.”

  She nodded once and without another word stepped out of the door. I watched as the bolts spun down again sealing the hatch. She was the archetypical navigator, precise, cerebral and aloof. My class had only three with top scores in navigation. All of them were just like Agdta Hernan, smart but socially inept. I guess you had to be a bit single minded if your brain was full of power ratios, duel times, vector points all balancing in the search for an empty slot in space.

  Returning to my current task, I went back to pondering how much ammo should be clipped together. While the Uno Shoda had a single turret installed, the ammo had been placed in the bunker in their transport crates. This meant each crate held individual rounds. The guns required them to be clipped together for the drum feeder unless you wanted to load one round, fire and load another. Not tactically sound nor great from a defensive stand point.

  I decided to arm three drums. The Captain had to let me test fire one, and I could store the other two. Then I tested the ammo elevator in the floor of the bunker. It was exciting to think that a loaded drum set in the lift would lower, and slide into the guns below. So in a sense Miss Agdta Hernan was right, I was playing with my toys.

  After securing the bunker, I gathered a few maintenance items and went one deck down to the gunner access hatch. The turret was turned in shipboard so the duel guns were accessible. They had a spot of rust here and there as would any pure steel on a space ship. The spots required only a few dabs of lubricant. After running a pressure test and rotation diagnostics on the orb motors, I climber down into the seat.

  “Captain Xhosa, request permission to activate the gun turret,” I asked on the intercom.

  “Piran, you’re not going to start shooting my guns next to a Navy Station, are you?” he asked with trepidation.

  “No Captain, I’m just going to check the mechanics,” I replied.

  “Go ahead but if one round comes out of those guns, I’ll shoot you myself. Got it?”

  “Aye Captain, no firing just testing.”

  “Go for test.”

  The turret responded by dropping and rotating which put me outside the hull of the Uno Shoda. These old weapon systems were called belly guns and its position on the Clipper was under the front of the ship. I had a good view aft until it was obstructed by the cargo sleeve. Forward, I could see to the stars beyond the ion propellant tube. After working the rotation for a few minutes, I released the twin guns. Now with the weapons extended, the targeting system lit up. As I again swung the orb through the full range of motion, the system showed locks and losses on everything it passed. I was enjoying it until the Captain called.

  “Ensign Piran, Phelan Piran are you out of your ever loving mind?” he growled, “I’ve got three, count them three GunShips baring down on our location. We’re about to be boarded and searched as a security risk.”

  “I don’t understand Captain,” I responded. What had? “Aha, Captain, please call the Station and inform Combat Control that Ensign Piran was running an official naval test on your ship’s weapon system.”

  “Official test? This had better work Piran or you’ll find your butt back on the station waiting for another mode of transportation,” Dabir Xhosa threatened. He was really angry.

  My targeting must have lit up every defensive net in the area. A Navy Captain would have called Combat Control and informed them of the gun test as a matter of protocol. Xhosa, however, wasn’t Navy. I could only guess what Ide Tadhg would say about the screw up Ensign.

  I retracted the twin guns and rotated back into the ship. As I rushed to the bridge to meet the Marine boarding party, I said a small prayer to the Heart Mother.

  The Marine boarding party had all four members of the Uno Shoda crew cornered in one area of the bridge. No one looked happy, as a matter of fact, they all look really mad and the ire was directed at me. Especially from the very large Marine Master Sergeant.

  “You, over there with the others,” he ordered as I rushed in. It was his boarding party, and his responsibility to secure the ship. To him, I was just another crew member.

  “Sergeant, you’ll watch your tone when speaking to a Navy Officer,” I said walking directly towards him, “I am Ensign Piran and obviously Combat Control did not get my transmission about an authorized gun test.”

  I pulled my tag out and put it in front of his face. He read my identification, stepped back and saluted.

  “My apologies Sir. I wasn’t informed that a Navy officer was on board.”

  “It must have been a mess up with communications Sergeant. However, regulations require a periodic inspection of all weapons on ships under contract to the Navy. The Uno Shoda by reason of its current location is qualified. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Aye Sir, seems that everything here is squared away,” he said motioning for his three-man team to file out.

  “I’ll escort you to the airlock,” I said looking over at Xhosa. His tight lipped sneer wasn’t reassuring but he did nod his approval.

  At the air lock I watched the Marines float back to their shuttle. Then I lingered a few seconds gathering my nerve before returning to the bridge to face the wrath of the Captain and crew. A pressure high on my shin made me look down. Svana the Uno Shoda’s space cat was brushing up against me.

  “At least someone isn’t enraged with me,” I said leaning down to give her a rub. Before my hand was anywhere near the cat, she walked away with a glance over her shoulder and a low hiss.

  ‘Disruption disappointment,’ I felt from her.

  “Well, I guess I was wrong. She seemed to be as mad as the rest of the crew.”

  My argument of a required test was slim. During some Navy Law class that most student pilots slept through, I remembered a section. It read something about the right to request a weapons check from a civilian Captain if the ship was under contract to the Navy. It got dicey in that the section referred to a ship assigned to a military convoy. At least the Marine boarding party seemed to buy it. Swallowing past a lump in my throat, I ventured back to the bridge.

  The four crew members of the Uno Shoda were still standing in the corner of the bridge where the Marines had herded them. Ide Tadhg, the engineer, looked vindicated. Kala Bha, the First Officer, looked like she tasted something foul. Agdta Hernan, the Navigator, was stroking Svana and looked like she smelled something unpleasant and it wasn’t the cat. And, Dabir Xhosa, the Captain, he looked, well his eyes were closed like he had a severe headache.

  “I’d like to apologize,” I said stopping a few feet beyond the hatch. Nothing, not a sound and not what I expected. Shouting, a tongue lashing, finger pointing, an order to get off the ship anything except stone cold silence. Finally, Kala the First Officer inhaled deeply and looked at Agdta.

  “That was the most excitement we’ve had on this ship since you started the bar fight on that Track Station,” Kala said with a smile.

  “And we had to seal the hatches to keep out the dock workers,” Ide added.

  “For the last time, I did not start that fight,” Agdta whined, “The big oaf wouldn’t keep his hands to himself and I only tapped him with the beer bottle.”

  “That’s called starting a bar brawl,” Kala replied.

  “Okay people excitements over,” Captain Xhosa stated to them and asked of me, “How did the guns check out Phelan?”

  “The guns are fine Captain,” I answered, “aren’t you angry at me for all this?”

  “Hell Ensign, you don’t know what a pleasure it was to know that my little ole Clipper ship just put an entire Navy Station on alert. The story will be worth at least a few free rounds at our next port of call,” he explained.

  “After a few months in space any change of routine is welcomed,” Kala added, “Let’s move people, we need to be ship shape for launch tomorrow.”

  “Nice going Ensign,” Ide said as he walked off the bridge, “A Marine boarding party and three GunShips,
man that’s rich.”

  Chapter 11

  A half hour before first watch I was sitting in navigation waiting for Agdta Hernan. The instruments, gages and clocks were close to the ones I’d trained on. The big exception was the pilot’s station located across the room with the power controls. In single seat attack ship like the ones I’d trained on everything was within an arm’s reach. On a large ship like the Uno Shoda, it took at least two to man the launch controls.

  “Have you worked out our power and time clocks, yet?” Agdta asked as she strolled in and took her seat in front of the main computer.

  “If this was a Fighter, I’d be ready to go,” I replied.

  “If you flew a Clipper ship like a Fighter you’d rip her in half twice,” Agdta said.

  “In half twice?” I asked.

  “First you’d break her with a hard External evolution and separate the fore section from the aft section. There by ripping the ship in half. Or you’d thrust up for a hard turn. That would simply push the ion wall out the side of the ship. In essence cutting the ship in half. So Fighter piloting gets you half twice,” the navigator stated.

  “So we need to be gentler with the controls?” I asked.

  “Gentler? The Uno Shoda has 18 industrial ion canons on an oversized ion wall. There is nothing gentle about how she cuts through space. She demands finesse and precision, not brute force, Fighter jock.”

  “Noted Ma’am,” I replied, “So how do you plan Navigation on a Clipper Ship?”

  “The key is to square the corners to our destination. We speed run to a plotted point in space and slow to Internal drive. Our turn is executed a few degrees at a time until we are 90 degrees and our heading is towards our next port of call. Again we’ll run hard and drop to Internal to get a fix on the port’s orbit once we’re in the vicinity. One more speed run and we arrive in the same orbit as our targeted destination.”

  “So not only do you have to do the geometry but also coordinate it with the power gauges and clocks?” I inquired.