Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station

by J. Clifton Slater

  There was a pause. I figured she was checking the electronic tape stuck to the crate’s door and side. Apparently she found it functioning and correct.

  “Open the crate”, she ordered.

  I jumped out of the shadow and ran to the man on my side. He didn’t absorb the collision well and hit the alloy deck hard. An elbow to the side of his head added to his trauma and he lay still below me. Without checking further, I rolled off him and charged the woman.

  The crowbar which seconds before was prying open the crate was now swinging towards my head. I let my legs bend and my back hit the floor. The metal tool whizzed just above me. His knee buckled when my foot connected with his patella. We became a tangle of body parts as I fought for an opening to knock him out.

  He was strong but not disciplined. His arms wrapped around my lower chest leaving my elbows free to hammer backwards into his ribs. When he let go, I rolled over and dropped pounding fists onto his face. You can sense when an opponent goes out. Their taunt muscles go from rigid to slack in an unnaturally short span of time. He went flaccid. I rolled off him, coming up fast and looking for the woman.

  Her pistol was aimed at my face. I froze.

  “Call off your men,” she shouted loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear clearly, “Or you are a dead man.”

  Allow me to illuminate. You see her radical attitude had brought her to the first available target. Brought her close enough to almost touch my nose with the barrel of her gun. She was shaking with emotion. My brains would be already blown out the back of my head if she didn’t want so badly to complete her mission. The need to finish whatever she’d started compelled her to try and halt the attack.

  Unfortunately for her, all of the men who’d accompanied her were out cold. I saw briefly that three Druids were spread out behind her and Izan’s pistol was aimed at her head. The only thing stopping them from taking her down was me.

  I only needed a split second. A fraction of a millimeter, enough room between my face and the trajectory of the bullet in order to survive this scenario. If I dropped, she could easily lower the aim. Result, me dead. I could fall back but that led to the same result, me dead. I was debating with myself about whether to dodge left or right when a voice interrupted my fruitless argument.

  “Yo, ain’t no problem, missy. We got this,” a voice said and it sounded like the man she’d told to shut up.

  It was convincing and sounded exactly like her man. Sounded enough like him she turned her head to have a look. I drove with my legs, diving off to my right. The side of her head caved in as three perfectly aimed kinetic rounds slammed home. She was dead before her body hit the deck.

  ‘Damn, I really wanted to question her,’ I thought from my position on the floor.

  She and I were laying face to face. Her blond whitish hair spilled partially over her face but her eyes were empty. While I would walk out of the cargo deck, she would be carried. I liked my option better.

  “Nice shooting Izan,” I said congratulating the Marine, “Who’s the ventriloquist?”

  No one fessed up to the ruse so I knew it was one of the Druids. Just another thing I’d missed by dropping out before the Ritual.

  “If this is only about smuggling tobacco,” Izan announced, “I’m going to be disappointed.”

  For a second, I doubted my actions. If the mysterious box turned out to be a tax dodge, I’d be really embarrassed. His phrase was a standard for any item that generated high taxes and made it profitable to smuggle. The Galactic Council for decades had chosen unhealthy products and attempted to tax them out of use. It was for the citizens own good, they said. However, some people still used the products and an underground system had developed to avoid the taxes and supply cheaper products. Izan had a point.

  “Let’s get the crate open and see what’s in the box,” I said walking over and picking up the crowbar that had almost taken my head off.

  The other pry bar was still stuck in the space between the door and frame. Druid Three applied pressure to one and I used the bar I’d retrieved from the deck. Izan spun the pressure valve. After the hissing drew down, the Druid and I popped the seal. The door swung open.

  Up close the mysterious box was larger than I remembered. It came up to mid-thigh, spanned just beyond my out stretched arms and was over an arm’s length in width. A single band with a simple catch secured the top. I flicked the catch and unbuckled the strap.

  Benign liquids, separately, are stable. The two tanks of fluids looked harmless enough. One was clear and the other a pale yellow. Each tank was held in place by a clay like substance that was molded around them. The clay was more than likely an explosive material. However, it was the electronic console that connected the tanks that gave an identity to all the substances in the box.

  “Duel explosive device,” Druid Three volunteered.

  “Please explain?” I said.

  “The tanks combine to form a combustion blitz,” he said pointing to the tanks, “along with the mining gel blast.”

  “Just how much damage would this bomb do?” Izan asked.

  “Liters of material, concentration value unknown,” the Druid said as if thinking out loud, “Gel quantity and placement consistent for a radial detonation.”

  “Damage Druid, I asked about how much destruction we could expect from this monstrosity,” Izan demanded.

  “25% loss for most of the Houses’ Station,” the Druid said, “hydroxyl Station with the abundance of flammable liquids and gases. A loss of 80%.”

  “So pretty much total destruction of the industrial Station?” Izan said.

  “Tourist and Industrial,” the Druid corrected him.

  “Can we disarm it? Or would it be better to dump it in space and let the Navy do target practice?” I asked.

  “Standard industrial components,” the Druid said as he reached into the box.

  “Hold on,” I began but stopped when he lifted the control console out.

  He stood studying it while I started to breathe again. Druids, straight ahead solutions for even the most complex situations. The box now had two tanks with no trigger to blend them and the explosive gel had no wiring to the blasting caps. The bomb was now disarmed.

  I messaged the Station’s security office and sent the Druids away and Izan back to relieve Druid Four. The same station security NCO arrived and this time he saluted me.

  “I’ve got four prisoners for the inbound Navy Intelligence team,” I said, “and a body for your refrigerator.”

  Chapter 34

  My PID had a request from the Station’s Navy commander. The pleasure of my person was requested on the Navy deck, post haste. That was alright as it saved me the time of having to ask for an appointment. The lift brought me to a half deck housing more workstations then offices.

  Most of the Navy’s compliment on hydroxyl Station were occupied with space patrols. They ran Patrol Boats, tugs, Shuttles and GunShips in the area around the station. Internal security was handled by the hydroxyl Station personnel. This meant Captain Yuuka Kaori was fleet Navy.

  The Spartan décor of her office was a testament to the fact she was a space-faring officer. There were exactly two framed documents on the wall behind her solid, unadorned desk. One was her commission as a Navy Captain, the other a copy of an accommodation for valor. I couldn’t read the small print but it was stamped with seals from both Navy Command and the Galactic Council.

  “Just what, Ensign Piran,” she began curtly, “have you been doing on my Station?”

  “Ma’am, I apologize for not bringing you into the loop sooner,” I said, “There was some question about the reality of my suspicions. Right now, I request you impound the Yacht Basque. It’s involved with a terrorist attack on hydroxyl Station and may be a vessel of interest for an attack on chemical Station’s White Heart plant.”

  “Stand by Piran,” she ordered already typing on her PID, “Alright, the Basque is being piloted to the quarantine sector. I’ll have it searched
as an immediate threat. Finish your report.”

  “I’ve sent a report of my actions and you should have a copy,” I said, “The Navy Investigation team should arrive in a day or so. The dead woman, although I don’t have proof, I believe was a fanatic. Her actions were cult like and consistent with written extremist profiles.”

  “Since when do Navy pilots read extremist profiles?” Captain Kaori asked.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell the good Captain that, after the Tramp Steamer assault, I’d done a lot of reading on the subject of fanatics. I was just an Ensign, although old for one, and a recent graduate of flight school. My GCMC days were sealed and not open for discussion.

  “Just a hobby ma’am,” I lied being careful to mask any facial expression.

  A fleet officer was practically a mind reader and could definitely read a person’s expression. They deal with hundreds of Navy personnel. The best fleet officers were highly attuned to fibs, lies and falsehoods. Happily, for me, I’d been a Marine Corps Sergeant and hiding my true feelings was a prerequisite for the stripes.

  “So, as I understand it, you believe this Station was targeted for a terrorist attack,” she said, “It isn’t logical. The alcohol industry isn’t critical for production and the Tourist side is just an adult playground. Beyond that, the Station doesn’t occupy a critical orbit for commerce or the Navy. Why target the hydroxyl Station?”

  “It does sound crazy,” I agreed with her, “Unless there’s a larger pattern that’s above my rank. The attack on the chemical Station, which is essential for Realm production, wasn’t a facility destroying bomb. But they’ve escalated. They planned the total destruction of the Hydroxyl Station. If you don’t mind me asking Captain, have you heard about any other radical activity?”

  “Nothing on the commercial news,” she said, “And there’s nothing on the naval network. So, I’d say what you’ve encountered is a series of unfortunate coincidences. Look Ensign, you have three more days here. Why don’t you just relax and enjoy the Station.”

  “Yes ma’am, I don’t want to get caught up in an official investigation,” I said, “I’d miss my due date with the 49 Air Wing.”

  “The 49th has a history of some heroic missions during the Great Schism,” she said, “Although they’ve been shoved to planet side duties in recent years, or so I’ve heard.”

  “Still it’s a flying assignment and I’m grateful for the opportunity,” I replied.

  “I’ve got to get everything in order for the Naval Investigation team,” she said, “If there’s nothing else Ensign Piran, you are dismissed.”

  The House of Basilio was hosting a noisy crowd. Apparently, word of the fight earlier had drawn a multitude and they had stayed to watch the Video Championship. I pushed through and found another crowd in the grotto commandeered by Agdta.

  The four Druids were standing silently to the rear with tall glasses of brown liquid. Izan was stationed at the entrance while Captain Xhosa, Ide and Kala were sharing a pitcher of something deeply red and intoxicating. How did I know it was strong wine?

  “Phelan, come drink a toast to our Agdta and her team,” slurred Xhosa waving the pitcher around like a flag at the start of a race.

  “Sounds great,” I replied picking up a glass.

  It took a few tries but I finally got a grip on the hand holding the pitcher. Together the Captain and I were able to fill my glass with only a couple of kilograms lost to the floor.

  “To the Merchant Fleet,” he said.

  “To the Marine Corps,” Izan added.

  “To the Navy,” I said and added with a look to the rear, “and the Druid clan.”

  We all drank and by the time our glasses were lowered, the Video Championship team on the screen along with Agdta in our grotto had their hands raised in victory.

  There was nothing a service man or woman enjoys better then shore leave. I dined at all the Houses and sampled their goods. But I spent most of my time with Elizabeth Brynja Sölvi. Yes, for three days I was like any other Marine on leave in paradise. It was paradise, however, it could have been a slum or a dive bar on a deep space Station. The location isn’t as important as the quantity of liquor and the availability of the fairer sex. The hydroxyl Station had both, so it was perfect.

  My gross indulgency was only interrupted by a request for an interview by the Navy Investigation Team. Ide and I made the trip to the Navy Deck.

  Did I say Ide and I made the trip? It was more like the engineer half carried, half dragged me. The message hit my PID as I was finishing a beautiful bottle of scotch. Ide suggested I wait but, when duty calls a Navy officer answers.

  “Ensign Piran, you’re drunk,” the Commander in charge of the investigation stated.

  “Ensign Phelan Oscar Piran reporting as ordered, Sir,” I slurred.

  “You’ve already said that,” he stated, “This is a serious inquiry. I need your full attention.”

  “Ensign Piran, reporting as ordered, sir,” I slurred, something in his voice made me focus, “Question away.”

  His face was turning red and his eyes were bugging out. The man looked really stressed.

  “You look like you could use a drink, Sir,” I said, “I can call down for a bottle.”

  “Ensign, I will not take this from a junior office,” he yelled, “I am putting you in a cell until you sober up. Once you’re sober, I’ll have you up on charges.”

  “Yes Sir, should I send for that bottle?” I asked reaching out to steady myself on the table.

  “Guards, in here now,” he screamed.

  “Two bottles then?”

  I registered the hatch opening behind me. Then I was jerked to an upright position and my brain spun. The room rolled and the Commanders face got really blurry.

  “This man to the brig,” he ordered, “Get him out of my sight.”

  The large Marines on either side of me didn’t help when they whirled me around. Now the room was completely out of control. I needed a drink but they were holding my arms in vice-like grips.

  “Do I know you?” I asked looking from one to the other, “Let’s go have an ale. My treat.”

  They lifted me by the arms and started to maneuver me towards the door. Suddenly the door opened and four brown robes entered and blocked the exit.

  “We have words, Commander,” one of the Druids said. I think it was number Two.

  “Certainly, I always have time for our Druid brothers,” the chief inspector said, “Just let my detail remove the prisoner.”

  “He is Clan. He is a Navy Officer,” Druid number Four said.

  “Yes, yes, I can see that,” the inspector said growing short, “He is also insubordinate and drunk.”

  “We have words. We have answers,” Druid number Three said.

  He stepped forward and place a hand first on the arm of one then the other of my escorts.

  “Release him,” he said softly.

  Their hands dropped away.

  “Ensign Piran has done great service for Druids and for hydroxyl Station,” Druid number One stated, “He is free to go.”

  The Commander very softly replied, “Of course. Ensign Piran is free to go.”

  Someone held the door for me and propelled me through it with a gentle shove in the back. I stumbled out and collided with Ide.

  “Ide, you are a great engineer,” I said holding him at arm’s length, “Let me buy you a drink.”

  Chapter 35

  I awoke in the Merchant Fleet hotel fully clothed with a splitting headache. Had I gone to see the Navy Investigation Team? There were no additional messages on my PID so I stumbled to the shower.

  My aching head was slightly less difficult than my rolling stomach. It was some party last night. It was a tradition and an obligation to do it up right on the last night of liberty. I can proudly, as far as I can remember, say I’d done my best to uphold the custom.

  The flight deck was mostly empty. Spotting Captain Xhosa and the rest of the Uno Shoda crew, I lurched my way to
the group.

  “Good afternoon, Ensign Piran,” Ide said with a smile.

  He looked disgustingly fresh, perky and, unlike me, pain free.

  “Ugh,” I mumbled and hunched my shoulders up to cradle my head.

  Now I knew why most of the folks leaving the hydroxyl Station were slumped over. They were like me hung over. It appears other people have the same last night of liberty tradition as the military.

  Sleep was easy in near zero gravity with an eight-point harness. Like floating on a cloud with the steady pinging of ion cannons tapping out a lullaby.

  “Phelan, time to depart,” Kala said as she rocked me back and forth.

  I peeled my eyes open, hit the release and dropped. The chair bounced me into the ceiling of the tug and the deck rushed up to greet me. Gravity from the Uno Shoda had leaked to the tug and I had been held in place by the straps. Releasing the harness had started the chain of embarrassing events.

  “Merchant Fleet tradition,” Ide said from the hatch way, “You enter the ship under your own power.”

  He winked and disappeared out of the hatch. I stumbled to my feet and followed him to the connecting tube. The gravity dropped and I pulled my way across until the gravity reengaged and I stepped onto the Uno Shoda under my own power.

  “Stations people,” the Captain said over the intercom, “I want to be away in five hours. That’s five hours to launch. Get busy.”

  Ide reached around me and secured the exterior hatch. A gentle push to get me moving and he spun down the toggles on the interior hatch.

  “Captain, the hatches are secure,” he said, “Heading to the cargo sleeve.”

  “Let me know once the cargo is adjusted,” Xhosa said, “Navigation and first officer to the Bridge. Mister Piran, if you’re still with us, please come as well.”

  The sleep had done me good and, with a clear head, I stepped onto the bridge. Agdta was doing calculations on the ship’s computer and her PID simultaneously. Kala was running diagnostics on the ship’s systems. And Xhosa was standing watching his crew until I entered.

  “How are you feeling, Phelan?” he asked.