Pipes covered the ceiling and thick wires ran along the tunnel walls. I had slipped into the black pants and Clan hoodie. The floor glowed with foot prints. I located the Marine boots and the broad, flat prints of Station workers. After a few false starts, I was able to separate out Sade’s. She’d run through here as displayed by the long, widely spaced strides.
Her path turned into a side tunnel. It branched twice more before ending at a ladder. I climbed down and pushed through the hatch.
A Trajectory Station, like the plant Station, was constructed by building a top deck and a bottom deck connected by three tubes. The tubes were usually set in a triangle pattern with two placed towards the rear of the Station.
The hatch opened about mid-way up one of the rear tubes. I felt the air flow, midsummer storm strength, rushing past me. It was about four meters across with rungs climbing and descending through catwalk crossings at every deck.
Sade’s prints showed she had gone up. I began the long climb and out of boredom, I looked across the tube. Large air vents dotted the curved walls. It was, after all, the second reason for the tubes. Besides be structural, the tubes provided air flow. The Station’s White Heart Plant feed the sea aroma and rich air into the tubes where it mixed with the product from the Station’s oxygen generators. I inhaled deeply and continued to climb.
I was almost at the commercial deck. Outside the tube would be restaurants, shops and lots of people. It seemed as if my hunt would end there. Sade could have gone in any direction and I couldn’t run around in public in my Clan gear. Pausing to think about my next move, I looked across the tube and downward.
The vents were facing up to catch and distribute the air flow. I easily could see between the slats. All but one was just a black hole beyond the grate. One caught my attention because a thin line of red light split the blackness. It wouldn’t be visible to the naked eye but, with the enhanced optics of my Clan doublet, it glowed.
Why would an air vent in the tube have a trip light? I climbed to the next level, crossed over and made my way down to the air vent. There was dust on the edges of the slats. Dust collected on the outside edges, like the air was passing the slats but not entering the air shaft.
I tried the wing nuts that held the grate. They were tight. I reach into the pouch on my Clan strap and pulled out a fighting stick. After extending it to its full length, I used the stick to pry on the nut. In a second it spun and the other four quickly followed. The grate came loose and I had to climb up to the catwalk to find a flat place to leave it.
The thin red line was a laser light, a trip light that bridged the shaft about a third of the way up. High enough so most space vermin could crawl under it. A human would most assuredly set off a warning. A warning to whom?
I focused and my Clan hood displayed the wiring and something else. Ah, I said to myself, in my best imitation of a wise old Druid, ‘The solution is clear’.
Thankfully, the trip wire was high tech. You see, the more advanced the equipment, the more expensive, and the rarer the electronics, the more people want to be able to reuse it.
Reaching out slowly, I gently pushed the button on the opposite side of the laser’s base. The unit powered down. You’ve got to love off switches.
There was a thick layer of dust in the air shaft. But no air flow other than the breeze that followed me in. The schematics showed I was headed towards the back bulkhead of the station. This might be a spare shaft for future expansion or a temporary shaft left over from the original construction of the Station. If either was the case, why place a trip light at the entrance?
The answer wasn’t clear. Deeper in, I found my way blocked by a hatch. This was troublesome because the hatch wasn’t welded closed. I did a trial spin of the locking mechanism. It moved easily.
On the other side could be the void of space or a dead-end. One would be frustrating for me, the other, could be my death.
Not being too smart, I spun the lock and eased the hatch open. I wasn’t sucked out into space. Where the Station should have ended, light spilled through another grate further down the shaft. I continued to crawl towards the light.
At the next grate, I pulled back my hood and gazed through the slats at a room. It was about half the size of a cargo container. From my limited prospective, the room seemed to continue around a corner. I only knew this because I could see part of a table and a pair of legs sticking out from under it. But the legs and the table were of little interest to me. It was the man standing beside a hanging woman who drew my attention.
He was of medium height and clutched a leather strap in his left hand. I judged the width of the strap because it matched the black and blue welts on the suspended woman. He was whispering in her ear. She turned her head and I saw that both her eyes were swollen shut.
The beaten woman was older. Why do I say older? Because in a cage behind the man and his captive, was a much younger woman. She, as well, looked as if she’d been on the receiving end of the belt.
I inhaled and concentrated to slow the adrenalin rush. Haste wouldn’t help them. After pulling down my crawl rendering myself practically invisible, I snaked my fingers through the slats. Using fingertips, I spun the wing nuts. The grate came loose and I carefully placed it behind me.
So far the man with the legs under the table hadn’t heard me. The drop from the pipe was only about twice my height. I hit the deck and the man with the belt looked over.
“Damn bugs,” a man’s voice said from around the corner.
“Yeah, I hate this place,” belt boy replied. He was still staring at the deck under the air shaft.
My camouflage blended my body into the walls but I didn’t want to move while he was looking. Before I put these animals down, I needed to know what kind of weapon the guy at the table was packing.
The young woman in the cage helped when she mumbled something. The butt-head with the belt turned towards her and I eased along the wall. I glanced around the corner. There was a pistol laying on the table beside two PIDs.
I waited until I was behind the table. My hands slipped into the pouch on my Clan strap. When I removed them, my forearms were protected by leather guards and in my hands were two wooden handles.
One shake and the custom alloy tipped fighting sticks extended. The guy at the table received the bottom of my right stick to the back of his head. I think his forehead bounced when it collided with the table top.
I didn’t know for sure because I was in the air, leaping over the table. Two long steps and I was facing Belt dude. He had his mouth open in surprise. I really wanted to just kill him but I also wanted to question him. So I only hit him four time. Left, right, left and on the next right, he dropped to the deck.
Everything was going as planned. I had the situation under control. Both bad guys were down and out and primed for questioning.
I placed an arm around the woman and reached up with the other. Her hands were bound with rope and I struggled to unknot it. Finally, her weight fell fully onto my arm. She was more muscular then I’d expected for a woman her age.
Everything was under control and going well, for a rescue. Two freed hostages and two guys for questioning. Damn, I am good. Or at least I was until…
Chapter 3
As I laid the lady on the ground, she cried out in pain. After the abuse she’d suffered, I couldn’t blame her. It was when I walked over and opened the cage that things got fuzzy.
The younger woman scrambled out of the cage. She crawled over and took the other woman in her arms, and said, “Asthore’, Asthore’, I am sorry.”
Translated into my Clan language, she’d said, My Dear, My Dear. It was then I noticed the brown robes piled in the far corner. Beside the Druid robes were two pairs of chrome shears and two shallow watering pans. These ladies were of my Clan. They were Druids.
The man of the war people, foe to the Clan and vileness to be eradicated by a Knight of the Clan, moaned. So the animal on the other side of the table, was the first to die.
I did it fast, the bottom of my left stick entered his temple. I spared only a second to carve a C into his forehead.
“Let all know that to harm a member of the Clan brings death from a Knight Protector of the Clan,” I declared as I vaulted the table.
The second man, the one with the belt, I wanted him to be aware. Two slaps and he opened his eyes.
“I am death,” I whispered as I open the veins on both sides of his neck, “To harm the Clan, brings me.”
As he bled out but still conscious, I carved a C deeply into his forehead. Now all would know this was the vengeance of the Clan.
A scream brought my attention back to the two woman. They were huddled together between the cages. Terror filled their eyes.
They’d just witnessed two men slaughtered by a unique set of fighting sticks that seemingly slashed through the air without a body attached to the sticks.
Their screams let me know they didn’t have life threatening injuries. I walked to the table and picked up one of the PIDs. A quick message to the Station’s Druids along with a map to the location would get the women help. I sent a second anonymous message to Birgir so he could deal with the bodies.
I glanced back at the women. Their eyes were fixed on the table where the floating PID had landed. I imagined it didn’t get better for them when the door opened by itself.
In the narrow hallway, I stripped out of my Clan hoodie and the black trousers. My uniform was wrinkled and no amount of brushing would smooth it out completely. I was presentable enough to make my way back to the Merchant Fleet Motel as long as I didn’t run into a fussy Navy Commander. First, I had to pull up the map I’d sent to the Druids. I had no clue where I was in plant Station.
Following the hall, I found a set of steps. The hatch at the top showed where someone had burned away the welds. So, this area was part of the original construction, probably a storage shed that should be inaccessible.
The hatch opened onto another hall but this one had wires on the walls and pipes overhead. There was very little air flow. I put on my rebreather mask while I walked.
Ten steps and one corner later, I arrived at an inside door. Standard painted metal with a warning sign, ‘Alarm Will Sound’. The alarm didn’t worry me. It was the lock on the door and the soon to be arriving Druids and Station security detachment that caused me concern.
I pulled my black trousers and hooded doublet out of the pouch and put them back on. Then, I waited. It was no surprise the Druids arrived first. The door opened and four brown robes burst into the hallway.
They ran under me and, before the door closed, I dropped from where I was hanging on the pipes and slipped out of the door.
I was behind a cloth wall when the security detail arrived. They didn’t bunch up but began dropping people out of their line as they proceeded. One was left to hold the door. She stood and scanned the area, while the door alarm screamed its warning.
The cloth wall had a slit in the fabric so I eased through. I looked around at the clutter. Like a tent, the sides of the room were constructed of mismatched panels of cloth. I suddenly realized where I was.
Every Station has an area for the lazy, the hopeless, the crippled, and common law wives and children of spacemen from the Merchant Fleet. They don’t work. They mooched off the Galactic Council and take advantage of the generosity of others. All the while enjoying the freedom provided by the Council, and the sweet air from the White Heart Plant.
The other elements drawn to these camps were thieves, gamblers, cutpurses and pickpockets. They all coexisted in tents constructed on empty decks in the Station’s interior.
My mother, a caring Druid, spent time in camps such as this one. She said folks, not of our Clan, can fall on hard times. My father, a stern Druid, said they should be sent to their own Station where they would work or die. His was the most popular view among the Druids. My views on the camps fall somewhere in between.
My impression of the tent I was hiding in, was the person who lived here was a swine. The room was a disgusting arrangement of dirty food trays, old, unwashed clothing and discarded pieces of equipment. Truly nasty, I thought as I stepped through the far wall panels.
The walkway between the rows of multicolored tents was narrow. I couldn’t take off my Clan clothing because a Navy Officer, unless he was on duty, would be noticed. I didn’t want to be associated with the rescue and the deaths of two men.
I wandered down two more rows of the camp before locating a set of steps. Two flights, including dodging a few security folks, carried me to the rear of a cargo deck. I entered as an invisible Knight Protector of the Clan and walked off the deck a Navy Aviator. On the elevator, I punched in the Merchant Fleet Hotel level, and breathed a sigh of relief.
An hour later, just as I finished buttoning up the jacket of a clean uniform, someone disturbed my goal of a peaceful dinner. They knocked hard on my door.
He was tall and wide, possibly one of the biggest Druids I’ve ever seen. And his voice was deep and loud.
“Asthore’ Knight Protector of the Clan,” he boomed, his voice echoing around my sitting room and all the way down the hallway of the hotel.
I leaned around him and studied the hallway. Thankfully, no guests were strolling in the hall, however, an old, stooped Druid was standing beside the door.
“Master. Please come in,” I said nodding my head.
The big Druid stepped out of the door frame and the elder shuffled in. As the old guy eased into a chair, with a moan, the other Druid took up a guard post in the hall just outside my door.
“You, Brother,” I said to the big guy, “Kindly get your butt in here.”
Having a giant Druid standing outside your hotel room was not the best way to stay under the radar. Besides, I was a Knight Protector of the Clan and Druids were supposed to render me aid. His getting out of sight, from the prying eyes of Merchant Fleet and Naval brass, would be a big help.
He didn’t move except for the hand that slid under his robe to where he kept his fighting sticks. I didn’t need a fight, but I couldn’t leave him standing there, like a massive sign stating, ‘Hey look here. There’s Druid business going on in this room.’
I looked over my shoulder as I placed my hands in the pouch on my Clan strap.
“Master. Either you move him or I will,” I warned.
The old man shrugged as if to say, ‘Makes no difference to me.’
Before he finished dropping his shoulders, my hands emerged incased with the leather arm guards and the Clan fighting sticks. I snapped them open as I went to my knees. The big Druid’s sticks sliced the air above my head. My left stick punctured one of the giant’s ankles and with the other I knocked his feet out from under him. He toppled over.
Catching him as he fell, I used a basic hip throw and tossed him into the room. I slammed the door shut with my foot, pivoted, and stepped deeper into the room.
I placed the sharp point of my left stick at the giant’s throat. I pointed the other stick at the old Druid.
“Care to explain or do we begin by watching your big Druid bleed out?” I asked with sarcasm. I prodded the big guy’s neck to reinforce my statement.
“Peace, Knight Protector of the Clan,” the old guy said. He raised his hands, palms out, to show they were empty.
Ah, a test. Just like a Druid to put you through a challenge before getting down to the subject of a visit.
Druids are stubborn. Talented, loyal, and useful, but still giant butt-holes.
“You know, the penalty for touching a Knight Protector of the Clan, is death,” I stated. My stick quivered, and the Druid at the point of the stick stayed purposefully still.
“Lieutenant Piran. Phelan Oscar Piran,” the Druid Master said softly, “We are not the enemy.”
The fuzzy feeling in my brain fell away. I shook my head and pulled away from the downed Druid. A shake and my fighting sticks retracted. I placed the sticks along with my arm guards back in the pouch.
After pouring th
ree fingers of scotch, no ice, I went to the bathroom and got a towel. I tossed the towel at the bleeding ankle and took a seat across from the old man.
“Death to the loser is never a good idea for a test,” I said, then I took a big gulp of my drink.
I didn’t offer any refreshments to the Druids. Right now, hospitality wasn’t high on my list.
“Two men died. Two Druid women were rescued,” the old man stated, “The women are resting and will heal. The men will not.”
“That about sums it up,” I replied.
“I was prepared to question your methods,” he said lowering his head, “But I can see the Knight’s code has already taken control of you.”
He raised an arm and pointed at the other Druid’s ankle. The downed Druid had stopped the flow of blood with the towel.
“We didn’t expect you to draw blood,” he continued, “That was my fault. I thank you for not ending his life.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said, “This Knight’s code is in me?”
“You carve the foreheads of people you kill,” he stated, “And you kill at the slightest provocation. Even when it would suffice to disable your target. Plus, you know that a Knight suffers no attack on his or her person.”
“So why the test from the big guy?” I asked, “If I’m so unstable.”
“Again my fault,” he said turning his eyes back to stare at me, “We heard a Knight had been elevated. When we saw the report from Nafaka about the state of the Rebels’ bodies, we assumed it was the Knight. A Druid candidate reported her rescue and then the case of the two dead kidnappers in the storage room. We had to know?”
“Had to know what?” I stammered.
“If the Knight was worthy,” he replied.
“So if your big boy here had beaten me to a pulp, you’d say, ‘excuse me’, it was only a case of mistaken identity?” I asked.
“If you put it that way, yes,” he replied.
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 2
