See, Druids were totally, giant rectal orifices.
“How did the men manage to capture not one, but two Druids?” I asked.
I hoped he’d pick up on the mocking tone of my voice. It wouldn’t register, Druids don’t pay attention to feelings. They weren’t touchy feely in the least. But, I had to try.
“They were gassed on the Shuttle back from protein Station,” he explained, “Their female pilot triggered the attack. My sisters didn’t remember anything until they awoke in the company of the two men.”
“Let me guess,” I said, “The female pilot had a scar on her face?”
“Yes, as recalled by the sisters,” the old Druid stated.
So, Sade had made it to protein Station after leaving Nafaka. She had help escaping the planet and even managed a kidnapping mission on her trip over to plant Station. My respect and hatred for the pilot, call sign Princess, was growing.
“What did the men want?” I asked, “Were there specific questions for the sisters?”
“The questioning centered on the Heart Plant’s defenses,” he reported, “for both the plant and the protein Stations.”
“It sounds like the Rebels are planning an attack on the Heart Plants,” I said then added, “You might want to alert the Stations’ security and increase the Druid presence on protein Station.”
The elderly Druid nodded, stood, reached down and helped the giant off the floor. They limped out with the Elder supporting the weight of the injured Druid. I needed a good meal, so I followed them. They took the lift and I walked the stairs. I didn’t care where they went, me, I went in search of a peaceful meal.
At the restaurant, I had just tasted my first ale. It was the first of many I planned on consuming along with a spicy meal. The tankard touched the table and I let out a satisfying burp and Birgir appeared.
Chapter 4
Senior Lieutenant Birgir hooked the leg of the chair across from me with his foot and pulled it out. Then he crashed his weight into the chair. I waited for it to collapse. Surprisingly, it held his weight.
“Lieutenant Birgir. Good evening, care to join me?” I asked hold up my half empty stein.
“No, but thank you,” he replied. Then he rested his elbows on the table while cradling his chin in his hands.
That is not the posture of a confident Naval Inspector, I thought, but said aloud, “You look like you could use a drink.”
“Oh, I do,” he replied, “But right now I have two squads of Marines inbound. We’re going to search the Squatter’s Camp for Sade.”
“Well, it sounds as if you have all the support you need. So why the long face?” I asked while taking a long pull on my ale.
“The trouble is Admiral Gesina wants more Navy presence there,” he explained, “Quote, the Admiral, we have to live with those people after the Leathernecks have stomped all over their Council Rights.”
She had good reason to worry. Marines were really good at search and destroy missions. The search would be comprehensive and unfortunately the results would leave a lot of things broken. I imagined she didn’t want the civilians to be broken along with their things.
“So draft a few Navy Officers and place them around the camp,” I suggested, “And try not to offend the Marines.”
“Great idea,” he said raising his chin from his hands, “Consider yourself drafted.”
That’s how I ended up on the far end of the Squatters Camp, watching the citizens get herded out of their tents. One dwelling at a time, two or three people, sometimes just one person, were ushered to a holding area by armed Marines.
The only abuse I witnessed was to a mature woman. She seemed determined to delay the whole process by walking very slowly. Her ploy was plodding along, looking around, and shuffling her feet. ‘Maybe she’s infirmed,’ I thought.
Then a young Marine reached out. He gently placed a hand on her wide buttock and rubbed it in a circular manner. I think he enjoyed it. Duty in space for long periods is lonely. She didn’t enjoy it and I discovered she was able to walk as well as anyone. As a matter of fact, she strutted to the head of the line.
I didn’t report the abuse. Figuring a quick feel was preferable to a stroke with the rifle’s buttstock. I simply shook my head to let the Marine know I was watching.
Birgir’s plan to search the Camp was simple. After sealing off all exits, a holding area had been created for the identification and collection of displaced civilians. At the first row of tents, the Marines began clearing out people and turning over any place a person could hide. Their progress would force any nefarious suspects and, hopefully, Sade back to a solid wall at the rear of the Camp.
I was on the edge of the Camp part way to the wall. Between the rows of tents, I witnessed at least four people race in that direction away from the advancing Marines.
“Staff Sergeant. A word,” I said calling over a Marine NCO.
He looked as if he’d eaten a sour apple. I could almost hear his thoughts, ‘Great, the Navy wants to give me his guidance, wonderful. What worldly advice will the astute Navy Lieutenant have for me?’
He didn’t say it out loud, but I knew. He did the smart thing. He saluted, “Sir, what can I do for you?”
“I counted four bodies slipping through to the last row of tents,” I said calmly then added, “How many did you see?”
“I only saw two, Sir. Orders?” He asked being polite.
“It’s your detachment Sergeant,” I replied, “You’ve got maybe six hostiles waiting for your Marines. Be safe.”
His salute was crisper, as was mine. He jogged off to inform his teams.
The Marines came online at the third row of tents from the wall. Birgir had joined me and we watched as the space between the tents filled with armor, weapons and serious troops.
A Marine Lieutenant appeared from the middle of the Camp where he’d been directing the squads’ Sergeants.
“Do you want to ask for their surrender?” he inquired.
Birgir cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Attention anyone still in the Camp. You are now considered fugitives. In the name of the Galactic Council, come out. Soon the Marines will be searching the last rows. When you are caught, you will be prosecuted. This is your final warning.”
Interesting use of the word, prosecuted, I thought looking at the line of combat Marines. The identification area had found several low level criminals among the civilians. I assumed those hiding in the remaining tents were either wanted for more serious crimes or were Rebels like Sade.
The Rebels replied first. A Marine crumpled as his leg spewed blood from his knee. That was the last sound I heard from the Rebel’s side of the Camp. The rest of the ruckus was all Marines unloading in the direction of the assailant.
Kinetic rounds passed through the fabric tents, pinged off the rear wall, and tore through the tents, again, from the back side. The two-way path of the Marines’ fire ripped fabric and support posts until the tents became bumpy piles of multi colored cloth. The Marines began to advance and any place with a lump earned extra rounds and a stomp from the nearest Marine.
How Lieutenant Sade, call sign Princess, formally of the Galactic Council Navy managed to avoid the bullets, I’ll never know. She came out of that storm of metal with two pistols. Both firing at Birgir and me.
The Intelligence Officer grunted. It was such a deep, wet, lung emptying sound, I pulled my eyes off the 45s. Blood soaked his uniform blouse around a tight three-hole pattern. Birgir never even clutched his chest as the last kinetic round traveled through the holes in his rib cage formed by the first two. It eviscerated his heart by destroying the tissue between the four chambers.
I noticed this with a glance before leaping over his body. Unfortunately, Sade didn’t slow up. Her body displayed minor wounds, however, none were serious enough to put her down. I hit the deck and rolled away from the pinging rounds.
She had fixated on me. Maybe because I’d spotted her at the Merchant Transit counter or from som
ething I’d done on Nafaka? In any case, her aim, as far as I could tell, was my death. I clawed at my side for a weapon.
Because I wasn’t assigned to the plant Station, I wasn’t authorized to carry a weapon. As a transient Naval Officer, I was strictly there as an observer. Thusly, I didn’t have a pistol.
I rolled on the deck while keeping my eyes on the advancing Sade. The deck pinged with her rounds. They were getting closer. Another roll by me and a little adjustment by her, and I’d join Birgir in assuming room temperature. Then, her head exploded.
A sonic grenade to the head will do that to a target. I looked around and saw the Staff Sergeant. He had dropped to one knee and twisted sideways for stability. Instead of using the kinetic rounds, he’d fired a grenade. Nice shooting. And I told him so after shaking his hand.
“No problem, Sir, good officers are hard to come by,” he replied, “Didn’t want to lose you.”
I left the clean-up and release of the civilians to planet Station personnel. Me, I wanted a good stiff drink. And, then another.
The next morning, I attended Senior Lieutenant Birgir’s passing ceremony. Admiral Gesina said some nice things about him. A few of his staff said nice things as well. I always wondered if anyone ever stood up and said bad things about the dead?
My PID went off as I was leaving the ceremony. Apparently the Patrol Boat Swanhilde was orbiting around planet Nafaka and Captain Viljami wanted to meet her new crewmembers. I had four hours to kill, but decided to stay in my dress uniform for the meeting.
I wore the uniform to the Merchant Fleet Hotel’s dining room. Besides an excellent meal, I was rewarded by nasty stares from the higher ranking Naval officers, who were also lunching there. They weren’t aware the lowly Lieutenant was qualified to be there because the Lieutenant was a reserve Captain in the Merchant Fleet. It was nice to rub elbows with fellow Captains. Especially when, they didn’t know why or how you qualify to be there.
In addition to me, the Swanhilde was picking up two new transient crewmembers. While I was pilot for the Patrol Boat’s number two GunShip, there was also a new Navigator, and an Engineer. I meet them both on the flight deck.
“Know anything about Captain Viljami?” Lieutenant Junior Grade Måndag Blomma asked.
He was the Navigator and there was no question why he wanted to know as much about our new captain as possible. His job would mean working closely with her during the voyage.
“I understand she’s been working patrols along the Galactic Divide for four years,” Furawā Hana, our engineer, stated, “Other than that, I don’t know. She’s relativity unknown where I’ve been stationed.”
Like Blomma and me, Senior Lieutenant Furawā Hana was heading for Navy Command Station at planet Uno. While we were going to new assignments, Hana was going there to resign his commission. A corporate entity wanted his engineering skills. And, they were willing to pay a cargo container’s worth of Pesetas for them.
Chapter 5
Captain Milja Viljami was attractive. Clean lines and a bearing as if she’d been an athlete her entire life. Her cheek bones were wide which complimented her large eyes. Although a little shorter than the average woman, the height disparity was negated by the energy she projected. This force in motion swept onto the transit deck.
“Gentlemen. I assume that you are mine?” she asked as she halted in front of us.
Her voice was brisk, and husky as if she’d spent time on a drill field calling out commands to large groups of troops. Captain Viljami would not need a megaphone to make herself understood. She also didn’t mince words to make herself understood.
“My crew needs shore leave,” she stated without waiting for us to answer her first question, “therefore, you three will report to the Swanhilde. Set up a rotation for Bridge watch and, in your off time, prepare your areas for launch.”
“Aye, aye Ma’am,” we replied while saluting our new Captain.
She returned our salutes and strutted away.
“Nice to meet you to, Captain,” Furawā Hana said to the empty deck in front of us.
“I guess we find a shuttle and report aboard,” Måndag Blomma said with as much enthusiasm as a condemned man going to his execution.
“Gentlemen, assuming we are hers, let’s find that shuttle,” I suggested picking up my travel bag, “I believe the transportation desk is over there.”
The Swanhilde was unmistakably a deep space Patrol Boat. The side we flew along was streaked and pitted from space pebbles. This ship had seen a lot of evolutions. I was willing to bet Captain Viljami had commanded most of them.
Our shuttle swung around the ion propellant tube jutting from her nose, and now I could see the starboard side. The alloy was marred. Scaring and holes near the aft GunShip section, displayed the results of the Patrol Boat’s resent voyage. She’d encountered enemy fire. Maybe that was why Captain Viljami was in such as rush. Right now, I imagined her sitting impatiently in the waiting area outside of Admiral Gesina’s office.
We were met inside the air lock by a tall woman with short spiky hair. As we stumbled aboard, a line of crewmen streamed out of the hatch heading for the waiting shuttle. Shore leave was always welcome, even if only for seventy-two hours on a Station.
“Blomma, you’re here at the command deck with me,” Millaray Lunes, Navy Commander and 1st Officer of the Swanhilde, ordered, “Hana and Piran, go stow your gear, and check your stations.”
This wasn’t the typical coming aboard ritual. Usually there is a ‘permission to come aboard?’, and a ‘permission granted’ exchange. Followed by a welcome to the ship, and introductions. Also, it wasn’t normal for a Patrol Boat to have two high ranking officers in command. On larger ships, yes, but on a ship this size you normally would have a Senior Lieutenant in charge with a Lieutenant, Junior Grade as First Officer. Here, we had a full Commander as First Officer and a full Captain as skipper.
Apparently, Naval Command considered the patrolling of the Galactic Divide a priority. I left the Bridge through the bulkhead hatch and emerged on the gun deck. On either side, big quad machine guns lay along the interior skin of the ship. The doors for the gunners were open. In combat, the four barreled weapons would retract, rotate outside, and extend to defend the ship. Right now they were benign steel and brass tubes occupying a large amount of area. I threaded my way between the quads to the next hatch.
The shop area was as I expected. Work benches and tool storage covered all the space around the two ladders. Both ladders would lead to the crew quarters on the lower deck. I took the narrow stairs on the left and found the room assigned to the pilot of GunShip Two.
A few minutes later, I emerged in work utilities. I glanced down the passageway leading towards the front of the ship. Along the way, there would be double occupancy rooms for the gun crews on the right side. Near the end would be the Captain’s suite and her access ladder to the Bridge. Past her rooms were the Navigator and First Officer’s quarters.
Their quarters would be the only rooms with access to the right and left side corridors. A patrol boat was designed to be compartmentalized. Every area had air tight walls that could be sealed in case of breeches. The hallway, where I was standing, was completely separate from an identical hallway on the other side of the Patrol Boat.
I turned toward the aft and climbed the ladder to the maintenance area. The engineer, Hana, was busy at a work bench. He had a pile of new parts and several scorched ion cannons stacked beside the bench.
“Rebuilding all the ion cannons?” I asked in a joking manner, “Or just practicing?”
“Just the five on the port side need rebuilding,” he said in all seriousness, “Looks like they were burned in an attack maneuver.”
I thought of the damage to the exterior of the ship and to five of the sixteen ion cannons. With holes in the starboard side of the ship, and ion cannon damage on the port, the Swanhilde must have been attacked from behind. The Captain had gone to emergency power to swing her starboard guns around to
meet the enemy.
“I better go check on my section,” I said stepping to a hatch between workbenches.
I entered the mess deck with its four small round tables. Bolted to the walls, more seating in the form of counters ran wherever there wasn’t a hatch. Crowded seating for twenty, I thought as I passed through the area. Food preparation was done on the deck below. From what I read on my PID, the Swanhilde wouldn’t have a full compliant of Marines. Just four gunners and a Sergeant to assist the Navy crew of ten. So, the galley wouldn’t be crowded, even if the entire crew gathered for a meal or a meeting.
Set in the aft bulkhead of the dinning deck, two small hatches broke the line of the counters. I opened the hatch on the left. The enclosed tunnel was just barely tall enough for me to stand. As I passed by, I glanced through an open port at the Swanhilde’s ion canon wall. Hana’s tools were laid carefully around the area where he had dismantled the ion canons.
Continuing on, I arrived at the hatch to the hanger deck. A red light stopped me. The warning light and the atmosphere gauge told the story. My section was venting air into space. From a locker beside the hatch, I pulled out a work suit. I squeezed into the airtight, thermal coveralls, complete with gloves and attached booties. I slid on the helmet.
The holes I’d seen from the shuttle seemed bigger from the inside of the ship. I counted fifteen. Only the tenth had been an exploding round so most of the damage was around one big hole. The rounds that passed through the skin were stopped by the interior wall. Other than the holes in my elevator, the Patrol Boat was in good shape.
It was time to get to work.
“First Officer Lunes. This is J-Pop, requesting permission to vent GunShip Two’s hanger,” I called on the intercom.
“J-Pop. Lunes is off the ship,” Blomma replied, “I have the Bridge, permission granted.”
“Rodger, Bridge, standby for breech,” I said closing my hand on the elevator controls.
Sirens rang, lights flashed and the entire side of the Patrol Boat along the length of the GunShip swung up and out. I stood looking into blackness. It’s an uncomfortable feeling knowing that ten steps away, loomed the void of space.
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 3
