He smiled as he poured another cup of coffee and pushed his plates away.
“I was born to a raiding family. My early years were full of emergency landings on strange ships and rapid retreats with Navy ships giving chase,” he said bringing his tale closer to present day, “But as the noose tightened around our area of operations, my family feared for my safety and left me with an uncle on Planet Dos. He taught me to box and being a tough task master oversaw my formal education. I was born a warrior however by then my Clan had a treaty with the Galactic Navy. There was no adventure waiting for me as a raider. So I began to box.”
“Fighting fulfilled my need for action but after one match, I left the emergency medical facility with stitches and two swollen eyes. I wandered the streets, seeing the buildings through blurred vision, dodging people on the streets who seemed like ghosts and struggling with the mother of all headaches. I crossed streets, meandered through parks aimlessly, and finally caught the smell of freshly baked bread. Following my nose, I squinted at an old building. Somehow I found the side door and walked into a bakery. The air was filled with heat and flour and a man grunting as he pounded on a huge mound of dough.”
“So you became a baker?” I asked.
“No, the old baker tossed me out. Then he tossed me out the next morning and the morning after that,” he said now grinning as he recalled the struggle, “I think it was day ten before he let me pour a bag of flour and measure the yeast, water and salt. I apprenticed for five years before joining the Navy and studying for my master certificate in space baking.”
“So, what do you do now to satisfy your warrior urges,” I asked.
“I take it out on the dough and beating people in poker,” he said standing, “Finish your meal, Lieutenant. I’ve got dough to tend. You can exit through that door. It’ll put you back in the main hall.”
“Aye, Master Chief, thank you,” I said standing as he left the room.
I sat back down and shoved another slice of juicy steak into my mouth. The breakfast was just what I wanted but the Captain wasn’t.
She came through the door that Dilshad had pointed out as my exit.
I jumped to my feet and peered around her to see if she had Shore Patrol on her tail. She saw my move and smiled.
“At ease Lieutenant Piran,” she said taking the seat the baker had just vacated, “No Shore Patrol, I just want to speak with you. I’m Captain Kahina, and I’m the Assistant Chief of Flight Operations, call sign Priestess.”
I relaxed a little when she reached out and snatched one of the fried delicacies off my plate.
“I love these,” she said stuffing the entire thing into her mouth and mumbled while chewing, “tell me about the crew on the converted Clipper ship. Were they raiders?”
“Not like I’d seen before,” I replied, “They were para military. Uniforms, ranks and a command structure. That’s in my report, is there more you need?”
“J-Pop, I have hundreds of pilots on this ship and my job is to know what they might face out in space,” she said plucking another fried thing from my plate.
“I understand that ma’am,” I said, “They were organized and not from the same Clan. But, they were big boys. Thickly muscled and big boned, not puffy like a weightlifter, just large men.”
Waving the fired food around to accent her question, “Are you sure they weren’t just an organized Pirate ship? I’ve seen some who take the title of Admiral and fancy themselves Navy commanders.”
“Wouldn’t know about those guys,” I stated, “But the ones I saw had military ranks down to Sergeants.”
“Did you see any unit or organization designations?”
I studied her duty uniform. Other than the Captain’s insignia on her collar and a braided rope over one shoulder to show her status as Assistant Chief of Flight Operations, her uniform had no unit or organizational markings.
“No more than your uniform,” I pointed out, “And one spoke about retirement.”
“You spoke to them?” she asked taking a big bite from the fried food.
“No, I overheard them talking. They had thick accents,” I explained, “I listened before I blew them up.”
“Yea, about that, tell me how the cargo sleeve looked?” she asked as she finished off the fried tidbit and reached for another.
I tool a knife and pushed the remainder of the fried morsels onto a small plate. Lifting the plate ceremoniously, I placed it in front of her.
“I love these,” she said picking up another, “About the torpedo launchers. Rustic and rigged together?”
“No ma’am, definitely factory installed and the Patrol Boats with the Clipper aren’t identifiable as coming from the Galactic Council Realm,” I said, “You might want to have a word with a Marine named Lance Corporal Louloúdi Def̱téra. He was definite about the shapes being a new type of Patrol Boat.”
“As if we don’t have enough trouble with the Pirates and Rebels, now I’ve got to coach my pilots up on a new military organization,” she said chewing thoughtfully, “Anything else I should know?”
“Not that I can think of but I’ve got a few questions,” I said.
“Go for it,” she said selecting another piece of my fried breakfast.
“Where is the Reina de la Adosinda?” I asked, “When I evolved in Council space, I should have been able to contact the Frigate.”
“The ship left Nafaka space on schedule,” she said narrowing her eyes as if she had to concentrate in order to relate the story, “Two days after debarking, her Captain and First Officer were assassinated. The assailants were killed by Marines when they tried to access the ammo bunker. Naval command ordered the Bridge crew to return to Nafaka and they ordered us to the Galactic Divide.”
“Ma’am, you are wanted in flight operations,” a Marine Staff Sergeant said from the doorway.
Behind him I could see my Lance Corporal grinning over his shoulder. It’s always fun for a lower enlisted rank to be in on the scoop. My Lance Corporal would be telling stories tonight in his squad billet.
“Personal guard, Priestess?” I asked nodding to the Marines.
“Admiral’s orders, all officers in command positions are required to have an escort,” she said, “The only time I have to my self is when I’m flying. Unfortunately, I don’t get as much stick time as I want.”
She was up and out the door before I could suggest that she take the rest of the fired goodies. Not wanting them to go to waste, I pulled the plate to me. I snagged a piece. It was between my thumb and forefinger, almost to my mouth when my Lance Corporal gasped.
The noise drew my attention. He was leaning against the door frame, eyes open but not awake. A Druid brushed by him and for a second I thought he’d topple over. The Druid reached over and steadied the unconscious Marine.
“I have words,” the Druid said from under his hood, “The Devil Dog is well.”
He’d called the Lance Corporal a Devil Dog. A name usually used to recognize a Marine’s tenacity but from a Druid it was almost an insult. Druids are cat people.
“Asthore’ Druid,” I said greeting him, “I will hear your words.”
“Asthore’ Knight of the Clan,” he said in a higher voice then you’d expect for a large lurking figure, “The Elders need you.”
If you spent any time around Druids, you’d know how frustrating they were when it came to relaying facts. This could take a while, so I ate one of the fired bits, but it didn’t taste as good.
“I took a class on journalism once,” I said to the Druid knowing he didn’t care, “They drilled us on finding the ‘who, what, when, where, how and why’ to uncover a story completely. Let me start with ‘where and why’ do the Elders need me?”
“A Yacht leaves in two hours,” he stated, “All else is beyond my need.”
“I guess it is,” I said standing and rubbing my neck, “Please wake the Devil Dog on your way out.”
My Lance Corporal stuck with me through the ship’s store as I bought so
me work uniforms. He stood guard while I shaved and showered, and protected me as I waited at the air lock for the Yacht.
“Ah, Lieutenant, those are Druids,” he whispered as five figures in brown robes entered the waiting area.
“I believe they are, Lance Corporal,” I said standing up with my purchases, “You are relieved from duty. Please express my appreciation to the Master Gunnery Sergeant. And on a personnel note, thank you for your help. Dismissed.”
He hesitated for a few second before walking away. His eyes never leaving the approaching Druids. I would place a bet he didn’t go far but found a place outside the flight lounge to keep a vigil. My Lance Corporal would certainly have stories to tell his bunk mates this evening.
Chapter 15
The five Druids lined up at the air-lock. A Navy controller waited beyond the inner hull probably in conversation with the outlaying Yacht. She had on a full space suit and her moves reviled the space was weightless.
I’ve always enjoyed watching people in zero gravity. Their movements magnified as the recoil from any action caused them to over shoot the next step in an operation. Float, grab, turn and spin, and repeat for the next job, fun to watch, frustrating to perform. She was pretty good but by the time she had the inner and outer hatches open, I could tell she was angry. Float, grab, turn and spin, weightlessness wasn’t fun.
So far the Druids had ignored me. It was fine with me, I didn’t require their companionship. They were lined up in front of me and I wondered if they would try to prevent me from boarding the Yacht. Wouldn’t the Elders love that, their Knight crowded out by a bunch of bigoted Druids?
I walked over and lifted a ship board rebreather from the charging station. After a quick test to be sure it was working, I clicked it to my hip. This action would further the Druids low opinion of me.
What they didn’t know was I knew they had rebreathers under their robes. If it were common knowledge Druids needed to breath in space, it might damage their carefully cultivated reputation. The secret was safe with me, I’d grown up with Druid parents, and a lot of Druid mysteries.
Maybe it was my nerves, I hated air-lock tubes or maybe it was a lack of sleep, but I decided to enforce my rights. I pulled out the Clan Strap and slung it over my shoulder. This was recognizable enough as custom Clan gear but once I place the small Knight Protector of the Clan pin on my collar, the Druids paid attention. They moved aside and I was first into the air-lock. I detested the float through the flimsy tube to the Yacht.
A Yacht is the same as a Patrol Boat with a few modifications. Foremost among them are the wider bow and the longer ion propellant tube in the bow. These create a broader wedge of ions and reduces the space debris the ship needs to avoid. However, it increases the turning radius. Not a problem in a Yacht while in a combat vessel it’s a huge deficit. The other modifications are the lack of weapons and the addition of some larger ion cannons for the Internal drive. A Yacht is designed to run and run fast not to stand and fight like its warship cousin.
“Lieutenant Piran, requesting permission to come aboard, Sir,” I said to the old man standing beyond the air curtain.
“Permission granted,” he replied, “Welcome aboard Lieutenant. I’m Captain Tanguy, call sign Fire Dog.”
“Thank you Captain, call sign J-Pop,” I replied shaking his wrinkled, strong hand.
“Look J-Pop, I’ve got a course to navigate,” the old pilot said, “Can you count our Druids and let me know when they’re on board?”
“What no formal greeting for our Druids?” I teased.
“Doesn’t do any good they never speak or ask permission,” Fire Dog replied.
“I can count them for you,” I said as he disappeared into the cockpit of the Yacht.
Captain Tanguy was busy at first calculating the course than talking his way through the BattleShip’s screen. I used the time to settle into my state room and stretch out on the rack. Ten hours later, I rolled over and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Confused at first, it finally came to me. I was on a ship, going to somewhere, because the Druid Elders wanted me to do something?
Surely the Captain would know where I was going and maybe, just maybe, he would know why. I cleaned up, slipped on one of my new duty uniforms, tossed the Clan Strap over my shoulder and headed for the Bridge.
“Fire Dog, can you clue me in on our destination?” I asked stepping to the foot of the platform, “I’m on naval travel orders to the Command Station and this is a side excursion.”
He’d been dozing in the pilot’s seat. Between the blanket, the empty food containers and his relaxed posture, I believed that Captain Tanguy slept on the Bridge as part of his of routine.
“Aye, J-Pop. I can do that,” he said sitting up and pointing to a side view screen, “We’ll cruise for twenty hours before our first evaluation to External drive.”
“Not to put my personal issues on you but are we at least moving in the direction of the Naval Command Station?” I asked.
“In a manner, our heading is deeper into the Realm,” he said controlling a marker on my screen, “and our destination is a vector point on lines with Planet Uno and Planet Dos. So, you’ll be able to reach the Command Station.”
“Looks like about fifty-five days cruising time,” I said as I ran a few dirty calculations, “So, what’s at our destination?”
“The Naval Construction Station,” Fire Dog said throwing a thumb over his shoulder, “Got a load of Druids and you to deliver.”
“Fire Dog, it looks to me like you need a relief,” I said indicating the messy cockpit, “maybe you’ll allow me to stand watch for a while.”
“J-Pop, you’re just what the doctor ordered,” he stated standing and stretching his back, “It’ll be nice to get a hot and a cot without worrying about running into a Tramp Steamer.”
“Fire Dog, you are relieved and I have the watch,” I said with a smile.
“J-Pop, you have the watch,” he replied as he stepped down from the platform of the pilot’s seat, “If you need me, I’ll be sleeping and dreaming of when I was a young man. If you know what I mean.”
“Fire Dog, I don’t even want to think about that,” I said as I sat in the seat and began collecting trash and placing it in a container, “I’ll call, if I need you.”
The pilot seat was wider than navy issue with more padding and covered in softer material. Behind me where the weapon’s station would be was a plush couch for visitors. The navigation station across from it had a luxurious chair in the same style. Civilian appointments on the Bridge were by far nicer than military installations.
I settled in the soft seat and ran an area scan. Seeing nothing within hailing distance, I relaxed. Between the inactivity, the steady pinning of the scan and the comfortable chair, I realized why the Captain dosed on the Bridge.
Out of boredom, I pulled up Captain Tanguy’s calculations for our route. The course was standard at the beginning with a normal dogleg evolution near the end. I chocked. I reran the math three times when I read the middle part of our course.
He had the Yacht Elouan on the most efficient route to the Construction Station. And it would get us there quickly, but he was threading between two massive orbiting objects.
First we’d travel in the path of a large moon, by his calculations, we’d be within visual distance when we crossed its orbit. Of course we wouldn’t see it while under External drive, but the solid celestial body would be a presence.
Two weeks of cruising later, the Yacht traversed behind a passing comet. Its orbit crossing our path just before we shot through its wake.
Efficient, if we didn’t crash into the moon or get kissed by the icy core of the comet. Only perfect timing at the exact location for the evolution would allow us safe passage. No civilian Clipper ship or military ship, well maybe a Fighter or a Brick, would plot a course with such narrow margins of clearance.
All these astrophysics made me thirsty, so I slaved the scanners to my PID and stepped down from the platform. T
he hatch to what would be the quad gun room in a Patrol Boat, led to a lounge. And the lounge was full of five busy Druids. They were moving the furniture out of the center of the room to create a large open space. I passed through without catching anyone’s eye.
My goal was the galley which lay beyond an empty maintenance room. I guess the engineer was in the aft section doing repairs. There were always things to tighten and reattach in an ion drive ship that rotated through lots of evolutions.
“Messman. Can I get a coffee and a snack?” I asked when I entered the galley.
Well, it was far from a Navy Galley. It was really a dining room complete with small cloth covered tables. Mood lighting and silverware place settings. And the walls were adorned with murals and brass fixtures. A far cry from what I was used to on military ships.
“Take out or will you be joining us for breakfast?” she asked.
Oh, how I wanted to sit and eat but I needed to get back to the Bridge.
“Take out Ma’am,” I explained, “I have Bridge watch.”
She didn’t reply, just held up a finger for me to wait while she spoke into a phone. A minute later, she pulled a tray out of the kitchen lift.
“Enjoy,” she said handing it to me.
The Druids with the furniture moved back had taken positions in a wide circle. All but two were on their knees. The two in the center were running stick drills. I edged passed the outer ring of the Druids and left them to their exercises. Three Space Cats were relaxing in a corner but I didn’t get anything from them. With Druids on board, I didn’t expect to be able to communicate with the cats.
The meal was a sausage biscuit and the coffee was delicious. It almost took my mind off what I considered a dangerous course. A moon, a comet and a Yacht under External drive shooting like a bullet between them. It made me uncomfortable and feeling a little ill.
Four hours later, Captain Tanguy strolled onto the Bridge patting his flat stomach.
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 13
