Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard

by J. Clifton Slater

  I wanted to see the unit inside the hotel before venturing a guess but I had an idea. The memory of another passage I’d translated from a foreign prayer book came to mind.

  “I am merciful and compassionate. My loyal, Royal Constabulary is not. Like children, they destroyed without compassion showing no mercy to my new subjects. Hamlets, towns and cities were toppled and trampled into the earth. There was no regard for life on either side. It took my noble presence to curtail their fervor. The new subjects welcomed my mercy. From the ruins and wreckage, they rose up in mass to embrace their rightful ruler. I am your Empress.”

  I strolled into the lobby thinking about the passage. The entrance to the lounge was guarded. A pair of black and tan sentinels stood at parade rest on either side of the doorway. Behind them was their officer keeping an eye on the hostess as she checked people off the guest list. For a diplomat mission, I expected plain clothes security. A less obvious security presence out of respect to the government hosting the visitors. Here, the military strength of the Ambassador was on full display. Six more troopers were placed between the hotel entrance and the elevators. None moved a muscle, not even a deep breath, they were disciplined, sharp, and definitely, an elite unit.

  On my stroll, I’d caught site of the Ambassador. She was flanked by Hilal Jalal, Governor of planet Tres, and his cousin Councilor Khalida Jalal. The Emissary was easily identifiable in a full length gown. It wasn’t the gown but the short headdress. I’d seen images of a more elaborate one on the boxes containing the Royal Elixir, and before, on a computer screen while researching the Empress. Everything fell into place.

  I reached a conclusion and put a name to the security unit. They were most likely a unit of the Royal Constabulary, the military arm of the Empress’s Empire. Why they were on a Galactic Council Realm world, I didn’t know. What I did know was, Planet Tres was hosting a government who a long time ago had engulfed the Galactic Realm in the Great Schism. A war that killed millions as the Empress’s Royal Constabulary fought against the forces of the Galactic Council Realm. And now, they were back and no one seemed to care. Or maybe, no one of importance knew.

  Nolwenn interrupted my report.

  “So now you claim, not only is the Empress back, but she has returned with her Royal Constabulary,” Nolwenn said, “Do you expect anyone to believe this tall tale?”

  “Yes I do,” I relied, “Because, it’s all true.”

  “According to you Lieutenant Piran,” he mocked, “According to you. Without documentation, or physical proof.”

  “You want physical proof. The Festival of the Boughs was real enough,” I stated, “If you’d been at the Ambassador’s reception, you’d have witnessed it for yourself.”

  “Unfortunately, I was unable to attend the reception,” he said a little too quickly.

  “Did you receive an invitation?” I asked bluntly.

  “Actually, I did not receive an invitation,” he mumbled, “I’m sure it was an over sight.”

  “I don’t believe so, Elder,” I said, “I believe you were intentionally left off the list. If you had witnessed the Festival of the Boughs, we’d be having a different conversation.”

  “Tell me about this festival,” Nolwenn ordered.

  In my room, I turned on the screen and watched the local news. The Ambassador’s visit was the top story. They had short videos of her entering and exiting limos, walking into government buildings and estates but none of her making speeches or doing press conferences. In the background of every shot were the black and tan uniforms. Beside her in every shot was Councilor Jalal. I watched and finally they named the Ambassador. It gave me pause.

  “Today Council Jalal is hosting a reception for Ambassador Brigitte,” the news reader said with a smile as if letting us in on a secret. He continued with a tease, “Of course, my invitation must have been lost in the net.”

  Brigitte was a Clan name. Unfortunately, there were no records of who joined the Empress in exile after the Great Schism. I could only assume some were from my Clan. Those who had fought on her side during the war and stayed loyal had boarded the exile ships, and journeyed to a new home beyond our Galaxy. The Brigitte’s must have been one of the families. However, as I’ve found out before, the Galactic Council practices censorship when it comes to anything Empress related.

  I wasted another two hours until it was near sunset before I left the suite. The roof seemed to be the best observation point to view the festival.

  I’d taken the lift to the top floor. One direction lead to the indoor pool and spa while the other way lead to a flight of steps to the roof. I’d taken the steps to the roof entrance.

  “Sorry, the sundeck is closed,” the trooper stated in a thick accent as he moved to block the doorway.

  He’d appeared from an alcove where the steps ended on an enclosed landing.

  “I just want to watch the sunset,” I pleaded looking down at his spit shined combat boots and bloused trouser legs, “I’m a guest at the hotel and they advertise the view as being the best in the Realm.”

  “The sundeck is closed,” he repeated as if I were hard of hearing.

  ‘Not a lot of personality in these guys’, I thought as I backed down the stairs.

  The elevators were monitored as was the area in front of them. What wasn’t monitored was a corner of the hallway leading to the indoor pool and spa. There, I pulled on my Knight of the Clan gear, and headed back up the stairs.

  The trooper cocked his head and looked questionably at the roof access door. So I reached out and rapped on the door again. He couldn’t figure out why someone on the roof would be knocking on the door.

  He opened the door and stepped onto the deck and I squeezed by. Behind me, he shook his head, and reclosed the door. Too late, I was now half way across the sundeck on my way to the roof’s edge. Unfortunately, I wasn’t alone.

  Already occupying the roof were two counter sniper teams. These folks didn’t have on the black and tan uniforms of the security detail. They were in black uniforms with wide red and tan strips. Their boots were clean but the polish was muted. And they had on body armor and carried automatic weapons along with sniper rifles. Unlike the shiny troops on display for the public, these were combat troops.

  With Empress’ troops nearby, I couldn’t pull back the cowl. I needed an elevated location where I could see the festival from under my hood. Space visitors to Tres have little tolerance for long exposure to the sun’s rays. So, all the clam shell cabanas were built with a deeply shadowed area provided by an overhang. Choosing one near the edge of the roof, I climbed up the hard shell back.

  My butt settled were the shell of the cabana flattened and I could see over the edge of the roof. A quick check to either side let me know I was still undetected by the troops. Now, I turned my attention to the festival grounds spread out far below.

  The medical tent, the harvesting tool display, and the beverage and food areas were crowded. On the stage, a band was playing music with a throbbing base complimented by a souring lead guitar with a steady tattoo from the drummer. The music was up tempo and a little faster than a heartbeat. This was typical working music. For centuries, people have used this beat to perform group tasks. From harvesting fields of crops to pulling in fishing nets to clearing forests, the beat allowed everyone to work in harmony for long periods of time. Even war bands used the steady, just above heartbeat, rhythm to move in unison for lengthy maneuvers. At the festival, the beat had attendees nodding, bobbing and strutting as if floating on the swells of ocean waves.

  On a stand near the entrance to the festival grounds stood three figures in blue robes. They resembled Druid robes in style and fit. The center figure was directing the other two and they in turn were talking to groups in front of the raised platform. As a group finished listening, they moved from the stage to the beverage stand. After getting a cup of beer or another drink, they moved to the tool area. There they picked out either an axe, a sickle, or a hatchet and went to join the
crowd already in the center of the festival grounds.

  I studied the center of the grounds where once stood a beautiful weeping willow and a majestic fir tree. Now the willow was in tatters. Her long flowing branches, which created a majestic billowing curtain of green, were strewn on the ground. While the finely shaped fir tree was stripped to the rough bark of its trunk. Like the willow branches, the conifer’s branches were spread in a broad circle around the trees.

  Two blue robed figures walked barefoot on the branches. As one would step on a large section of a branch, he would signal and a sickle welding group would descend on the offending branch. They’d hack it into smaller pieces. Only then would the blue robe move on seeking another large branch.

  A man climbed to the top of the fir tree with an ax. His legs wrapped around the trunk and while holding on with one arms, he reared back, and swung at the tree trunk. The ax rebounded and the man tumbled to the ground. As he fell, the crowd cried out.

  ‘They must feel for him,’ I though as his body tumbled off the high perch.

  As he smacked into the ground, hard enough for his limp body to bounce once, the crowd threw themselves to the deck. Laughing, they jumped back up as a medical team with a stretcher rushed over to collect the injured man. A blue robe pointed to another man and he began to ascend the almost bare tree. His ax clutched in one hand as he climbed. The joyous crowd cheered and my mind reeled from the senseless destruction.

  The Festival of the Boughs was both pointless and cruel. Two characteristics, I was beginning to believe, matched the cult’s creator, the Empress. I’d seen enough.

  On a space ship, because you weren’t not sure of the gravity, you gently guided your body up from a sitting position with the aid of a hand. This helped control the acceleration from bent to standing. Control was important and with the confidence of almost a lifetime in space, I placed a hand behind my butt…

  I tumbled back off the clam shell structure. First I smashed a chair and as I rolled off the furniture, I rolled onto a small table. It also collapsed adding to the cacophony of twisting alloy and ripping cloth. Somewhere between the chair, table and eventually the deck my hood slid back. Result, camouflage nil, one Knight Protector of the Clan very visible.

  Rounds from an automatic weapon sprayed concrete chips at me as I ducked deeper into the clam shell cabana. I replaced the hood reactivating the camouflage. As two men closed in on the cabana hunting the intruder, I slipped between them. Luckily the roof access door was open as the guard peered out to check on the activity. I took advantage of his curiosity.

  Skipping the lift, I took the emergency stairs two at a time until I reached my floor. Still invisible, I jogged to my room, opened the door, stepped in, and kicked the door closed.

  ‘The ceiling in the room needs painting,’ I thought before realizing I was sprawled on the floor.

  My side ached and my hand came away wet. I rolled away from the pain and stared at my red palm. After crawling to the wash station, I used the cabinet to steady myself and slowly climbed to my feet. The Knight of the Clan gear ended up on the floor and I used a hotel towel to apply pressure to the holes in my side.

  The concrete on the sundeck wasn’t the only thing clipped by the bullets. Now I had three problems. The Ambassador’s people would be looking for a wounded man. My room, with my name on the registration, had bloody towels. And, I didn’t want to answer questions about the Knight gear should they search my room. It was time to check out, except I didn’t want to leave through the lobby carrying an arm load of bloody towels. Too soon after the shooting and too much security and, by now, they’d be on alert.

  I typed Warlock from my PID.

  ‘Need extraction and medical’ I sent.

  ‘Five minutes, rear of hotel level two,’ she sent back immediately.

  Chapter 6

  I didn’t care how she had transportation so close. I was just glad she did. Wrapping a bath towel around my middle to stem the bleeding, I struggled to finish getting dressed. As I pulled on a pair of slacks, it occurred to me a visiting dignitary’s security detail shouldn’t have the authority to fire first and ask questions later. Sure, personal bodyguards could respond to immediate threats but, the teams on the roof were far removed from the Ambassador.

  The freedom to act allowed by the Planet Tres government far exceeded any diplomatic mission. The Ambassador’s troops were carrying weapons and actively using them. They were behaving more like an occupying force than a security unit. I struggled pulling on a pair of loafers and, once I had on a light jacket to cover the bulk around my middle, I gathered up my gear. The bloody towels I stuffed in a laundry bag. I’d check out electronically later and probably get a thank you from the hotel for freeing up the room for a Navy Admiral.

  I looked overweight anyway so I shuffled my feet, put on a yellow baseball cap and stooped. As an out of shape middle aged man, I took the lift to the loading docks. Security didn’t bother me. I was soon walking down the service road behind the hotel.

  “Hey baby. Need a lift?” the driver of the van asked as it slowed to a stop.

  I glanced over quickly and recognized the driver. Thunder Eagle had on a pair of sunglasses and a hat pulled down over her forehead.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” I replied shuffling around to the driver’s door.

  “How bad are you injured?” she asked as I climbed in the van.

  “Flesh wound but I can’t stop the bleeding,” I said settling into the passenger seat.

  Fire Dove leaned in from the back and assured me, “No worries Lieutenant. I patch holes as good as I make them. Once we’ve cleared the area, I’ll take a look.”

  Thunder Eagle turned the van onto a main road and I climbed into the cargo area. It had a mobile stretcher and bags of medical equipment placed around it.

  “J-Pop welcome to my laboratory,” Fire Dove teased, “Now if you’ll get your Lieutenant’s bottom on my examination table, I’ll fix you up.”

  “Where did you get the personality?” I asked as he helped me untie the towel and gently peel it from the wounds.

  “He gets like that when there’s blood involved,” Thunder Eagle said over her shoulder.

  “Or women,” Fire Dove added, “Looks like a bullet wound. Clean entry and exit without too much additional damage. You must have been close as the bullet didn’t have time to tumble. If it had, the exit would have been awesome.”

  “Awesome?” I asked as he poke and prodded the two holes.

  “Oh, not for you. It would have sucked for you,” Fire Dove said as he picked up a syringe, “Awesome for me as I’d get to show off my talents as a field medic.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I replied as he jabbed the needle in my side.

  “This is strange,” he said as he placed a staple gun over the front wound, “You’re already healing. Bleeding but the flesh in the entrance and exit holes are already knitting together. Once I’ve got you stapled closed and some fluids in you, you’ll be good to go.”

  I heal quickly but I didn’t explain it to Fire Dove. As a Knight Protector of the Clan, the Druid Council had me injected with a number of enhancements. Rapid healing was one of them.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as Fire Dove slid a catheter into my arm.

  “Safe house. Now sit back and relax,” the Striker Medic ordered.

  Between the rocking of the van, the saline drip in my arm and probably my coming out of shock, I closed my eyes and everything faded away.

  I woke to the sound of the van’s rear doors opening.

  “What’s his status?” Warlock demanded.

  “Lieutenant Piran, reporting for duty,” I slurred.

  “He’ll be fine in a few hours,” Fire Dove responded, “Once the sedative wears off.”

  The stretcher was pulled from the van and I was wheeled into an elevator. I think. After a short ride, they put me in a dark room and I dozed off.

  My eyes popped open and, for a second, I was confuse
d. Then the memory of the van, treatment and stretcher ride came back to me. I swung my legs off the bed and had a fight with my equilibrium for balance. I didn’t remember being laid on a bed or having my clothes taken.

  I stood and found the light switch on the wall across the room. Seemed like a lot of work to turn on a light. Shaking my head helped clear some of the haze. But that brought on a fit of coughing which lead to a thirst as if I hadn’t had anything to drink in days. My clothes and Clan strap were on a chair in the corner. I quickly dressed and went in search of something to drink.

  The hallway was sterile. Plain off white walls with no pictures or molding at any level and brown carpeting. I noticed a brightness to my left and headed towards it. About half way there I could make out voices.

  “I’m telling you Master Sergeant, the Ander El Aitor is in radio silence,” I recognized Stone Angel’s voice. “There may be something I missed but the Bridge’s radio-room, the Combat Control Center, Flight Control, and even the Marine Corps’ net are all off line.”

  “You’re telling me a Galactic Council Realm BattleShip orbiting this planet,” Warlock said, “is as cold and quite as a space rock?”

  I stepped into a small kitchenette. Some of the cabinets had been torn down and banks of computers and a confusing array of wires had been mounted in their place.

  “If I might make a suggestion,” I said making a straight line to a water bottle.

  “Good to see you up and about,” Warlock said, “Of course any suggestion would be greatly appreciated.”

  I held up one hand to let her know I was going to reply. With the other hand, I filled a glass and gulped it down. I refilled five times before replying.