Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard

by J. Clifton Slater

  A corner at the rear of the paid cheerers, just shy of the grand entrance, seemed perfect as a resting place. I eased between two people and stopped. Over the velvet rope, across the red carpet and behind the rope on the far side stood Warlock. She gave me a shrug.

  There were doors on either side of the grand entrance for non-general staff and troops. Majors, Lieutenants, Sergeants, Captains, Petty Officers and civilians flowed into the stadium by those. I was about to duck under the rope and join them when the radio Stone Angel had given me squelched.

  Most of the general staff officers had already passed through the grand entrance. The line of junior officers had shortened and ushers were walking around urging stray uniforms to enter the stadium. As I fumbled in the Clan Strap for the radio, I looked over at Warlock. She was standing on one leg and tugging her small radio out of the sock on the other leg.

  “J-Pop, go,” I said holding the radio up to my ear.

  “Lt., I’ve located the Constabulary forces,” Thunder Eagle’s voice come through muffled as if she were whispering into a cupped hand, “I had located three units bivouacked in three different locales.”

  “Good work, Thunder Eagle,” I said, “Mark their strength and locations on a map. We’ll need that information.”

  As I talked to the Striker, an usher gave me a hurry up sign with both of his hands. I replied by holding up a finger to let him know I’d be another minute. He jerked his head toward the street, turned back and motioned me again. This time with more urgency.

  I glanced towards the sidewalk as three military buses pulled up.

  “I said, they were in three locations,” Thunder Eagle insisted, “They’re on the move.”

  “Destination?” I asked to confirm what I was witnessing, “Unit strength?”

  “Two full companies of Constabulary troops,” she whispered, “They’re in the subbasement of the stadium.”

  I figured around four hundred troops and officers of the Empress’ Constabulary were sequestered in the basement. Including, the forty or so spreading out along the street. If the ones on the street were representative of the troops in the sub-basement, all of them were geared up for combat.

  Before I replied to Thunder Eagle, I thought for a second. The plan for Warlock and me to leave the Gala early wasn’t looking good at the moment. I couldn’t imagine a whole sale slaughter of the gathered Galactic Council Realm’s officers and NCOs. But, I couldn’t reason out why all the fire power was necessary. Hostages’ maybe? Could it be an audacious plot to kidnap the Galactic Council Realm’s military command staff for planet Tres, Navy ships in orbit, and from a BattleShip? All taken while they attended a Gala given in their honor? In any case, I didn’t want Warlock and me to get mixed up in the scheme.

  “Thunder Eagle, stadium roof, Northwest quadrant, find us an escape route,” I said as three ushers converged on me.

  I could have ducked out but I wasn’t going to leave Warlock alone without telling her about the Constabulary troops.

  “Rodger that, Sir,” Thunder Eagle replied, “I’m on it.”

  I didn’t want a scuffle with the ushers so I ducked under the rope and headed for a side door. Across the red carpet, Warlock was also ducking under the rope on her side. I made a steeple with my fingers. Thrusting it out at waist level, I angled them in her direction. Once inside the stadium, we’d meet up on her side of the entrance. She nodded back her acknowledgement.

  Chapter 11

  My PID buzzed ‘loss of signal’ as I stepped over the threshold. The Councilor and her allies had set up a dead zone by electronically jamming outside communications. Another indication of their scheme, and yet another segment of their plan, I couldn’t fathom. Still, I was glad Thunder Eagle had reached me before I entered the stadium.

  “You first Lieutenant,” Warlock stated as we met at the mezzanine level.

  “Two companies of Constabulary troops are in the sub-basement. Dressed for combat. I have no idea why they need that many troops,” I explained, “Thunder Eagle’s working on an evacuation route for us. What have you got?”

  “Stone Angel received an alert from the Ander El Aitor,” she reported, “I believe it’s the reason for the heavy troops. There are nine unknown ships inbound from the sector we identified. I think you’re looking at the largest kidnapping in Realm history.”

  “How much time before the ships go to Internal drive?” I asked.

  “Eighteen hours,” she said and added with a huge dose of frustration, “And the Realm has a BattleShip in orbit with no command staff. She can’t move out of orbit to make room for a fight. This close to Tres, enemy ships can come from around the planet to attack. The BattleShip can’t fire in the direction of the planet. She might as well be unmanned and unarmed. We’ve got a situation here, Sir.”

  I glanced over her shoulder as she spoke. A refreshment center was being assaulted by a pack of thirsty Navy and Marine Corps personnel. One of the ushers stepped behind the bar and whispered to the server. The server turned and fished around behind the curtain. She drew out a bottle resembling the ones she was serving her military customers. Why would she give the usher a drink from a different area?

  “Warlock, don’t drink anything while we’re in the stadium,” I warned than asked, “If you only had lower ranked enlisted personnel manning the guns, who would you pick to lead them? An officer or an NCO?”

  “I’d take a Staff Sergeant,” she replied with no hesitation, “As for the armory, to supply the Fighters, Bricks and gun turrets, I’d select a Petty Officer over a Senior Lieutenant. No offense, Sir.”

  “I see you’re ahead of me,” I said, “We’ll also need an officer to direct the air defenses and one for navigation. Alright, you collect your NCOs and I’ll gather the officers.”

  “That’s a pretty slim command staff for a BattleShip,” Warlock observed.

  “It is, but it’s all we can get passed the Constabulary and out of here,” I admitted, “See you at the upper deck on the Northwest quadrant.”

  “Aye, Sir,” she replied before walking away.

  I went in search of an officer. Specifically, Captain Haitham, call sign Eaglet, the Assistant Chief of Flight Operations for the BattleShip Ander El Aitor.

  Military marching music from a full orchestra drifted in from the arena. The lights dimmed in the hallway alerting stragglers to find their seats. The Gala was about to begin.

  It took directions from three ushers to locate the section reserved for Captains. I ducked through the blackout curtain and stepped into the dark arena. The music swelled to a crescendo and as it faded, spotlights illuminated a stage on the stadium floor.

  A color guard marched onto the stage and the band began playing the Navy anthem. The entire assembly rose to their feet. As the flag bearers spread out along the rear edge of the stage, the band switched to the Marine Corps hymn. The final notes of the stirring melody ended and the band began the Tres National Anthem.

  “Detail Halt!” the color guard’s Sergeant called out loudly in the silence following the ending of the music.

  The color guard ceased the rhythmic steps of marking time.

  “Parade Rest!” he ordered and the flag bearers slammed down their feet and rested the flag poles on the stage.

  The military men and women in the audience continued to stand. They, like me, were waiting for the Galactic Council Realm anthem. Instead of playing the Realm’s song, the horn section hit some high notes and the percussion section thundered then rolled to a stop.

  “Assembly, please take your seats,” the color Sergeant announced.

  There was a rustling sound as over two thousand starched uniforms settled back into their seats. A screen dropped behind the stage and a video of military maneuvers began. I used the flickering light from the screen to search for Captain Haitham.

  Haitham as the Assistant Chief of Flight Operations for the Ander El Aitor was seated in the first row. This placed him as near to his Admiral as the seating arrangements
would allow. I guessed the Chief of Flight Operations had floor seating with the other Admirals and Generals.

  “Captain, can I have a minute of your time?” I asked bending over two other Captains.

  The three officers looked up but only Haitham recognized me. He nodded, stood, and excused himself as he brushed the other’s knees on his way to the aisle.

  “Lieutenant Piran, Admiral Rigmor has been looking high,” he said pausing and weaving slightly, “ah, and low for you. Ah, and that Striker Sergeant of yours.”

  Admiral Ingar Rigmor, the Protocol Officer on the Ander El Aitor, wasn’t a fan of mine. I wasn’t a fan of his. He’d treated our actions of saving Galactic Councilor members Khalida Jalal and Shi Peng from Pirates as if it were a training mission. Officially, it was listed as a training mission. If word got out two Councilors could be snatched from under the nose of the Galactic Council Navy, morale Realm wide would fall. But, everyone involved knew it was a real operation. It was only Admiral Rigmor who treated us like cattle. It seemed to him it was just practice and our association with the Councilors was somehow offensive to his protocol directive. Since the rescue, he’d reminded me again and again of my status as a Lieutenant and his as an Admiral.

  “Eaglet. How much have you had to drink?” I asked using his call sign.

  “For your information, J-Pop, I am restricted to water this evening,” he slurred, his head bobbing while he put his wrist on the wall to maintain his balance. “The, ah, Rigmor wants you and the Striker team leader back stage.”

  “Sir, you are high. Your water’s been spiked,” I said remembering the drink switch at the beverage station, “and so is everyone who had a drink from the stadium vendors.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he protested.

  “Let’s test that premise,” I said, “Look at the screen and watch the reactions from the assembly.”

  He turned slowly to face the video. On the screen was a slow motion view of a Fighter launching from a Heavy Cruiser. The Fighter arched away from the launch tube, rolled out of the flight path and went to External drive in a blossoming envelope of yellow ions. It was beautiful, emotional and should have elicited cheers from the troops. Instead, a few clapped while others voiced their approval in mild tones.

  “That isn’t a proper reaction,” I stated, “They’re all buzzing their brains out. I’m not sure why the drugs, but I know there are two companies of the Empress’ Royal Constabulary in the basement of this stadium.”

  “There you go with the conspiracy theory, again,” he said while his eyes attempted to focus on me.

  “Captain Haitham. Why didn’t they play the Galactic Council Realm anthem?” I asked, “And why are our PIDs being jammed.”

  He glanced down at his PID, typed in a command and raised his head to peer at me. Now I had his attention and was ready to lay the heavy news on him.

  “There are nine unidentified space vessels inbound from an empty sector of space,” I said, “And your BattleShip isn’t in a position to defend itself.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he said pushing me aside as he bolted for the blackout curtains.

  I stood still and watched as the curtains closed behind him. It didn’t take long before he reappeared with an usher on each arm. They were almost dragging the reluctant officer back to his seating section.

  “Gentleman, I’ll help the Captain back to his seat,” I offered reaching to relieve one of the ushers of his burden.

  “No one leaves until the Councilor says so,” the other usher stated as he let go of Haitham’s arm.

  “No problem,” I replied turning the Captain and myself so our backs were to them. To Haitham, I whispered, “We need to get out of here and back to the Ander El Aitor.”

  “J-Pop, I’m in, get me out of here,” he said with resolve.

  “You can command the screen and attack crafts,” I said, “Who do you need for Navigation and maneuverability?”

  “A whole complement of officers and NCOs,” he replied.

  “Sorry Sir, but my Strikers and I can only take you and one other officer with us,” I replied, “Pick one and point out the officer.”

  He shook his head to clear the fuzziness. In a minute, he refocused on me.

  “Captain Tuulia. She’s sitting three rows from the back,” Haitham said pointing behind us, “She’s good at her job. Plus, she knows how to get the best out of her junior officers and enlisted personnel.”

  Tuulia was tall, blond and argumentative. It wasn’t until I invoked Haitham’s name that she stood and followed me to the aisle.

  “What the heck, Eaglet?” she stormed at the assistant chief of flight operations, “I was in the solution phase of an equation.”

  I assumed the two Captains had a history, and, from her use of his call sign, it wasn’t adversarial. She was taller than the pilot and while he was dark complexed, she glowed like ivory. He talked fast relaying the information I’d shared, and add a few concerns I hadn’t thought of.

  “Lieutenant Piran,” Captain Tuulia said turning to me after their conference, “My ship, my team needs me. Get me out of this stadium.”

  “Aye ma’am, that’s the plan,” I replied, “We’re meeting my Sergeant on the top deck. First, let me clear out a few obstacles.”

  “Wait. You’re a pilot?” she asked staring at my winged rocket pin.

  “Yes Captain, is that an issue?” I asked hoping she wasn’t going to be a problem.

  “I don’t recognize your name. What section are you with?” she asked.

  “I’m not assigned to the Ander El Aitor,” I replied, “I’m with Special Navy Operations. Call sign J-Pop. Can I go now?”

  “Ah, S.N.O., yes I am aware of the unit,” she said pausing for a long time before continuing, “I believe, we are in good hands. Please, J-Pop, go execute your strategy.”

  Navigators Realm wide are masters of parallel thinking. I knew she was thinking about equations. Ones useful for moving the BattleShip into deep space with an inexperienced crew. And, yet, she was wondering about who she was trusting with her escape. She was managing to do both and still take a second to smile and express confidence in me.

  ‘Good choice, Eaglet,’ I thought as I untied the starched white cover on my Knight Protector of the Clan strap. Once I had my Knight fighting sticks in hand, I gave a nod in the direction of Eaglet and Tuulia. I pushed through the blackout curtains.

  Chapter 12

  I retraced my path to the hallway. It wrapped around the arena on this level and was now guarded by more than ushers. An usher stood by the entrance as before but an armed Constabulary trooper stood across the hallway from the usher.

  Behind me, an announcer in the stadium said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise and make welcome, your hostess for this evening, the honorable Galactic Realm Councilor, Khalida Jalal. Let’s put our hands together.”

  Moderate applause followed and soon a woman’s voice come on the system.

  “My brave military leaders,” she said, “Thank you for attending my Gala. No, wait, it’s not my Gala, it’s your Gala.”

  She paused and waited. Instead of a roar of approval and the stomping of feet, she received a splattering of applause from the drugged audience. I expected her to be put off by the weak response. She wasn’t. She didn’t care about a response.

  I walked up to the usher and as I began speaking, I waved at the trooper to come over, “I’m Lieutenant Piran and the Councilor wants me backstage.”

  The usher added his own come over wave at the trooper. I leaned towards the usher and whispered, “I’m mighty thirsty. Where can I get an ale?”

  He pointed down the empty hallway. Turning his head in that direction, he said, “There’s a vendor…”

  The trooper arrived as the usher said, “vendor.”

  I kicked the usher into the concrete wall. He collided with it head first. The trooper glanced at the man rebounding off the wall.

  Before he could refocus on me, I grabbed his combat h
arness and pulled the trooper over my hip. He ended up sprawled on his back. I dropped a knee onto his throat.

  I yanked my Clan gear from the strap and pulled on the trousers and doublet. Tuulia and Haitham saw two unconscious men floating back through the curtains. They didn’t react until the Constabulary’s sidearm came free from its holster and floated to Tuulia’s hand.

  “Hopefully you wouldn’t need this,” I said as I pressed the pistol into her palm.

  “J-Pop of S.N.O., I assume,” she said closing her finger around the butt stock.

  “What about me?” Haitham asked, “Don’t I rate a weapon?”

  I was impressed that neither of the Captains expressed any anxiety about my invisibility. Most people would have requested an explanation. With these two, the concern for their ship overrode any inquiry.

  “No Sir,” I replied, “You’re a prisoner and Captain Tuulia is taking you to a superior officer. We’ve got five arena entrances to pass before we can access the ramps to the upper level. Hopefully, we won’t have to fight our way there.”

  Captain Haitham and I could have conversed more but, Tuulia reached over roughly and grabbed Haitham’s arm. She spun him to face the blackout curtains and pushed.

  “Let’s go Eaglet. I’m taking you to the Admiral,” she said with authority then in a softer voice added, “I don’t get away from my computations much. This is fun.”

  Eaglet raised his hands over his head and marched away. Tuulia was right behind him with the pistol aimed at his back. I followed them into the curved hallway.

  The first four guarded entrances we easily passed. Tuulia simply nodded at the Constabulary trooper as she nudged Haitham in the back with the weapon. She had a serious scowl on her face but I could see the twinkle of excitement gleaming in her eyes. The Navigator was enjoying this adventure. Unfortunately, her good time come to an end.

  At the last arena entrance before the ramp, the Constabulary trooper stepped away from the wall. He planted himself in Haitham’s path.

  “Explain,” he growled in a thick accent.

  I slid behind the usher at the entrance waiting to see what developed. Eaglet clasped both hands over his head and smashed them into the trooper’s face. As he moved, I clamped the usher’s head from behind and drove a knee into his spine. By the time his body reached an impossible arc, he was out of the fight. The trooper wasn’t.