Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard

by J. Clifton Slater

  In the end, the mental state of the Constabulary pilots, didn’t matter. Three Bricks came out of the dark and in one pass, turned them into balls of alloy chaff floating in space.

  During the fight, the curtain had shifted and my DS was pointing towards the Uno sector. It was a long way and our path wouldn’t be a straight run but the heading would help me get the Councilor out of the combat zone.

  “CV 48, try to stay up,” the Flight Commander stated, “Stand by.”

  GunShips are fast, but Fighters are faster, and BattlePlatforms are the fastest. Patrol Boats fall close to GunShips for short time power runs. The Brick Commander couldn’t know the Deep Space GunShip was closer to a Fighter.

  “CV 48, stay in the sling,” he advised, “until we’ve cleared the outer edge of the steel curtain.”

  “Brick Flight 27, on your count,” I said.

  A wavy line of GunShips suddenly spiked on one level and dipped on the one below. Their maneuvers opened a hole.

  “CV 48, go now,” the Flight Commander ordered.

  The DS actually pulled ahead of the Bricks for a minute. Then, the pilots realized my GunShip’s ability and powered up to match mine. We shot between the rows of GunShips and emerged in a dead zone.

  I could have called it a buffer zone or a barrier or even a breathing space between the layers of the steel curtain. But, dead zone described it best. Broken ships, some still bleeding atmosphere, floated aimlessly in space. There were as many Constabulary ships as there were Galactic Council Navy and Marine Corps ships among the wreckage.

  All this I got from a brief visual and from readings on my scanners. But I wasn’t on a tour. We were traveling fast and soon reached the edge of the Fighters.

  Their movements resembled pods of orcas hunting. Flights of Fighters were soaring passed other flights until one would break out. They’d swarm a Constabulary group, reek devastation on them, before returning to their place in the steel curtain.

  The Fighters in front of us began to circle. First broadly but, as we entered their area, the circling Fighters tightened the ring until the BattlePlatforms and my DS were flying through a tunnel. We shot through so fast individual Fighters were a blur.

  We made open space but the odd movement of our Fighters had drawn attention. Three groups of Constabulary ships came at our formation from three directions. Worse yet, more were rolling in to engage us.

  “CV 48, we’ll hold them off you,” the Flight Commander stated, “Safe travels.”

  My escort of BattlePlatforms, Flight 27, peeled away. They were shooting and spinning. Maneuvers possible only in a Brick. Before I could acknowledge his message, one of the Bricks was hit by three Constabulary missiles. It continued to spin but ceased firing and the spin had no direction or purpose.

  “Flight Leader,” I called, “I have this. Get your Flight back to the steel curtain.”

  I didn’t get a response.

  There was a hole in the Constabulary’s three-pronged attack. Below me an enemy group adjusted for a run at one of the BattlePlatforms. I guess, my DS didn’t register with them. So I rolled the DS and nosed down to where they’d been. As if someone had turned over a drink container in 1g, my Deep Space GunShip spilled out of the battle zone.

  The GunShip was designed to haul Striker teams on long range missions. It was also designed to defend itself in ship to ship fights. To aid in the latter, the turning radius was close to a Fighter’s, if I chose to disregard my passengers. In this case, I couldn’t risk the heath of the Councilor or the children in a dog fight. Luckily, we didn’t encounter any enemy ships before I powered us away from the action.

  After ten minutes, I ran a full power scan to be sure the area was clear. The worst case when evolving to External drive, other than a bad snap, was being attacked during the transition between Internal and External drives.

  Ion walls don’t react well to trauma. They tend to do bad things when both drives were at maximum and the wall cracked from an exploding rocket. With the Internal pouring power through the loop in the ion canons, and the External pushing ions through the bow’s ion propellant tube, all that controlled power, if unleashed, meant ‘boom’.

  While the scan would give away our location, I wasn’t worried. We’d be long gone before the Constabulary could send any ships after us.

  “Stand by for External evolution,” I announced on the address system.

  The Internal drive was already at full power. As I powered up the External drive, both clocks began to run out of sync. After backing off the Internal drive a little to steady its clock, I poured on power to the External drive. Now both clocks were spinning out of time and the power levels were bouncing.

  I watched, feathered the powers, and when the clocks matched and the power levels balanced, I evolved the DS to External drive. A yellow mushroom cap formed forward of the bow before it collapsed around the GunShip. If any Constabulary ships had been in the area, they’d have seen a yellow streak of ions as the DS left the sector.

  “Nice evolution, J-Pop,” Stone Angel said as he stuck his head into the cockpit, “Need a break?”

  “Aye, I could use a minute,” I said unstrapping and standing, “I need to see about our passengers.”

  The Striker was a Master Gunner and part of his duties was to be my relief during extended flights. We exchanged places and I headed down the aisle to check on Councilor Peng.

  “How long until we reach Command Station?” Shi Peng asked as I reached his seat.

  “If we were on course, about six weeks,” I informed the Councilor, “As it is, we’ll need to evolve to Internal and get a fix on our location before adjusting to get us back on course.”

  “How long before the snap?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to tell him a snap was code for a bad evolution but he was a Councilor, so I let it go.

  “Twelve hours,” I stated, “Before we evolved, I aimed us at a group of space rocks near a dead planet. It’s a known space hazard and should be a safe location for us. I’ll reconfigure the math there. If you don’t mind, I’d like to check on the children.”

  “Of course Lieutenant,” he said dismissing me.

  I took the spiral steps down to the lower deck. The child must have seen my legs before recognizing me. As my head cleared the overhead, I was met by a fierce five-year-old.

  He was standing in front of where Heavy Rain sat. Around the big Striker, the other children were still strapped into their chairs. Only the little boy had removed the restraint.

  “What’s the situation, Heavy Rain?” I asked.

  “We’re good,” he replied while indicating three of children and the small boy, “Lorcan, there, is standing guard duty.”

  I looked down at the little guy. Lorcan had a pair of kid size fighting sticks gripped in his fists.

  “So you have guard duty?” I asked.

  “Alert, Lieutenant J-Pop,” he replied.

  It wasn’t the first time someone had mixed up my name, rank, and call sign. It was, as far as I knew, the first time a Druid progeny had ever used the Striker battle cry.

  “You don’t have to sit with the children,” I assured the Striker.

  “Oh, I don’t mind. They’re telling me about being a Druid,” he said, “And about the Ritual.”

  “And Heavy Rain is telling us about being a Striker,” Lorcan added.

  I thought about the Ritual as I climbed the stairs to deck one. A thrilling time for every eight-year-old whose parents wanted their children to become Druids. I had a few, very few, fond memories of being a Druid candidate. Most of my memories were of isolation, loneliness and some horrors. I’d left, after failing a test where I was isolated in a small box. I’d failed the test twice. After the second time, I joined the Galactic Council Marine Corps.

  “Stone Angel, what’s your opinion of the course Admiral Tuulia sent us?” I asked as I slid into the cockpit and leaned against an instrument panel.

  “It’s a good plot but a little conservat
ive,” he said, “I’m not a navigator but she’s giving a wide berth to a few objects, and added two turns I believe could be deleted.”

  “And you’re not a navigator?” I teased.

  “No Sir, but I do enjoy studying the astrological mathematics,” he replied.

  Not many people enjoy examining the orbital flights of space objects, the time and distances between points and the algebra required to safely thread a space ship between space objects. All with the aim of crossing space like a bullet, without impacting with a solid mass, before arriving at a chosen destination.

  “Admiral Tuulia’s experience is with large ships,” I began, “You think, because we’re in a more agile craft, we can cut corners and time from our flight?”

  “Yes Sir. If we can get back on track with her plot, we can adjust from there,” he assured me, “and get the Councilor to Command Station sooner.”

  We discussed the plot and different situations. Most depending on where along Tuulia’s plot, we merged with it. After exchanging seats a few times with Stone Angel for breaks from watching yellow ions crawl across the screens, I returned to the cockpit for the Internal evolution. So far, we’d formulated a plan, had safely spirited the Council away from the Constabulary, plus avoided detection and a fight.

  I was relaxed. Too relaxed it seemed. The Deep Space GunShip jerked, hard, as I bungled the transition with a two snap evolution.

  “Must be something wrong with the drives,” Warlock shouted to the cockpit from her seat, “Couldn’t be the infallible J-Pop.”

  “I am, after all, just a man,” I replied bending around to give the Striker team leader a look at my nastiest expression, “Even the best of us have a bad…”

  Chapter 27

  Three things prevented me from finishing the banter with Warlock. My collision alarm screamed for attention. The automatic guns rotated out in response to being targeted by an enemy weapon’s system. And, the docking alert began pinging that we were out of position and closing at too high a validity for a safe connection.

  Out of the three, the docking alert was the most disturbing. How could we be within docking distance of another ship in space at the edge of a navigation hazard?

  I reversed half the ion cannons and dropped power to the rest. The DS half rolled as the cannons fought the forward momentum. Glancing up from the control panel, I gasped. The forward observation opening was black. Not from the dark of space, but black from alloy not reflecting sun light. An enemy ship filled the viewer.

  We slowed enough and I turned in time to prevent snapping off the forward ion propellant tube. If the tube had been broken off, we’d have over a year’s traveling to reach the nearest Galactic Council Realm Station. Delivering Councilor Shi Peng to Command Station would never happen without the External drive.

  With the docking mishaps averted, I turned my attention to the collision alarm. Before I could figure out where the ship we’d almost collided with had come from, I looked out of the viewer. To my right and up was a quad.

  The four barrels of the quad were locked onto my DS. I couldn’t attempt an escape as the weapon system was capable of cutting the DS into tiny pieces before we could get away. I toggled off the three alarms. But, I didn’t retract my guns. It made no sense trying to match my guns against an armored emplacement weapon, however, they had deployed automatically. I left them scanning on both sides of the DS looking for specific targets. Unfortunately, targets were everything in front of and to the side of the DS. My weapons didn’t identify huge sheets of alloy as a target. But, they were the target.

  “Galactic Realm GunShip, go to dock port and be boarded,” a female voice came over the ship to ship radio.

  I knew they were Constabulary for two reasons. One was the thick accent. This time spoken as if Realm was not just a foreign language, but as if the speaker were struggling with human sounds. It was stranger than the last time I’d heard the accent. The other reason I knew they were Empress’s forces, was just a deduction. They’d left off ‘Council’ in calling me a Galactic Realm GunShip.

  “Dock or die,” the vice called again, “Minutes four.”

  I guessed she was giving us four minutes to reply.

  “Fire Dove, get the Councilor and the children to the flight deck,” I ordered as I stepped into the cabin and pulled out my Knight gear, “Warlock arm up your Strikers.”

  “Please don’t shoot,” Lorcan pleaded.

  Councilor Peng was propped up between the four children. They were all draped in uniforms far too large and crowded in the pilot’s seat. What was visible to the Constabulary ship was five unexpected bodies. One old and obviously ill and four young children.

  “Your Captain?” the voce inquired.

  “He’s hurt. Please help us,” Lorcan replied while pointing to the frail man sitting beside him. “Help us.”

  “Dock now,” the voice ordered.

  I was below eye level of the panel camera. Reaching out with my camouflaged arms and hands, I took control of Councilor Peng’s arms. It appeared as if he were guiding the DS towards a port. The children, right on cue, began crying.

  The Constabulary must have been confused as the targeting light switched off. They had toggled off the quad’s tracking system. It didn’t help our situation but, it was a sign, they’d let down their guard.

  The Deep Space GunShip had many useful features. Two of them I planned to use for this operation. One is a curved section of the bulkhead at each hatch. The sections rotate and close off the cabin from the external door and the airlock.

  The other feature is an automatic docking system. I set the DS to dock and slid back from the cockpit and my five brave actors.

  “Warlock, I need to pollute the air in the airlock tube,” I stated, “Any ideas?”

  “I have combustible propelled bullets in my crate,” Fire Dove volunteered, “Sprinkle a little fairy dust around and they’ll think the airlock and the GunShip are full of unexploded residue.”

  “Best we have. Get what you think I’ll need,” I ordered.

  “J-Pop, you’re going over there to secure the breach?” Thunder Eagle asked indicating my black Knight suit.

  “I am,” I replied, “I’ll hold the hatch until you arrive.”

  While we talked, the DS adjusted and aligned with a hatch on the Constabulary ship. A laser locked onto the hatch. I didn’t see the laser but I heard the airlock tube unfold and begin to snake out towards the enemy’s hatch.

  “We can’t afford a gun fight in the DS,” I continued, “It’ll endanger the Councilor and may damage the GunShip. Our best hope is to force them to approach the DS with caution. If they come over slowly, I can slip by them and hold the hatch until you arrive.”

  “We use overwhelming force,” warned Thunder Eagle, “Don’t stand in the hatchway.”

  I pulled up my tablet and killed the feed from the camera on the panel. Our show for the Constabulary was over. It was time for act two.

  “Councilor, kids, I need you go to deck two,” I said after motioning them from the cockpit. “This is important. Rebreathers on and strapped in until a Striker or I release you. Is that clear?”

  “I understand,” Councilor Peng said.

  “Aye Captain, we have the Councilor,” Lorcan stated.

  “Rebreathers on and strapped in,” I repeated as they shuffled by the fully armed Strikers.

  Stone Angel and Heavy Rain, at almost twice their normal size in the armor, were pressed against the edge of the acceleration seats. The group including Hui, squeezed by on their way to the stairs. As Lorcan passed the huge Striker, Heavy Rain placed a massive armored hand on the boy’s slender shoulder.

  “I have words,” he mumbled. The words were muffled by his face plate.

  “Say your words, Striker,” Lorcan replied, craning his neck to peer up at the big man.

  “Guard the Councilor,” Heavy Rain ordered.

  “Alert!” Lorcan answered before pulling out his short fighting sticks.

&nbs
p; The little boy march away following the group. As he went down the stairs, I wondered who was a bigger influence? Would the little Druid boy become a Striker or would the big man try for the Ritual? As I pondered the ideas, Fire Dove handed me three bullets.

  “Careful J-Pop, the projectiles are loose,” he said as he slid an armored glove over the hand he’d used to pass me the rounds.

  Combustible cartridges are hated by civilized, space living people. The lead projectiles, when fired, go through people. That was alright, they were meant too. The bad reputation was earned when the projectiles exited out an exterior wall and vented atmosphere into space.

  Even if the bullet didn’t do structural damage, the propellant was still a problem. When fired, the combustible powder explodes and fills the atmosphere with trace amounts of lead, antimony, and barium. Each firing of a bullet results in a separate cloud of cartridge discharge residue. The air handling system can take hours to clear the toxic residue.

  I stood in the hatch with the offensive cartridges. As the airlock tube connected the Deep Space GunShip to the Constabulary ship, I switched on the airlock seal. A section of curved wall closed behind me, sealing off the cabin. Several pulls along the airlock tube later, I pulled the bullet from one cartridge.

  In space with low gravity, a substance doesn’t pour out of a container. It was more as if I moved the cartridge and let the nitroguanidine powder form a trail in the thin air. I tapped the empty cartridge and it began to slowly spin end over end. Three pulls and a few lengths closer to the enemy vessel, I left another trail of residue, and another floating and spinning cartridge. The final bullet was pulled very close to the hatch on the Constabulary ship. I wanted them to get a healthy whiff of the noxious elements.

  The airlock tube was poisoned with nitroguanidine, maybe too well. I hung outside the hatch for a long time and shivered. My Knight of the Clan gear enhances my hearing and vision. And, it renders me almost invisible. What it doesn’t do is supply heat. I shivered and waited.

  Finally, there was movement at the hatch. A rod protruded through an opening. I recognized it as an air sniffer. It must have revealed the foreign elements. Once the rod was withdrawn, a wind pushed at my back. They were suctioning the air from the airlock tube.