Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Stone Angel, Warlock a word?” I asked.

  “Aye Sir, what do you need?” Stone Angel replied as he squeezed into one side of the cockpit.

  Warlock didn’t say anything from the other side. She had more room in the corner of the narrow cockpit so she crossed her arms and waited for me to begin.

  “I need some clarification,” I stated, “Councilor Peng was on board with the Constabulary threat and the Construction station being targeted. But once he was back among his sycophants, he got persuaded differently. What happened?”

  I caught a question from Stone Angel flash across to his Sergeant. She shrugged and said, “Go ahead, explain it. We’ll all die in the next few days anyway.”

  “One second you’re explaining the Galactic Council Navy Officer’s Corps,” Fire Dove said from behind my pilot’s chair, “The next, you’re glowing space dust.”

  The other three Strikers had gathered behind me. I guessed whatever their intelligence guy had to say to me, they wanted to hear it as well.

  “Please, enlighten me,” I urged.

  “The Galactic Council Realm hasn’t faced a real threat for almost a century,” he began, “The Navy, and Marine Corps for that matter, have been the biggest and baddest dogs in every fight. A few Rebel uprisings and some large Pirate attacks needed some muscle to put them down. But overall, nothing has challenged the status quo of our military.”

  “No argument from me,” I said, “But how does that effect the Councilor’s decision to change course after what he’d seen?”

  “What did he actually see?” Warlock tossed in, “Pirates with a really clean ship, some big guys with accents, and metal plating. Plus, he only heard us talking about the Constabulary on Planet Tres and you dogfighting with some Fighters. Nothing he, or even we, could prove was an invading force. Stone Angel go ahead.”

  “Over the years, the Navy’s requirement for command went from warrior chiefs during the Great Schism to peace time administrators,” he continued, “Now imagine someone, not in your administrators’ club, arrives. They begin telling stories about a mystical Empress returning. Sorry Sir, but a fairly new Senior Lieutenant doesn’t count. Nor would a decorated Master Sergeant. So your mind begins to see a threat. Not from the imaginary Empress but from the messenger.”

  “There is an old adage,” I said, “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Aye Sir, I’ve heard it,” Stone Angel admitted, “There are historic precedents for the saying. A lot of messengers have been killed for delivering disappointing news to commanders. Especially commanders who believe their view is the only view.”

  “So Qiang and Silvius were doing what, by convincing Peng we were wrong?” I asked.

  “Defending their territory,” he replied, “It’s all about maintaining the system. And reporting to Command Station, that the Empress had returned, wouldn’t be good for their careers. Unless they had first hand, undisputable proof.”

  “But their delay could cost the Realm Construction station,” I pleaded, “and may have already lost us a BattleShip.”

  “You heard them cover for the Andre El Aitor,” Warlock said, “There’s an inexperienced command staff on her. So, of course, she’s not up to Navy standards. As far as Construction station, I think they believe what they said. They used the same illogical arguments as Councilor Peng gave us. Except in this case, they had him out numbered. Add in their self-confidence, rank and recent history, and you have Rebels instead of the Constabulary.”

  “So why the secrecy?” I inquired, “between you and Stone Angel. Nothing you’ve said is a reason to bring you up on charges. Well, if Commander Silvius heard you, maybe.”

  “Finish it, Stone Angel,” Warlock ordered.

  “For the past five years,” the big Striker reported, “The incidents of Pirate attacks have increased.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I said agreeing with him.

  “Yes Sir. But what you didn’t know is the attacks almost always occur in sectors without Navy protection,” he stated, “Almost as if the Pirates were informed in advance where our Navy warships would or wouldn’t be.”

  “You mean as in someone buying the transit information?” I asked.

  “Or, someone wanting successful Pirate activity to justify their existence,” Stone Angel said giving me another take on the information, “The Navy spends a lot of Pesetas to maintain Frigates, Heavy Cruisers and BattleShips. Without a heavy duty foe, Navy command has a hard time justifying the cost.”

  “Hold on. You’ve just given an argument for them to believe in the Constabulary,” I said feeling a little smug at my logical reasoning, “This is an opportunity to ask for even more money.”

  “Remember J-Pop, we’re talking about administrators,” he stated, “They don’t need or want a real enemy. The flare ups of Pirate activity are enough. So, for five years, the trend continued until it’s noticed by a Marine Corps General and a Navy Admiral.”

  “Let me guess, Admiral Folkert is the Admiral,” I ventured, “and Marine Corps’ Captain Wahid was assigned, by the General, to help him form the Strike Kill teams.”

  “Exactly. The Strikers were formed in response to the Pirate threat. And to placate the public,” he said, “Navy Command doesn’t like us but, it’s good public relations. The Navy is even building a fleet of Deep Space GunShips to augment the S.N.O. unit.”

  “And halting the construction of capital warships to complete the DS fleet,” I added, “If I follow you, the Navy wants to keep the command club small. By limiting the number of large ships, they purposely limit who’s in the administrator’s club.”

  “That’s it,” Stone Angel, “but now we have the Empress and no one is ready for a full-fledged invasion.”

  “I believe I can add to the dilemma,” I said, “The increase in Pirate activity and the resulting public unrest has been financed by the Empress or by her agents. They’ve manipulated the Galactic Council Realm and put the Navy in a bad situation.”

  “And here’s why we were hesitant to talk about this,” Warlock said, “Not only is Admiral Folkert the Striker administrator, he’s also running a covert investigation into the leaks at Master of Transit and Naval Movement Command.”

  “Is he aware they may be Empress sympathizers?” I asked, “It could go way beyond greed.”

  “It could be treason,” Stone Angel said finishing my thought, “No Sir, as yet he’s unaware. But once we get to a major station, we’ll advise him.”

  “Alert,” I said and received five of the same in reply.

  Chapter 34

  The violent star didn’t turn us into embers and we evolved on the other side of the danger zone. After a few hours of scanning to be sure we were alone, I shut down the drive. The reinstallation of the smaller ion cannons didn’t take long and soon we were on course back to the giant red planet. Weeks later, the DS slid up behind a space rock. I picked better this time, and was able to hide the entire GunShip behind the barren object.

  “We only have passive scanners,” I told Stone Angel who was sitting behind me with three tablets balanced on his knees, “I’d like a power scan but, it’d draw attention to us.”

  “Aye Sir. We’ll work with what we have,” he replied.

  “So far, we haven’t much to work with,” I added.

  “Besides the damaged Escort, there’s nothing in the area,” he stated confirming my observations, “Do you suppose they’ve abandoned the ship?”

  “That wouldn’t make sense,” I answered, “The Constabulary is a long way from home. Battle damaged or not, I can’t imagine they’d scrap a ship that size.”

  “What’s the plan?” he asked.

  “We’re going to have a look,” I replied as I eased power to the internal drive, “Let’s hope the Constabulary doesn’t return until we’re finished.”

  The Deep Space GunShip slid around the rough edged rock and I put her on a course directly towards the Escort. Time on target was my main concern. If we over stayed our
visit, we’d need to fight our way out of the area. If the Carrier and her Escorts returned to find us here, it wouldn’t be much of a fight.

  As we closed with the Escort, more details filled our screens. Heavy Rain’s explosion had opened four gaps in her outer skin. This gave me two pieces of valuable information. One, the Constabulary was in the process of repairing the ship. A maintenance robot was patching the last hole. Having left shiny new plating over the other three, to mark its progress.

  The second piece of news was the Escort had personnel on board. Someone was operating the robot. As we drew near, one of Stone Angel’s screens gave us additional intelligence. A Patrol Boat was docked with the Escort.

  “What’s your take?” I asked him, “Guards or repair crews?”

  “I’d guess repair crews,” he replied, “If they were guarding the ship, the Patrol Boat would lay off and patrol the area.”

  “Why didn’t they leave more security?” I asked and answered my own question, “Unless the internal repairs are almost complete. If so, she’ll have the Battle Group’s course in her computer. Would that be helpful?”

  “Aye J-Pop. It’ll have the number of ships, types and destination,” he replied with excitement, “Everything we need to convince the Navy of the threat. Hard evidence, everything they require, short of having a live Constabulary trooper to question.”

  “Can we do that?” I asked.

  “Do what, Lieutenant?” Warlock inquired.

  She was sitting on the acceleration seat across the aisle from Stone Angel. Up until now, she hadn’t said a word.

  “Take a prisoner?” I replied.

  “It’s more dangerous than just killing everyone. We’d need a strategy to capture him plus we’d need to setup a rotation to guard him,” she said listing the issues with taking a captive, “but, yes, we can do a capture. Fire Dove, work up a couple of ideas on how to pick up one-to-go.”

  “Aye Warlock, take out menu on the way,” the Striker replied from further back in the cabin, “You want fries with that?”

  “Keep it simple,” she replied, “No frills.”

  “Aye Master Sergeant, I’m on it,” he replied.

  If I docked with or near the Patrol Boat, sirens on both ships would sound. To avoid announcing ourselves too early, I steered the DS to the opposite side of the Escort. A slight tap and my airlock tube extended and locked onto the bigger ship.

  Warlock and her team were in a stacked formation near the cabin airlock separator. I held off on the go signal and left them waiting. There was one last item. With the airlock tube connected, I could now eavesdrop on the bigger ship’s communications. While the Strikers stood around armed and armored, I listened.

  I couldn’t tell how many troopers were on board because the voice traffic was light. A warning sign for us would be excitement among the crew. There was none. What little phone traffic I tapped into relayed a normal workday.

  “Warlock, no sign we’ve been noticed,” I said, “Go.”

  I heard the airlock door slide open and the slight rustle of armor as the five Strikers left the DS. A half hour later, there was an increase in the phones calls on the Escort. I typed a message to Warlock to let her know. She didn’t respond.

  An hour later, the phones lit up with call after call. Apparently, the Constabulary had detected the Strikers. Unfortunately, I didn’t speak Empress. But I did recognize volume and they certainly were calling a lot. I typed Warlock. She didn’t respond.

  Close to two hours later, the phone traffic stopped. I typed Warlock. She responded.

  ‘J-Pop, need help,’ she typed, ‘Trapped on Bridge.’

  ‘Mobilizing,’ I sent back.

  I took a few minutes to harness up a suit of armor, grab a kinetic rifle and slip my Knight Protector of the Clan strap over my shoulder. It was a few more minutes to traverse the airlock tube and dropped to the deck on the Escort.

  The hallway was pristine and as clean as I’d come to expect. Further down the hallway, I took a flight of stairs up. As I climbed, I saw the telltale rings from kinetic rounds on the walls. Four bodies of Constabulary troops showed me the Strikers had come this way. I stopped at the hatch on the Bridge level. Voices speaking Empress drifted to me from the corridor.

  I counted five. It was difficult as one voice kept talking over the others. Listening closely, I attempted to isolate it. Once I had a good guess as to the officer’s location, I stepped through the hatch.

  She was on my left, farther back from a line of stacked desks. At the make shift barricade, four Constabulary troopers crouched. Their weapons aimed at a large hatch. Beyond, I presumed, was the ship’s Bridge.

  I did have one thing wrong. There was a sixth Constabulary trooper but he was sitting against a wall with his head between his legs. Sick, I figured, but I didn’t have time to focus on him.

  My rifle came up and I aligned the front sights and sent a three round burst down range. To assist in the demise of the officer, I placed three more rounds into her falling body.

  Two of the four remaining troopers tossed away their assault rifles and reached for their Prods. To keep the two with rifles off balance, I did a little spray and pray. It worked with one as he dove to the deck. The other raised his weapon and I shattered his face shield with a three-round burst.

  The one who’d dove to the deck fumbled with his weapon. His delay in controlling his rifle and engaging me, cost him his life.

  By the time I checked on the final two combatants, they had grabbed their Prods and were advancing. The sparking tips were all I could see. Almost as if I were hypnotized, my world shrunk down to the arcs as they drew closer. The arcs of electricity were beautiful and I wanted to take time to study the colors. White in the center, with reds and blue streaks surrounding the center. Almost like a flower but, that wouldn’t describe the flowing, living colors.

  Then, one fell to his knees.

  The other spun around and his Prod fell to the deck. His back showed where a tight cluster of well-aimed rounds had entered. Beyond him, Heavy Rain leaned against the side of the hatch. His weapon still aimed at the falling trooper.

  The one who’d fallen to his knees was turning towards the last Constabulary trooper. The one against the wall. The one I though was ill.

  He’d put a leg out and tripped the man with the Prod. Now he was the target of the sparking Prod. I shook myself out of the haze and put four rounds into the back of the man’s neck. A little overkill, I know.

  The Prod rolled towards the sitting trooper. I expected him to grab it and defend himself. Instead, he scooted away from the Prod and put his head between his knees. Just as I’d first seen him.

  Heavy Rain limped up to me. A blood soaked field dressing wrapped around his leg left a trail of drops leading from the hatch to where he stood in front of me.

  “What’s the situation?” I asked.

  “We fought our way to the Bridge and cleared it,” he reported, “But the Bridge is open on three sides. Constabulary troops barricaded all three and we suddenly were down range at a shooting gallery.”

  “I see you forgot to duck,” I observed pointing to the bandage, “Anyone else?”

  “Warlock is stable but, will need help during the exfiltration,” he said, “Fire Dove patched her and me up. Stone Angel has to carry a really big hard drive casing. So we need you to clear the escape route and help with security.”

  “They must have sent out a call for help by now,” I stated figuring the Escort had alerted the rest of the Battle group, “We’d best get moving.”

  “Sorry about not finding you a prisoner,” Heavy Rain said.

  I look over at the sitting Constabulary trooper.

  “I don’t know what his story is,” I said pointing towards the trooper, “but I believe we’ve found one.”

  I poked the Constabulary trooper with the muzzle and indicated up. He responded immediately. He was as wide as Heavy Rain and almost as tall. Using the rifle, I gently shoved him towards the Brid
ge. Surprisingly, he moved right away.

  I stopped at the hatch. Or rather, Heavy Rain’s arm stopped me.

  “Anything over knee high is in the kill zone,” he told me, “I’ll crawl in.”

  “Not with that leg,” I replied as I dropped to my knees, “Watch our friend.”

  The first Striker I reached was Warlock. She’d been propped up behind a panel cabinet. Around her waist field dressings had replace the ripped away body armor. Something had hit her hard.

  “Warlock, you look awful,” I said as I scooted up beside her.

  Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She managed a painfully slow turn of her head.

  “J-Pop, welcome,” she mumbled, “to the party.”

  “I think we’ve over stayed our welcome,” I answered as I grabbed the shoulders of her armor, “Sorry if this hurts.”

  “Fire Dove has been generous with the joy juice,” she replied.

  I rolled her away from the cabinet. With her on her back, and me on my knees, I slid her to me. Shuffled back and pulled her to my knees. Shuffle back, reel her in, and repeat. I lost track of how many repetitions. On the last one, a big arm reached in and Warlock was pulled past me.

  “Appreciated, Heavy Rain,” I said still bent over trying to catch my breath.

  “It wasn’t me, Sir,” the Striker replied.

  He was sitting on the deck with the injured leg straight out. It looked as if he’d collapsed.

  “It was your friend there,” he said indicating the Constabulary trooper, “My leg flared up and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the deck. When he saw you pulling Warlock, he went to help.”

  “Strange. We’ll figure him out later,” I said, “Where’s Stone Angel?”

  “To the right,” the Striker replied, “Once he’s out, Thunder Eagle and Fire Dove can extract themselves.”

  “Alert,” I replied as I crawled back to the Bridge.

  Stone Angel was holding a big rectangle shaped box. It was between cabinets. Apparently, he’d squeezed in to unscrew it from the brackets.