Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard
Page 33
“Aye Sir and thank you,” I responded.
“J-Pop, don’t thank me,” he said with a smile, “If this goes bad, I’m placing all of the blame on your shoulders.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said walking away.
He’d smiled because, he knew perfectly well, if my plan failed the weight would fall firmly on him. A ship’s Captain was the supreme authority and had the ultimate responsibility.
Fire Dove jogged onto the Bridge. A slight turn aimed him in my direction.
“We have a mission, Sir?” he asked.
“In a way,” I said taking his elbow and walking him to a quiet spot on the other side of Communications, “How are your skills at prisoner of war restraint.”
“You mean as in holding one down,” he asked, “Or fencing a bunch in?”
“Yeah that,” I replied, “I’ve got a message out to Stone Angel for the environment. What I need are recommendations about where to house them and how to guard them. You up for it?”
“Aye Sir, I’m on it,” he said before turning and jogging off the Bridge.
I didn’t know if it was the assignment or if the Striker was bored. It didn’t matter what put the spring in his step, I was just glad he was with me.
My PID pinged.
‘Knight Protector of the Clan. The Heart Plant is pleased,’ Maredudd sent.
I stood waiting for more but, nothing else accompanied the platitude. Information from Druids was as rare as a waterfall in the desert.
“Lieutenant Piran, message coming in. That was fast, oh, I see,” the Signalman stammered before informing me, “They’re using a tight high security beam. I’m not sure I’m cleared for the packet.”
“Rear Admiral Tuulia, can you step over here?” I called to the Navigator.
She covered half the distance across the Bridge in a few long strides.
“What can I do for you, J-Pop?” she asked.
“I have an important message,” I said pointing first at the communication’s panel then at the Signalman, “This young man, who has been involved with every battle this ship has fought, doesn’t have the clearance to receive it. Can you override the requirements?”
“That, Lieutenant, would be against regulations,” she informed me, “But under the circumstances, seeing as we all must be elevated to meet the mission’s requirements, I’ll give him the clearance.”
She typed on her PID and swiped it over the Signalman’s.
“We’ll discuss the protocol when we dock at planet Dos,” she informed the Signalman, “Now kindly give Mister Piran his message.”
“Yes Ma’am,” he replied as he typed in a command, “The packet has restrictions.”
“What restrictions?” I asked.
“It can’t be opened on the ship’s computer,” he said, “Not even in our high security files. You’ll need to place your PID over the sensor to receive the packet of information.”
Of course, the Realm restrictions on any words about the Empress and, I assumed the Constabulary, would be scrubbed by the Galactic Council web crawlers. I’d need to take my PID off the net to read the information. Once I turned it back on, the information would be scrubbed from the device.
‘Fire Dove, going off line,’ I sent, ‘See me personally with your recommendations.’
‘See you shortly,’ he sent back.
I severed the connection and placed the PID over the sensor.
“Steady Sir, it’s a lot of data,” the Signalman warned me.
So I stood with my arm at an uncomfortable angle while Lieke Steyn’s findings were downloaded. It was only three minutes, but seemed a lot longer.
“You’re cleared to remove the mobile device,” the Signalman said then reported, “The original Packet is being spliced and scattered. It has been permanently deleted.”
I went to the snack area, poured a cup of coffee, and pulled out a swivel chair. After staring wishfully at the cup for a few moments, I called up Stone Angel’s message.
It was an academic thesis. Lots of details with items broken down into sub categories and cross referenced. Way too much information to digest over the time I had to formulate a plan. I began skimming for useful items.
‘Prisoners of war, authorized. Galactic Council Intelligent Inquiries Agency setting up holding environment on Dos for Troops.’
Rear Admiral Haitham would be pleased his decision to capture Constabulary Troops was now sanctioned.
‘All life is composed of six items: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus, and sulfur. Breathable air for the Troops is 10% with high carbon dioxide.”
I needed a small isolated area, one where we could adjust the air, for the Constabulary prisoners. Lowering the oxygen was easy but getting carbon dioxide was a challenge.
‘Troop’s physiology seems to be adapted to a high altitude. They have an extraordinary number of red blood cells for transporting oxygen. Autopsy reveals thick arteries deep in their bodies except for the outside of their arms. Bodies dry out rapidly requiring a warm and humid environment.’
This was another reason for a relatively small space. I hoped Fire Dove would have some ideas as to a location.
‘We are analyzing gut bacteria. Cell mutation is related to piezolytes covering the biomolecules. This is an odd mixture of high pressure survival adaption as seen in deep ocean life and low air pressure as found in high mountain areas. We are coordinating with the Oceanographic Society for samples. Hope to have synthetic food when POWs arrive.’
When they arrived? If they survived the trip without nutrition? If they didn’t starve to death like Cionaodh 5th Daire? I continued to read.
‘Untreated H2O or Travelers’ water, will most likely be excreted immediately. This evacuation of liquid will drain water from cells resulting in death from dehydration. In case of dire need, it is suggested you treat distilled water with arginine vasopressin, an antidiuretic, and chlorine, CL, for salt, NACL. We have no way to test the theory.’
I hoped the Troops carried a supply of the small water treatment tablets. With enough of those, I could keep some of them alive until we reached planet Dos. I shook my head and rested my brain and eyes by visualizing taking a sip from the cup of coffee. I adjusted the noise suppressors and the rebreather mask. With one last look, I went back to scanning the data.
‘Studies show rats with levels of ketone live longer in low oxygen environments. We believe the ketone tainted atmosphere on the Constabulary ships is for the wellbeing of the Travelers. It should not be necessary for the Troops.’
I didn’t have to infest the BattleShip with the smell of ketone. It was, at least, a positive note.
The rest of the hard data concerned DNA based organisms and their systems’ abilities to mutate in order to survive. I skimmed the paragraphs. Someone in Stone Angel’s agency was showing off. I reached the end of the thesis and found a message from Lieke Steyn.
‘J-Pop, remember they’re an Alpha culture. A danger sign would be out stretched arms. Do not negotiate with them, they’ll see it as a sign of weakness. Any sign of weakness and an Alpha will challenge you. See you soon, Stone Angel.’
I looked at my untouched cup of coffee and adjusted the restrictive mask. My thoughts went to the missing large bodied Heavy Rain and Stone Angel. Even Warlock would be a good stand in for an Alpha. All big and trained in hand to hand combat. The whole prisoner handling issue could go badly if I didn’t give the Troops an authority figure. A hand reached around me and picked up the cup.
“Coffee on the Bridge is a little weak,” Fire Dove said as he drained the mug.
“I was gazing wishfully at that,” I whined through the mask.
“I know but you don’t have time. I’ve found your holding area,” he said placing the empty cup on the counter, “It’s perfect but, Rear Admiral Haitham isn’t going to be pleased.”
Chapter 44
“I am not pleased,” Haitham stated, “Not at all. Are you sure?”
“Yes, Sir, the VIP dock is o
ur best location,” I reported, “The catwalks over it can be used for guard stations. The dock is small relative to the rest of the ship’s docks. And, it’s not connected to repair areas or storage holds so we can isolate the POWs. Plus, it has an intake tube and an elevator so we can capture and quickly move the Constabulary Fighters to another holding dock. It’s the best area for our purposes.”
I’d asked for the one area on the ship with easy access to the Bridge for returning Captains and visiting dignitaries. A place where important people could park their Yachts and be met by a ceremonial guard. It was special because it was the only dock without the noise and smells created by the maintenance crews.
“Alright, Lieutenant, the VIP dock is yours,” he relented, “What else do you need from me?”
“One more thing, Captain, I can order everything else,” I said, “I need Rear Admiral Tuulia to join the Galactic Council Marine Corps.”
“What does she think of that?” he asked twisting his head to the side a little as if studying me for flaws.
“She’s my authority figure for the Troops,” I stated, “and I need her guarded by Marines. They have to be in matching uniforms to be convincing.”
“Can’t the Marines dress in Navy whites?” he asked.
I stared at the Rear Admiral. He stared back. I held his eyes before saying softly, “Whites or Marine Corps Dress Blues?”
“Point taken,” he finally admitted before speaking into his mic, “Tuulia? Can you come over here, J-Pop has a request?”
She turned and said a few words to her staff, before strolling to Haitham’s command area.
“Lieutenant Piran. It would be convenient for me if you’d come see me first,” she scolded, “before dragging me to every station on the Bridge. What’s next, an emergency conference at the Helm?”
“I hope not Ma’am,” I replied, “and I do apologize. Rear Admiral Tuulia, I need you to join the Marine Corps.”
Navigators are thinkers and planners. Tuulia was expressive when experiencing new things. However, she usually kept her face blank while deep into complicated equations. The look on her face far exceed any I’d seen before.
“So, I’m to be a Lieutenant?” she asked, “I don’t think my contract with the Navy would allow it.”
“We all must be elevated to the mission’s requirements,” I echoed her words, “I was thinking a Marine Corps’ General in the Reserves.”
“You mean I’d out rank Eaglet?” she asked looking at Haitham rather than me.
The two exchanged glances. I didn’t know their history but I was sure there was something between them.
“General Tuulia,” she stated breaking eye contact with Haitham and looking back at me, “Yes, I like the sound of it.”
Her two Marine Corps guards were standing, as usual, closely behind her. I motioned one forward.
“Sergeant. I need you to find a set of Dress Blues and at least two, but three stars would be better, for General Tuulia,” I ordered, “And dress Blues and rifles for both of you. You’ve just been drafted into the Travelers’ Corps.”
I couldn’t match the Troops, Alpha for Alpha. But, I could present a high ranking woman as an authority figure.
The VIP dock was a busy place. Fire Dove had welders attaching cages to the stairs leading up to the catwalk, over the catwalk and ending where the elevated walk met a hatch high up above the dock. The cages would prevent disgruntled Troops from attacking the guards. He also had crewmembers on ladders adjusting the air vents.
“How are we doing?” I asked as I walked up to the Striker.
“Guard stations will be completed soon. We’re closing off the air vents and placing monitors on the exhaust vents. The dock should be hot with a suffocating 10% oxygen in a few minutes,” he reported, “Also, I’ve transferred control of the elevator to Combat Control. That way, even if the Troops want to, they can’t access other decks.”
As he finished speaking, a line of crewmembers hauling a variety of green plants snaked onto the VIP dock.
“Place them along the interior bulkhead,” Fire Dove directed, then to me stated, “Carbon Dioxide emitting units.”
“I can see that,” I said, “You took personal plants as well are the allotment from the atrium?”
“Aye, Sir,” he replied.
I was amazed the ship would have that many green plants. But after thinking for a second, it made sense. Most of the Sailors and Marines were from planets and the sight and smell of green and growing plants would be comforting.
“How are you handling the need for high humidity?” I asked.
Fire Dove inhaled deeply before replying, “We’re running water to the plants and some extra to hot plates. It’ll be damp and steamy before your first guest arrives,” he said before taking another deep breath.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“You have a rebreather on, Sir,” he replied, “I’m breathing the reduced oxygen. I don’t envy your General Tuulia and her escorts.”
“Alert,” I said, “I’ve got a message to record before Combat Control moves the DS to a lower dock. Get out of here once you’ve assigned guards.”
“Aye, Sir,” the Striker said as he walked over to rearrange a few of the plants.
I stood in the hatch of the DS. Around me the VIP dock was rapidly becoming a prison compound. Before I sealed up the DS to record the message, the elevator from the lower decks opened. Ammo skids hauling flat pieces of alloy were wheeled off. They resembled flooring sections for Patrol Boats. Fire Dove began directing them towards the plants.
I waved for his attention pointing at the flat alloy pieces.
“Bedding for the Troops,” he said before turning back to the approaching skids.
Of course, they needed somewhere to sleep. I walked to the cockpit and hit the switch. The hatches slid closed.
Chapter 45
‘All Constabulary ships, attention all Empress Royal Constabulary ships. You are directed, by order of Traveler Tuulia, to intake tube number one,’ the message stated than repeated, ‘All Constabulary ships, attention all Empress Royal Constabulary ships. You are directed, by order of Traveler Tuulia, to intake tube number one.’
I had debated adding the offer of safety, water and air to the message. But, the Troops might not have been compelled. Instead, I’d settled on a direct order.
I opened the hatch and stepped onto the elevated walkway. The raising humidity and heat hit me like a wet pillow. Fire Dove was leaning on a mounted machine gun. He’d borrowed it from a GunShip. One of his feet was resting on the ammo drum.
“It’s a bit of over kill,” I observed pointing to the oversized and out of place twin barrel weapon.
“Insurance, J-Pop. The Constabulary Troops are big and they are strong,” the Striker replied before indicating the four armed Marines on the catwalk behind him, “They should be able to handle a few, but if we face a full riot, this will insure we keep the upper hand.”
Ten minutes ago, the Ander El Aitor had applied power and turned on a heading towards planet Dos. Wind Chime had a reinforced screen surrounding the BattleShip except for a tunnel off the bow. The tunnel seemed as if it was a weak spot in the screen. It wasn’t. She’d lined the opening with BattlePlatforms and placed three Gun Boats at intake tube one. They had spotlights trained on the intake tube while the Bricks had missiles trained on the tunnel.
Communications was broadcasting the message. And, sending out a homing beacon on the same frequency as the one used by the Constabulary Carrier.
Now we waited to see if the Constabulary Troops would come in or die fighting. Five minutes later, Combat Control sent a warning.
‘Constabulary warships dead ahead,’ Wind Chime sent, ‘Hold fire unless fired upon.’
‘All Constabulary ships, attention all Empress Royal Constabulary ships. You are directed, by order of Traveler Tuulia, to intake tube number one.’
“Fire Dove, you and your team best get to the elevator,” I suggested.
I waited and listened to the recording and Combat Control’s steady voice calming the Navy Fighters and Bricks flying the tunnel position. The last thing we wanted after all the preparation was a nervous pilot engaging the surrendering Constabulary warships.
“Three inbound. Ready tube one,” Combat Control announced, “Recovery CS 1.”
The nose of Constabulary Ship #1 poked through the last air curtain and I had my first close up view of their Fighters. It was similar in design to our Fighters but bigger.
I glanced down at the industrial elevator. Fire Dove and three crewmembers were standing in it. They were assigned to search each of the Constabulary Fighters as it was towed to the elevator. We wanted intelligence, any personal items and to be sure a self-destruct system wasn’t activated.
The Fighter came fully through the curtain and the docking crew pulled it to the first staging area. Steps were wheeled to the cockpit. We waited for the Troop to disembark. Around me, the Marines fidgeted and shuffled their feet as Marines do before combat. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
On the dock, an armed and armored Fire Team of Marines stood with weapons at port arms. Off to one side was a table pushed up to the edge of the dock. Behind the table were three flags and a single chair. Beside the chair stood a Sailor with a megaphone.
As the canopy of the Fighter raised, the Sailor pulled the rebreather mask from her face and raised the megaphone to her mouth. I could see beads of sweat on her forehead. I couldn’t tell if it was from the stress of the situation or from the heat and humidity.
“Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder,” she stated in a clear precise manner, “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder. Stand by your Fighter.”
The Constabulary Troop stood in the cockpit and removed his helmet. Slowly, the pilot scanned the area. After a cursory look up at the guards on the catwalk, he lowered his eyes. He took in the green area with the bedding at the rear of the deck and finally settled on the table with the Galactic Council Realm flag, the Navy flag and the Marine Corps flag.