“You do realize that An Tiodhlac Òir is flying a full defensive screen around the watches,” he said. “That means wear on the ships, which requires repairs, which means I am busy. Now, unless you have some authority compelling me to cooperate, get out of my office.”
My authority balled up into two fists and I braced upright. In four steps, I could be close enough to punch him in the nose. Before I assaulted a fellow naval officer, a Chief Petty Officer stuck his head into the room.
“Excuse me, Sirs,” he said with an inflection that related he wouldn’t be excused even if we asked. To emphasize the senior NCO’s authority when dealing with Lieutenants, he continued, “We have two Fighters with totally sautéed ion walls. I’m sending them to the major repair deck. I need the names of the mechanics and the technicians who worked on them.”
“Why is that Chief Silvan?” Siham asked.
“Because Sir, I check the work on every repair on my shift,” Silvan said. “The damage to those Fighters’ walls are from loosened connections. Both have deep Ions burns around the bases of two cannons.”
Siham shifted his eyes from the Chief to me.
“Hold off on the Fighters, Chief Silvan,” he said. “Lieutenant Piran has a request.”
***
“You know Lieutenant Piran, the sabotage could have been done after the cannons were installed,” Chief Silvan offered after hearing my complaint. “Traffic to the exterior dock was heavy. Mechanics and engineers as well as my technicians were coming and going from the transport.”
“I appreciate your suggestion Chief, but whoever jimmied the cannons knew what they were doing,” I replied. “The cannons fired fine for the exterior evolution. When I attempted to evolve back to interior drive, they went bad.”
“I’ve contacted Guntur and Pranav to report here in half an hour,” Lieutenant Siham said. “Adnana is off duty. She’ll take that long to get here.”
While we waited for the three technicians, the Chief discussed other issues with his officer. I tuned out and thought of how I was going to get permission to leave the Striker detachment and carry the White’s seed to planet Uno. A half hour later, two of the three technicians knocked on the hatch.
“Come in and take a seat,” Siham directed. “Ion Specialist Guntur and Pranav, this is Lieutenant Piran. He has some questions about the work we did on the old transport.”
“It was a tough install,” Pranav said before I could ask anything.
“The old wall had so many cannons changed out over the decades, we had to drill new holes for the clamps,” Guntur added. “How did she perform, Sir?”
“Numbers one, four, thirteen and fourteen didn’t take power for the interior evaluation,” I replied.
“That’s odd,” Pranav said. “I installed the filaments and diodes for all ten. They passed the bench tests with no problems.”
“I was lead tech on the clamps and every one of them was as tight as a…,” Guntur stopped and looked at Siham and me. “They were tight, Sirs.”
A knock at the hatch announced the arrival of Ion Specialist Adnana. Siham waved her in and motioned towards a chair.
“Sorry to be late, Sir,” she said as she adjusted her chair so it lined up with the other two techs’ chairs. “What’s up, Lieutenant?”
There was a slight difference between obsession and precision. Ion Specialist Adnana acted as if she possessed a healthy dose of both. Neither of those identified her as a saboteur and a traitor.
“We are discussing the install on the old transport,” Siham advised her.
“Sorry, Sir,” she said looking from the officer to Chief Silvan. “A cover slammed on my hand and I went to Medical. It wasn’t serious, Chief, so I didn’t report it. After a quick scan and a bandage, I came back to work. The install was done by then so I picked up another work order.”
“But I have you on the report as the technician,” challenged Silvan. “If not you, who did the work?”
“Tassila was there. She said she’d finish the install,” Adnana stated. “I’m surprised she didn’t log in as the tech.”
“Lieutenant Siham, humor me. Who were the technicians on the two Fighters with the damaged ion walls?” I asked.
Chief Silvan eased around the desk. He watched over the officer’s shoulder as Siham pulled up the history on the Fighters. A minute later, matching scowls appeared on the NCO’s face and the officer’s face.
“Ion Specialist Tassila worked on both Fighters,” Siham announced. “Where is she now, Chief?”
Silvan glanced at his PID and flipped through a few screens before answering. “Repair dock seven. She’s working on a BattlePlatform,” Silvan declared.
I spun around and ran out the hatch with Chief Silvan on my heels. Behind us, I heard Siham pick up his phone. “Security alert,” was all I heard as I raced down the corridor, jumped through the hatch and onto the repair platform.
***
Repair dock seven lay to my left. I jumped off the platform and landed on the taxi deck. Chief Silvan turned and continued down the platform. His route was safer while mine was quicker. He’d need to head straight down the raised platform then make a ninety-degree turn in order to reach the dock. All I had to do was angle across the taxiway and not get hit by a warship’s sled.
When you were ferried by a sled, the speed relative to the rush of an intake tube seemed slow. Relative being the operative word as the sleds zoomed around the flight decks and taxiways at a good clip.
I dodged between two converging sleds and congratulated myself on my space cat like reflexes. Premature, a third sled shot out of a dock and clipped my leg. It knocked me away from the sled rather than in front of it. Sleds traveled a hand’s width off the deck. Just enough room for a body to partially wedge under the sled and get grated on the deck as the sled dragged the unfortunate to death. I rolled and came up running and watching for sleds.
Chief Silvan and I were rushing for two reasons. We wanted to be sure no damage was done to the BattlePlatform’s ion wall. In order to replace an ion wall in the huge attack craft required a major overhaul. The other reason, a Brick was a large, thickly constructed vessel. It could do a lot of damage if Ion Specialist Tassila charged it up and drove around ramming shuttles, Gunships, Patrol Boats, Fighters and other BattlePlatforms. Although damage to the latter would be minimal.
I located dock seven, adjusted course, and sprinted for the BattlePlatform.
***
A technician stood in the cockpit looking back at the platform and Chief Silvan, I assumed. It was a fair assessment as she reached to her work belt and extracted a torque wrench. Her arm came up and she launched the tool. From behind the Brick, I heard a grunt and the thud of a body hitting the planking of the platform.
While she faced away, I reached the Brick and hugged the side. High above me and out of my view, Ion Specialist Tassila ran power to the ion wall. I knew this because the side of the BattlePlatform began to vibrate. She was either preparing an escape or a demolition derby with Galactic Council Navy warships.
I sprinted down the side of the attack craft and jumped as I approached the platform. Using one leg to launch myself by pushing off the edge of the platform, I twisted in the air, reached up and stretched for the topside of the Brick. My fingers caught the edge and I pulled with my arms. Once up and onto the almost flat surface, I scrambled towards the cockpit.
Somehow, Tassila sensed me. I guess she was out of wrenches because she didn’t throw one at me.
“Specialist Tassila. Surrender now. We’re on to you,” I yelled as I ran at her. “I’m Lieutenant Piran and we need to talk.”
“The Empress will make you pay,” she screamed as she crawled out of the cockpit and onto the skin of the Brick. “When she arrives, you will all die. Especially you, war criminal Piran.”
I slowed and held my hands palms out to show I was unarmed. It was also the galactic wide sign of halt or hold on. She paused and I approached slowly. A step away from her, she smiled
at me. Then she screamed.
“No, I give up,” she yelled. “Don’t push me.”
Before I could grab her, Ion Specialist Tassila let her head rock back and her body followed. Her descent from the height of the Brick could kill, but in all likelihood, she would survive the fall.
Except for the Gunship on the sled that caught her body. It smeared her uniform, her skin, and some bone before enough of Specialist Tassila peeled off to allow the sled to pass over her remains.
I lowered my head in frustration. Any intelligence about other traitors on the Heavy Cruiser died with her. Then, an access ladder was shoved against the BattlePlatform and Chief Silvan’s head appeared.
“I don’t like saboteurs either,” he said. “But why did you have to kill her?”
***
Far down the platform where it turned, a naval officer accompanied by four Marines appeared. They jogged towards us.
“I have no choice Lieutenant,” Chief Silvan said to me. “Despite what she may or may not have done, Tassila was one of mind. I can’t let that go.”
After his speech, the Chief’s head vanished below the top of the Brick. At first, I was confused. When he reappeared on the platform, I realized the reason for his accusation. From behind the BattlePlatform, his limited view only allowed him to see my back and raised hands. While he heard Tassila’s final words echo off the ceiling of the deck, he couldn’t judge the distance between us or her actions.
I wasn’t worried about a Courts Martial if it came to one. Being a Knight Protector of the Clan, Druids rendered me aid whenever I asked. The Druid judges would let me walk so I wasn’t worried about prison time. My concern was confinement to quarters or the ship’s brig before the military trial. It would put a cramp in my delivery of the White’s seed, or flying the relief mission to Construction station, if I could get out of the Heart plant duty. All that presumed the Navy chose to charge me.
The security detail came to a halt on the platform behind the Brick. Chief Silvan saluted the officer and the two began talking. Sometime during their long discussion, Silvan mimicked pushing someone with his hands. There was no doubt what he was saying as the officer glared in my direction after the demonstration.
When the Chief finished and stepped back, the officer held out his arm and pointed his fingers at me.
“Lieutenant Piran. Come down and join us,” he shouted while motioning a come here with his fingers.
It wasn’t the tone of his voice. A yell is a yell. Or his words. They were clear and concise. It was the smile. What kind of person smiles at the scene of a suspected murder?
I climbed down the ladder and marched up to the officer.
“My name is Lieutenant Commander Gnatia,” the officer said while returning my salute. “In addition to being in charge of ship’s security, I’ve been tasked with a new responsibility. I’m the political officer for An Tiodhlac Òir.”
“I thought the Galactic Council retired that title,” I offered.
“Apparently, they decided to reinstate the Office of Political Officer,” Gnatia said repeating the position as if I didn’t realize its significance. “This incident saved me the trouble of tracking you down for an interview. It seems, you and I will have plenty to talk about.”
The Office of Political Officer was known to historians by another name. After the Great Schism the Office sent out inquisitors. At first to question citizens about their loyalty to the Galactic Council. Once the officers had weeded out Empress sympathizers, they began prosecuting people for other crimes. Most fell in the category of Thought Crimes. Enough corruption was tossed in to warrant rough interrogations for those charged. Decades after the war, inquisitors snatched the children of some important citizens off the streets. The teens were subjected to brutal interviews. The families petitioned the Council, and the Office of Political Officer was abolished. Most people had forgotten the Inquisition by now.
“I can explain what happened here,” I assured the Commander.
“I’m sure you can,” Gnatia said to me before turning to address the four Marines. “Escort Senior Lieutenant Piran to the brig.”
Chapter 11
It wasn’t too bad. The food was adequate, if a little cold. There was a cot in the corner with a thin mattress. However, compared to the rocky cave floor on the barren planet, the mattress felt like a feather bed. Plus, I had the cell to myself so the facilities were more or less private. My one complaint, I’d been in here for seven watch changes.
Lieutenant Commander Gnatia, I presumed, was off investigating the death of Ion Specialist Tassila. If not, his isolation tactic wasn’t getting the desired effect. I rolled over on the cot and went back to sleep. After the last few days, this was a mini R&R for me.
“On your feet, Lieutenant Piran,” a voice boomed. The sound bounced off the walls of the cell jarring me awake. Before I could shake off the drowsiness and swing my legs off the cot, the voice shouted again. “On your feet when a superior officer enters the room.”
I rolled over and opened one eye. Lieutenant Commander Gnatia stood in the doorway to the cell with a sneer on his face and his legs set wide apart. Both of his hands were curled into fists and pressed into his waist. He failed miserably at the superman pose.
“How was your day, Commander?” I asked as I sat up and stretched.
“Get on your feet, Lieutenant!”
“Is it lunch time already?” I asked while stretching one more time before standing. “When do we have our conversation about Specialist Tassila?”
“You mean about your co-conspirator,” he stated. “I know you killed her to keep your secret. And I know you are a double agent.”
The political officer was certainly taking his job and his conspiracy theories seriously. Before I could deny both charges, he called to the Marines stationed behind him.
“Take Piran to the interview room,” Gnatia ordered. “Don’t be gentle. He’s a murderer and a traitor.”
I locked my hands together at my belt buckle and took small steps towards the approaching Marines. This could get unpleasant quickly. When all was straightened out, I didn’t want the Marines to get jammed up because they mistreated a prisoner. Even if Gnatia hinted at his approval of abuse, I figured him for a weasel. The type of officer who would let the Marines take the fall if things went wrong. They gripped my upper arms tightly, but I remained relaxed.
A little jostling rocked me back and forth, but I supplied no resistance. Once satisfied I wouldn’t be a problem, the Marines led me out of the cell. I caught the look on Gnatia’s face. He wasn’t happy at the peaceful procession. To show his displeasure, he shoved me hard in the back. Fortunately for the Marines and me, my escorts had a firm grip on my arms. When I fell forward without tensing, they simply lifted me off the deck and kept us marching down the corridor.
***
They cuffed my ankles to the deck and my hands to the table. Once the Marines left the interview room, I glanced around. On a small table in the corner, I located my Knight Protector of the Clan strap. None of the contents had been removed from the muffler, or the two pouches. Beside the strap lay a small rock and my custom Druid fighting sticks. Someone had extended the sticks. I could only imagine the conversation if they had opened the Knight’s sticks or pulled the Knight’s gear from the muffler.
Gnatia backed into the room and when he turned around, I could see why. He held three screens cradled in his arms. The hurried bureaucrat look fit him better than the intimidating Commander act he’d attempted in my cell.
“Before you say anything, I have to advise you that I’m charging you with the murder of Specialist Tassila,” Gnatia informed me with a weak smile. “JAG is filling out the forms. Now, what is your association to the Specialist?”
I guess the conspirator and traitor charges were just a theory. If he was confident, JAG would be filing those charges as well.
“Tassila jumped off the BattlePlatform and into the path of a sled,” I stated. “It’s as simple a
s that.”
“I see. Well look at this, Piran,” he said while spinning a screen around so I could watch.
***
A scene shot of Lieutenant Siham appeared. He was sitting in a bare room and only his torso was visible. The maintenance office animated as the video started.
“Tell me about your first meeting with Lieutenant Piran,” demanded Gnatia. His voice carried from the speaker, but he stood off screen. I could tell he was hovering just out of camera range from the directions of Siham’s eyes. They were locked up and to the right as if he were afraid to take his eyes off the Lieutenant Commander.
“He, Lieutenant Piran that is, came storming into my office and demanded to know who worked on the ion cannons of an old transport,” Siham reported. “When I refused to help, because the repair shop was overwhelmed, he blocked my doorway and balled up his fists. I was sure he was about to use physical force to get the answer.”
“And what stopped him from assaulting you?” asked Gnatia.
“Chief Silvan came in to report on two damaged Fighters,” Siham replied.
“And how did Lieutenant Piran react?” inquired Gnatia.
“He seemed happy to hear about two Fighters being damaged.”
The screen went dark and Gnatia leaned across the desk.
“It’ll go easier on you if you confess,” he said. “I know you killed her. If taken alive, she could have told us about your activities. How long have you been a member of the Constabulary?”
He didn’t know, then again, most people didn’t have a clue about the Empress’ Royal Constabulary. Their DNA was half alien and half Realm citizen. And the Travelers, their officers, were descendants of citizens. One didn’t become a Constabulary by volunteering. You had to be born into the organization.
All of this information was known to only a few people. I happened to be one of them. Plus, I was aware of a secret compound on planet Dos where captured Constabulary Troops were kept. Here I sat, cuffed to a chair being interrogated by a man trying to bluff me into a confession who didn’t know his subject.
On Point (Galactic Council Realm Book 4) Page 13
