Then kinetic rounds zinged down the corridor and I was dropped. As if I were a heavy piece of curtain material, I simply fluttered to the deck.
***
Two of the Troops staggered back and fell out of my view. I attempted to move but my body refused the commands. One eye was against a cocked knee which held my bent body upright. With the other eye, I could see a tiny section of the deck.
Familiar boots with shin guards rushed by and the zing of kinetic rounds reported from further down the passageway. I tried again to move or to cry out, but my body refused.
One arm dangled and I discovered my fingers could wiggle. While experimenting with how much control I had, I touched one of the Knight fighting sticks. My fingers rested on the stick. I waited while collecting pains and adding them to the box
***
“What’s the score, Corporal?” a voice asked.
“Marines fifteen, Constabulary zero, Sergeant,” another replied.
“I’ll take that every day,” the Sergeant commented.
The voices grew closer and I placed three fingers behind the fighting stick. When the toe of a boot appeared, I flicked the stick. It rolled from under the camouflage and into the path of the Marines.
It would be hard to miss a stick with different colored alloys wrapping around it like climbing snakes. And, with a black tip that drank in the light. A hand at the end of an armored arm reached down and snatched up the fighting stick.
“What is that?” the Sergeant asked.
“Looks like a fancy fighting stick,” the Corporal replied.
“But where did it come from?”
“It was just laying here on the deck,” the Corporal said. “Would you look at that bulkhead? Looks like someone tried to paint it with blood.”
One boot stepped closer to me. I waited. When he stepped forward, his knee collided with my shoulder. I shoved the pain into the box.
“Come on. We haven’t got all day to stand around admiring someone’s gruesome idea of artwork,” the Sergeant suggested.
“Wait one, Sergeant. There’s something here,” the Corporal said as my hood lifted.
“What or who is that?” the Sergeant asked. “One of ours or one of theirs?”
“I don’t know. Someone worked him over but good,” the Corporal said as he stooped down. “Hold on. He’s wearing a bracelet.”
“So now you’re robbing the dead?” inquired the Sergeant.
“Ah, Sergeant. The bracelet has raised lettering,” the Corporal reported. “G.C.M.C., nice piece of jewelry.”
A face appeared. I couldn’t make out his features due to the rebreather mask.
“Get out of my way,” the Sergeant ordered. He stared at my wrist before saying quickly, “He’s one of ours. Get a corpsman up here with a pressure bed on the double. And notify flight control, we need a medical boat right away.”
“He’s in bad shape,” the Corporal commented. “Think he’ll make it.”
“That bracelet, the nice piece of jewelry as you call it, means we will do our best,” the Sergeant said. “He may die but it absolutely will not be because the Marine Corps Sergeant Association didn’t do its best. Now, where is that corpsman?”
“He’s on the way, Sergeant,” the Corporal reported.
***
I remember the corpsman telling me I’d be fine. Then, I was moved to a stretcher and the box in my mind got bigger. They laid me in a pressure bed and just before the drugs hit, I heard the corpsman say.
“Sergeant, the bed will keep him stable. But he’s all broken up. If he lives, and that’s a big if, he’ll be a mess for the rest of his life.”
Then the needles from the pressure bed sent in sweet relief. Finally, I faded into nothingness.
Chapter 19
The Medical University on planet Uno was renowned Galactic Council Realm wide for its excellence of care. Sergeant Iñaki Uxue didn’t care about the reputation. His focus was on reaching a specific room in the surgery wing of the complex.
“Excuse ma’am, which way is room seven fifteen?” he asked at the nurses’ station while tugging down on the blouse of his duty uniform.
The blouse had ridden up during the run from the parking lot, the dash through the lobby, and the leap into the elevator. Now, he took a second to straighten out the material.
“Down the hall on the left,” Nurse Surintan replied with a warm smile. She took a second to look up the patient’s information, “Sergeant. Don’t expect much. Lieutenant Piran is just hanging on. The doctors are waiting to see if he stabilizes before putting him through surgery needlessly. I thought you would want to know.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” Fire Dove said as he marched down the hall to room seven fifteen.
***
The rhythmic sounds of a ventilator reached the Sergeant as he entered the room. There was nothing different in the hospital room that one didn’t see in the aftermath of a vehicle accident or a shuttle crash.
A urine bag hung below the bed with a catheter tube vanishing under a blanket. Above the bed, bags of fluid dangling from poles were connected by IV lines taped to spots on Lieutenant Piran’s splinted arms. More tape held the ventilator’s mouth piece in place and continued to circle his head as if to keep the swollen flesh intact. Above the bed and off to the sides, screens ran graphs displaying the patient’s status.
“You are a mess, J-Pop,” Uxue commented as he moved a chair next to the bed and sat down. “I know speaking to a person in a coma is supposed to be beneficial. But I’ve always thought it was better for the speaker than the patient.”
Two doctors rushed into the room. They separated and each went to a different monitor and began tapping on their personal screens. One stopped and stared at Piran before turning to Fire Dove.
“Sergeant, it’s good that he has a visitor,” the doctor said. “Talk to him. Although he can’t respond, he’ll hear you.”
Uxue scrunched up his face but kept his opinion to himself. As a Strike-Kill team medic, Fire Dove had extensive trauma training and field medical experience. So, while his opinion held weight in the military, here, he was simply a Sergeant.
“Yes, Sir,” Uxue replied. “What’s his prognosis?”
The doctor consulted his screen before answering.
“Lieutenant Piran is an eleven percenter,” he announced letting his gaze scan the patient.
“Excuse me, Sir,” Fire Dove asked. “What’s an eleven percenter?”
“A percentage of broken, or badly fractured bones the patient suffered and still lived,” the doctor explained. “I’ve never worked on more than a seven percenter. Usually after that much damage, a person dies.”
Fire Dove again held his tongue. Over his years of service, he’d personally placed Marines and, later in his career, Strikers on medical evacuation shuttles with much more damage. Not as bad as J-Pop, but surely more than seven percent.
“Keep talking to him,” urged the doctor. “Once he stabilizes, the Lieutenant is in for a long surgical procedure.”
The doctors strutted from the room and Fire Dove spoke to the unconscious J-Pop.
“Alright, on doctor’s orders, I’ll tell you about the assault on the Escort ship’s engineering deck,” Sergeant Uxue said. “The Constabulary learned a lesson from our assault on the damaged ship last year. When my team reached the ship’s engineering deck we got ambushed. The place was a bunker with firing ports. I had to call the armory team to beef up our forces….”
Two hours later, Sergeant Uxue stood and saluted the patient.
“Rest and get better, Senior Lieutenant Piran,” he said as he reached the door. “You look better at the controls of a Striker Gunship than in a hospital bed.”
Fire Dove graced nurse Surintan with a grin and a wink as he past the nurses’ station. But he didn’t stop to chat.
Sergeant Iñaki Uxue went directly to the elevator. He had a shuttle to catch and a short travel time to get back to the Striker Training Facility. A new group of Sailors and
Marines would be arriving in the morning to start training. Most would fail, but a few would go on to join the teams. It was his job to weed out the unqualified and to create Strikers of the rest.
***
Early in the morning long before sunrise on planet Uno, the seventh-floor duty nurse was called from her station by a patient in destress. As soon as Surintan was gone, her desk screen lit up. Patient names, records, and room numbers flashed on the screen and the information began to scroll. When Senior Lieutenant Phelan Oscar Piran in room seven fifteen came up, the computer stopped scrolling. One character at a time, the curser began to eliminate the name, room number, and Piran’s records.
In the operating room of the medical complex, the two surgeons, who had visited Lieutenant Piran, were deep into the chest of a man. They were attempting to repair the man’s damaged heart. Their personal screens rested in lockers out in the scrub room. The screens lit up and scrolled until the name Senior Lieutenant Phalen Oscar Piran in room seven fifteen came up. The name, room number, and recent medical records were erased.
***
Nurse Surintan returned to her station after resetting the patient’s monitor. Before she could sit down, the elevator doors opened and four men stepped onto the seventh floor. They wore dark windbreakers and soft soled shoes which made no sound on the polished floor.
“Can I help you?” she asked as they approached her station. “It’s past visiting hours. You can come back in the morning.”
“Not visitors,” one stated.
“We’re here to fix an error,” added another of the group.
Surintan followed them to room seven fifteen. The monitor screens were dark and the only sign a patient was being treated was the pump on the ventilator. When one of the four produced a knife, Surintan half turned. She needed to call security.
“He will not be harmed,” another said grabbing her shoulders and looking deep into Surintan’s eyes. “Go to your station.”
***
Minutes later the hospital bed with the dangling fluid bags and the hanging urine bag was wheeled past Surintan’s station. She didn’t notice the patient or the four strangers.
The phone rang.
“Surintan, this is admissions. We’ve got a surgical case,” the voice stated. “Which room do you have open?”
“Let me check,” Surintan replied as she pulled up a floor plan. “Log your patient into seven fifteen. I’ll prepare the room.”
She hung up and walked to room seven fifteen. The bed was missing. She’d have to call housekeeping about getting one in here right away. Other than that, the room was tidy except for a ventilator mask with tape on the apparatus. As Surintan pulled off the tape getting the mask ready to be sterilized, she thought it odd the edges were smooth as if they had been sliced off rather than peeled.
***
The four men and the hospital bed emerged from the elevator in the basement. As they wheeled the bed to a large van, one of the men turn and asked.
“Are you sure about this? The hospital is excellent. Lieutenant Piran will get good care here.”
“And, they have excellent labs,” came the reply, “They can’t know the secret of a Knight Protector.”
“Think he will survive? He’s barely breathing.”
“That depends on him. But I can tell you one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“His days as a Knight Protector of the Clan are over.”
Chapter 20
My first realization that I wasn't trapped in a never-ending cycle of bright lights and thoughtless darkness was at zero three hundred hours. I knew this because the clock on the nightstand was the first thing to come into focus.
A jolt shot through my body when I attempted to roll over. As if my mind and body were in separate rooms, my arms and legs couldn't manage the simple task of turning me onto my back. Pushing with my hands, I rolled my torso but my legs were a dead weight.
It wasn't until I reached down and manually rolled my legs that I achieved the mission. The movement must have triggered an alarm. Seconds after my back settled onto the sheets, the door opened and a Druid stepped into the room. She didn't say anything nor did I pick up any thoughts. Then, she was gone.
In addition to the nightstand and the bed, there were monitors on the wall, and a chair next to a sink. Nothing else. It was as stark as a monk’s cell.
The Druid rolled in a tray. Wordlessly, she positioned the tray over the bed, lifted the cover from a bowl of soup and left. Until then, I hadn't realized I was hungry. Once I devoured the soup, my eyes closed and I fell back into the darkness except, this time, I dreamed.
Images of masked doctors, masks closing on and being lifted from my face, and masked people standing over me as I moved through long corridors. The visions flashed through my sleep like recent memories.
***
"Phalen, how are you feeling?" a bearded man in a tweed coat asked. He had barged into the room, snatched up the chair and, in one fluid motion, set the chair down and sat.
"Excuse me, Sir, but do I know you?" I inquired.
"I've spoken to you. Of course, you were unable to reply," he said. "They kept you in a coma for two months. A blessing really as you avoided the worry between surgeries."
"Surgeries? How many?"
"Five major operations and six or seven minor surgeries," he explained. "They tell me one more procedure and you'll be done."
"Done? You seemed to know a lot about me," I challenged. "Who are you?"
"Oh sorry, I am Doctor Donella your therapist,” he replied. “I’m here to help you through the transition.”
“Where is my PID and my G.C.M.C. bracelet?” I asked ignoring the ramification of whatever transition meant. “And the custom Druid fighting sticks. And the Clan strap?”
“All of your possessions were either returned to the proper organization or destroyed,” Donella explained. “After your funeral.”
“Funeral,” I repeated.
“It was a grand affair, you would have enjoyed it,” Donella assured me. “The Navy sent an Admiral to heap honors on you. The Striker’s sent a Sergeant. He related humorous yarns about your antics. And the topping was two Druid Elders, Gwendolin and Pirkko. They didn’t speak just bowed to your casket. It was a beautiful ceremony.”
My eyes narrowed as I tried to wrap my mind around the information. Donella misinterpreted my actions.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” he said. “I’ll come back later.”
“But I’m not dead,” I mumbled. Then I got angry and hammered a fist into my leg. There was no sensation of the punch. “If I’m alive why the funeral? As a matter of fact, why am I here and not in a naval hospital?”
“Partially because of The Knight’s enhancements,” Donella stated. “And because the Druid community owes you for saving the valley. Our surgeons have removed the enhancements and put you on the road to recovery, for the most part.”
“For the most part,” I challenged. “By leaving me with useless legs?”
“The surgeons repaired your vertebrae and placed stem cells along your spinal cord,” he explained. “Right now, they have nerve blockers to prevent you from moving too much. The final surgery is to remove the blocks.”
“And then, after rehabilitation, I can get back to duty,” I ventured.
“No. The Constabulary has a bounty on you of three million Pesetas. For crimes against the Empress spanning almost the entire Galactic Council Realm. The war criminal Piran is wanted dead or alive,” he stated. “Every rogue, traitor, and would be bounty hunter, as well as special units of the Royal Constabulary are hunting for you.”
“But I’m a Navy pilot and a Knight Protector of the Clan,” I reminded him. “I need to get back into this war.”
“When I said mostly, I was referring to your body’s inability to handle pressure changes,” Donella informed me. “Without the enhancements for minor healing, your days of flying warships are over.”
“If all this
is true. I’m not a pilot or a Knight. Why bother with me?” I asked. “If not for rehab, then why are you here?”
“The reason for my presence is to transition you to a new identity,” Doctor Donella explained. “Because the safest thing for the most wanted man in the Realm, Senior Lieutenant Phelan Oscar Piran, is for you to stay dead.”
The End
On Point, Galactic Council Realm
Thank you for reading On Point. If you enjoyed the book, please leave a review on Amazon.com or Goodreads.com.
Sincerely,
J. Clifton Slater
Also by J. Clifton Slater
Galactic Council Realm
On Station
On Duty
On Guard
On Point
Clay Warrior Stories
Clay Legionary
Spilled Blood
Bloody Water
Reluctant Siege (Spring 2018)
Appendix
Character / Reference for meanings of Clan names:
http://www.babynames.ch/
Adnana, Mechanic, ion technician on An Tiodhlac Òir. Assigned but injured so didn't work on transport. Clan Arabic: Settle
An Tiodhlac Òir, Galactic Council Navy Heavy Cruiserassigned over watch of the Construction station. Clan Scottish Gaelic: The Golden Gift
Ander El Aitor,GC Navy Battleship assigned to the Western Region of the Galactic Council Realm. Tres /Dos divider. Clan Basque: The Brave Father
Asthore’, Term of endearment.Used when addressing Druids or Clan Elders. Clan Celtic: My Dear
Bima, Galactic Council Marine Corps Sergeanton Construction station. Clan Malay: Terrifying
Bríet, Major in the of the Forest First SentinelsDruid Warrior units: Clan Celtic: The Exalted One
Corentin, Druid Elder on An Tiodhlac Òir. Clan Celtic: Storm
Denzilee, Druid candidate at in training at the Druid valley. Clan Celtic: Fort
Diosa Alberich,GCMC Master Sergeant assigned to Special Navy Operations, position Team Leader. Call sign Warlock. Clan Spanish: Goddess and Elf
Donella, Therapist at a private clinic. Helps Piran with transition. Clan Celtic: Ruler of the World
On Point (Galactic Council Realm Book 4) Page 23
