Op File Sanction Read online

  Op File Sanction

  Call Sign Warlock

  J. Clifton Slater

  A Galactic Council Realm Novel

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved by J. Clifton Slater.

  My thanks to Hollis Jones for keeping me on track and highlighting my errors. Any mistakes in concepts, misuses of science, and typos are my fault.

  For your reading pleasure, I present to you, Op File Sanction.

  Op File Sanction

  Chapter 1 – Tango Down

  Captain Rhona Sorcha paced the command deck of the Sorcha Innis. Nerves caused her restless wanderings and crewmembers on the transport watched her out of the corners of their eyes. Everyone on the tramp steamer was on edge but it wasn’t the Captain, her wanderings, or the dangerous route nibbling away at the crew’s spirit. It was the new addition to their cargo causing the erosion of their courage. Despite their worries, they would support her decision and honor the contract. It never occurred to any of them to question their legacy Captain.

  Five years prior, pirates raided a deep space meet up between three trading ships. In the fight over the merchandise, Rhona’s father suffered fatal injuries and died. With their captain dead, the Sorcha Innis’ crew reached out to the last living member of the Sorcha family. After pleading for her help and promising total control, Lieutenant Junior Grade Rhona Sorcha resigned her commission in the Galactic Council Navy and went home to the Sorcha Innis.

  Despite growing up on the tramp steamer, being present while her father negotiated deals, and her naval experience, there were questions about the young captain’s competency to command an independent trading vessel. Other traders and customers challenged her choices and attempted to cheat the new captain at every exchange. But Rhona, like her grandfather, who founded the trading business with just an old yacht, proved to be smart and decisive. Within two years, she gained the respect and the trust of her customers and other independent traders.

  ***

  “You miss the children, don’t you, Captain?” suggested First Mate Costante. “They will be fine on Hydroxyl Station.”

  When the Sorcha Innis broke orbit from the manufacturing station, they left the crew’s children on the Station. Even though they would be cared for by the Station’s staff, it was unusual for a trading family to leave their offspring. Birth rates in space were low and the laughter of children was a rare and welcomed sound. Rhona had used the excuses of a volatile cargo of alcohol-based solvents and their route as the reasons for abandoning the kids.

  The parents respected her decision because the Sorcha Innis would be running a Galactic Council Navy blockade and crossing the Tres and Dos transition zone. Either the Galactic Navy or the Empress’ Constabulary Navy, on the other side, could impound the ship and imprison the crew for years. Protecting the children was viewed as another good decision by their captain.

  Most of the independent trading families had respected the no-go line after the Empress captured Planet Tres and the surrounding sector. Then a daring trader ran the blockade and returned with stories about the demand for goods and the inflated prices. Other tramp steamers snuck across and returned with similar tales.

  This wouldn’t be the first time Rhona took the Sorcha Innis across. But the Navy had increased the number of warships and reports by other traders told of close calls. Leaving the children made sense.

  “It’s why the crew loves you, Rhona,” Costante assured her. “You care.”

  “If they care so much about me, why are there cracks in the welds at the third sloop?” demanded Rhona. “Can they take some of that affection and lavish it on the connection before we go to interior drive and it rips away leaving a hole in our ship?”

  “Let me go check on that repair,” announced First Mate Costante. He stood from the navigation station and rushed off the command deck.

  When Captain Sorcha snapped out questions with biting comments, she wanted answers immediately. But more importantly the crew learned, she needed time alone. Usually the questions and comments concerned the wellbeing of the trading family or the ship. It’s why the crew adored their captain. In addition to her fierce negotiating style when buying and selling cargo, Rhona took care of her people.

  Rhona did miss the three children but it’s wasn’t her main concern. Nor were the repairs on the sloop body that made up the port side of her tramp steamer or their dangerous route. It was the agreement she made while in port at Hydroxyl Station that weighed heavy on her mind.

  ***

  All the restaurants on Hydroxyl Station had a unique theme with beverages and food to match the atmosphere. And as a captain of a trading vessel, Rhona’s meals and drinks were free. In addition to the industrial solvents, it was expected she would place orders from the Station’s breweries and distilleries to fill out her shipment. In order to show off their products, the Spirit Houses on the Station made every effort to please their commercial customers.

  The House of Basilio was no different. The maître d' seated the captain of the Sorcha Innis at a private grapevine enclosure with a view. Through the curved glass, Rhona watched the distant stars and spaceships arriving and departing while relaxing with yet another sample of exquisite wine. In addition to the one in her hand, there were six partially empty wine glasses lined up in front of her. She decided to order food to counteract the alcohol. If not, she was going to have trouble making it back to the suite provided by the Station.

  “I’ll have the Gnocchi alla Sorrentina,” Rhona ordered when the waiter appeared with another glass of wine. “And water, please.”

  “An excellent choice, Captain,” gushed the waiter. “Filtered or sparkling?”

  “Sparkling water would be nice,” Rhona advised.

  Shortly after the waiter left, a tall man slipped into view from around the wall of leaves. He was dressed in civilian clothing. But his rigid posture, steady gaze, and the tilt of his chin betrayed his vocation. And while his hair was mid-length and he spurted stubble on his chin, Rhona recognized growth that started from a crew cut and a clean-shaven face.

  “Name, rank, and branch of service?” Rhona demanded.

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant Sorcha?” protested the man.

  “OK, you’re Navy. That’s one answer. Now, spare me the cloak and daggers stuff,” she insisted. “Sit down and explain yourself.”

  “Commander Cayo Fermin of Naval Statistics,” the man responded as he pulled out the chair across from her.

  “I haven’t been out of the Navy that long, Commander,” scoffed Rhona. “You are not nerdy enough to be a numbers geek. What is Naval Intelligence doing intruding on my happy wine buzz?”

  The Commander studied the woman looking for the best way to broach the subject of his visit. Then he realized she was scrutinizing him as if seeking a weakness.

  His admiral warned him Lieutenant Junior Grade Sorcha was no ordinary transport captain. She left a promising career in the Navy to take command of a third-rate independent trading vessel. In five years, she built the Sorcha Innis into one of the most profitable trading transports in the Galactic Council Realm.

  “I wondered why they gave me so many options and such a complete briefing on you,” Fermin confessed. “You are something of a legend.”

  “Save it for the bread and get to the point,” ordered Rhona.

  “Pardon me?” he asked.

  “The buttering up. Save it for the bread,” she explained. “Get to the point.”

  Cayo leaned forward, creased his brows, and locked eyes with her as if to scare the woman. Casually but with deliberate motions of her hand, Rhona tipped over each glass sending a river of red and white wine across the table and into Commander Fer
min’s lap.

  He jumped up and looked down at his dripping wet crotch.

  “My world is full of old, crusty traders and pirates,” Rhona said. “I can give you a few names.”

  “Why would I need their names?” inquired Fermin while dabbing at the wet stains on the front of his trousers and the bottom of his jacket with a napkin.

  “One of two things. The proper way to bully someone you’re negotiating with,” Rhona informed him. The barrel of a pistol rose slowly into view and she tapped it on the tabletop to get his attention. “Or you could ask them if I’m ever intimidated.”

  "Are you?” he asked. He hadn’t noticed when she drew the weapon. At what point during their conversation had she armed herself? With respect in his voice, Cayo admitted. “The Navy really needs your help. Can we start over?”

  “Sure. Have a seat. Oh, that one is soaked. Maybe you should pull over another chair,” Rhona recommended. The waiter arrived with a bottle of sparkling water and jumped at the sight of the ruined linen tablecloth. She didn’t take her eyes off of Cayo but spoke to the waiter out of the side of her mouth. “Leave it. Mister Fermin will not be staying for dinner.”

  The waiter poured her water and backed out of the enclosure. His face expressing horror at the stained tablecloth the entire time. Once out of view, he ran to his supervisor to explain why he hadn’t immediately changed the tablecloth. He was assured whatever the Captain wanted or didn’t want was fine. Commander Fermin was about to discover the same thing.

  He sat far enough from the table to avoid the still dripping cloth. Rhona smiled across the distance and lowered her pistol.

  “What can I do for the Navy?” she asked between sips of sparkling water.

  “You’re taking the Sorcha Innis through the blockade,” Cayo stated. “Don’t bother denying it. We’ve tracked your routes and know.”

  “But Commander, that would be against the law,” replied Rhona.

  “It would be, except we want you to violate the blockade,” Cayo informed her. “All we require is that you add to your cargo.”

  Captain Sorcha placed her water glass on the table and picked up the one remaining glass of wine. Cayo cringed but, Rhona only took a gulp and swallowed.

  “I will not endanger my crew by hauling munitions or warships,” she insisted. “Other than that, I’m open to discussing it. If the price is right.”

  “And if we can’t reach an agreement?” questioned Cayo.

  “My grandfather was asked once if he was afraid of government interference,” Rhona answered. “He said the taxman and the Navy were welcome to his cargo but they had to catch him first. What’s the cargo and what does it pay? Wait. Before you tell me, double the payment.”

  ***

  Weeks later, Rhona Sorcha studied the charted course and as they approached prearranged coordinates, she ordered her ship to interior drive. From a blue streak, the Sorcha Innis dropped out of exterior drive and became identifiable as a tramp steamer. Her bolted and welded together sections of sloops, a clipper ship, and a handful of yachts gave the vessel the appearance of a junkyard for discarded spaceships. Ship architects, when shown videos of her class of transports, pointed out the stresses of evolving between drives would rip the hulls apart. Yet, hundreds of tramp steamers crewed by trading families traveled throughout the Galactic Council Realm. There was no official count of active tramps. As a result, the government was unable to document the number of ship failures. The architects pointed to this lack of data as proof of their declaration.

  Under interior drive, Captain Sorcha adjusted the course of her monstrous transport towards a specific zone and brought the ion walls to idle. Two hours later, a sleek Galactic Council Navy warship appeared out of the void. An hour later, Rhona stood in the spotless and ordered cargo deck of the warship.

  “Do you miss it?” Commander Fermin inquired.

  He marched across the deck pointing at the uniformed color of the bulkheads and the variety of equipment hanging on them. She eyed his workmen’s attire and the line of fourteen similarly dressed men and women following him from across the deck.

  “I miss the regular hours,” Rhona admitted. “As far as the no sir, yes ma’am stuff, I like being my own boss.”

  Standing behind Rhona were fifteen members of her crew. Among them, the parents of the children left on Hydroxyl Station. Then the two groups switched positions and Captain Sorcha guided the fifteen replacements to her shuttle.

  Once the shuttle carrying the exchanged passengers was away, the Navy vessel powered up and evolved to exterior drive. The Sorcha Innis with its many ion walls took longer to reach maximum internal drive and evolve. Eventually, the transport streaked away leaving only a short blue scratch against the blackness of space. The pause for the clandestine meeting was insignificant compared to the distance needed to reach the blockade. No one, except the participants, should have noticed the delay or been aware of the exchange.

  ***

  Five weeks later, the Sorcha Innis shot over the Tres and Dos transition zone, an arbitrary line in space dividing not only planetary sectors but, recently, styles of government. As Rhona hoped, no warships from either side challenged or questioned her passage.

  On the second day of sailing into the Constabulary occupied sector, the Sorcha Innis evolved to internal drive for a course adjustment.

  “So far so good, Captain Sorcha,” Cayo Fermin announced as he stepped onto the command deck. “Looks like we’re in clean.”

  “Shut up,” warned Costante.

  “What?” Cayo questioned. “I was just congratulating your Captain on the insertion.”

  “My First Mate is expressing an ago old superstition about complimenting a captain before a voyage is over,” Rhona explained. “Hold your compliments until…”

  “Contact,” shouted Costante. “Four objects are heading our way.”

  “Constabulary patrol boats?” asked Cayo.

  “Too small, too fast, and all four are on a trajectory directly at us,” the First Mate informed everyone on the bridge.

  “Take evasive action,” Cayo Fermin suggested.

  Both Costante and Sorcha glanced up from their screens and gawked at the Navy Commander.

  “Have you not looked at our spaceship?” inquired Costante. “Just keeping her in one-piece while changing headings takes slow arcs.”

  “I see,” Cayo said. “There is no defensive action you can take.”

  “Exactly,” Rhona confirmed with a slight dip of her head while flashing a jaded smile. Then she picked up the radio mic, depressed the handle, and spoke in an even tone. “This is the independent trader Sorcha Innis. To any station or ship, we are under missile attack. To any…”

  The tramp steamer, possibly aided by her volatile cargo of solvents, but mostly from the four missiles that impacted her, exploded into fragments. Her grotesque construction dissolved into an expanding ball of alloy. The shreds continued to drift apart leaving no sign of the tramp steamer, the cargo, or the thirty-one souls she had on board.

  ***

  A Galactic Council Navy picket ship tasked with monitoring the Sorcha Innis received the distress call. From stealth running, The Doric Pillar trained her sensors on the area of destruction and lit it up searching for lifeboats. After three hours, Captain Yuto Taiki called off the sweeps. With no sign of life from the Sorcha Innis and fearing the scans could be traced back to his warship, the naval officer decided the search was fruitless and a danger to his crew and ship. Once his vessel was repositioned and running silent, communications sent a flash message about the loss of the Sorcha Innis and all hands to the Navy net.

  The message was forwarded from station to ship along the naval movement net until it reached Command Station. A signalman printed out the message and rushed it to an Admiral’s office. The flag officer read of the loss and called another Admiral, a select group of Marine Corps Generals, and supervisors from an assortment of government agencies. Everyone contacted dropped what they were
doing and hurried for the secure conference room.

  ***

  Special Agent Eiko had just sat down for an early lunch. Two bites into a club sandwich, his PID flashed red three times before displaying a message. The sandwich, chips, and beverage were thrown at a trash receptacle as he sprinted to the closest lift. The door opened and, as he stepped in, he punched the button for the senior level. Seconds later, the Special Agent sprinted down the corridor of Command Station to the room. He arrived minutes after receiving the message.

  “Eiko. What the hell happened?” demanded an Admiral.

  “I just received the alert, Sir,” Eiko replied as he approached the table of high-ranking Navy and Marine Corps personnel. Intermixed around the table was an equal number of people in civilian clothing. “What’s the situation?”

  “The Sorcha Innis was attacked,” a civilian answered.

  “Survivors, ma’am?” Eiko inquired.

  “Not according to the Navy ship monitoring her,” an Admiral reported. “All hands are considered lost.”

  “Seven special forces soldiers and eight G.C.I.I.A. agents have just been vaporized,” the woman added. “How is that possible, Special Agent Eiko?”

  “You have a leak in your organization,” challenged the Admiral.

  The woman snapped her head around and glared at the Navy flag officer.

  “Or the Navy, as usual, is an information sieve,” she countered.

  “Please, please. These accusations are getting us nowhere,” an older man at the head of the table informed the representative from the Galactic Council Intelligent Inquiries Agency and the Navy Admiral. “Eiko. I thought we had this operation on a need to know basis?”

  “We did, sir,” the Special Agent assured him. “Everyone involved was vetted through normal channels.”

  “Normal channels? That is an interesting choice of words,” the man ventured. “Are there abnormal channels we should have used?”