Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard Read online

  “All aboard for a tour of the farmer’s market,” Fire Dove announced.

  We piled on and the bus slowly pulled away from the truck. After a quick tour of level three, we headed down another ramp. The bus took a street bordered by closed factories. After a few blocks, we pulled up in front of the farmer’s market.

  There was a Tres police department cruiser parked across the street. A slim man was leaning into the car’s window. He pulled his head out, saw the bus, turned back and said something to the policeman. We all watched as he crossed the street on a direct line to our bus.

  “Oscar Piran?” he asked stepping up into the vehicle.

  “Sho?” I replied.

  “Take the bus around to commercial parking,” he ordered, “Cops don’t like it when you take up civilian parking.”

  Heavy Rain drove and Sho, the smuggler, directed him.

  “Warlock, any idea if the Tres police are looking for us?” I inquired.

  “Stone Angel, report,” she deferred to her Right side Earth element.

  He examined his PID, looked up, and stated, “Not a word on the police net. Seems the Constabulary isn’t coordinating with the locals.”

  “All the better for us,” I said.

  Our bus circled the long low building and parked between two produce trucks.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked Sho.

  “Where’s the money?” he asked.

  Stone Angel handed me a backpack. I turned my back on Sho and counted out the Pesetas. Turning back to face the smuggler, I held the money just out of his reach.

  “Sho, let me give you something to reflect on,” I said looking him straight in the eyes, “If all of us don’t get to the BattleShip. We go to jail, or a few of us are killed, things like that. Are you with me?”

  Sho pried his eyes from mine and looked at the money.

  “Yes,” he said looking back up to me.

  “Good because if all eleven of us don’t get to the BattleShip, I’ll find you and,” I stopped and tilted my head, “You know, I don’t like threats. Just get us off this planet.”

  Before handing him the money, I pulled one of my Knight fighting sticks out. The left one, the one with an extra alloy top on the butt end. I snapped it open. He eyed the alloy tips that seemed to drink the light and the shaft with the alloy bands which appeared to ripple in the weak light of the bus. I handed him the money but his eyes were watching the deadly fight stick. My point made, I snapped it closed.

  The ride to the Space Port was uncomfortable, smelly, and cramped. I accepted the circumstances and appreciated the need. But still, vegetables when washed and peeled and chopped, are delicious. In mass and enclosed, vegetables smell. And they aren’t comfortable to lay on.

  The trucks idled just off the tarmac, and we sat in the dark. Through a small opening in the cover, I watched as an officer climbed a set of removable steps to the vegetable shuttle. It was shaped like a round bug with a raised bubble for a cabin. The rounded body had straps, locking arms, and tubes hanging from the shuttle’s edges. Above the cabin, propellers hung limp.

  The rear cover of our truck opened and Sho’s face appeared.

  “We’ll need someone to contact the BattleShip when you arrive,” he stated, “The rest of your group will need to hide in a container.”

  In the dark of the truck, someone nudged me.

  “J-Pop, you’re it,” Eaglet said, “That’s an order.”

  Captain Haitham wanted me in the cabin of the vegetable shuttle because I was the only combat officer in the group. It seemed he didn’t trust the smuggler either. I pushed Sho for more personnel.

  “You’ll need three officers,” I told Sho, “You’ll need them to get beyond the protective screen.”

  “Three, okay, no more,” he whined.

  “Warlock. Are you alright with this?” I called out to the Striker team leader.

  “Show us where to bunk and wake me when it’s over, Lieutenant,” she replied leisurely.

  We’d come a long way in the trust department, after our rocky start at Strike Kill Command.

  Captain Haitham, Captain Tuulia and I sprinted to the steps of the vegetable transport. We climbed up and entered the odd space craft. Below it, crates filled with food were stacked along this section of the Space Port.

  I watched as the Strikers, the Marines and the Navy NCO climbed off the truck. Sho handed each a ship board rebreather and led them like ducklings to a container. They climbed a side ladder and disappeared into a port. Sho closed the hatch and spun the locking wheel. I felt a little apprehension at the situation but there was nothing I could do about it.

  Sho strutted away without as much as a wave goodbye. There was something sly and sneaky about him. But, he was, after all, a smuggler.

  Captain Haitham turned to me. We’d both watched the stowing of our people. He shrugged as if to say he too was uncomfortable with placing his NCOs in a pressurized but almost inaccessible container. With nothing left to do, we selected seats facing the pilot’s pedestal.

  Chapter 14

  The cockpit was a raised platform. Below the platform was room for a couple of crewmen to move around the cabin with seats facing inboard. After we buckled in, the blades began to turn. The craft rose and moved a few meters to line up above a container. It hovered for a few seconds before settling down. The crewmen scaled down to the container and began to attach tubes, straps and locking arms.

  We repeated the maneuver five more times attaching containers at each stop. After the last container was secured, the shuttle rose straight up. The space port transformed from surrounding scenery to a small dot on planet Tres as we climbed. Our pilot engaged the Internal drive and the prop blades slowed and hung useless in the thinning air.

  The only trouble we encountered was in the upper atmosphere. Our pilot received a call from a planet Tres Patrol Boat. He handled it as all good smugglers would. He talked fast, named four ships waiting for his goods, and pleaded a sick wife and five children. I got the feeling, the Patrol Ship’s commander didn’t want to delay the pilot. If he had, he’d have to listen to more of our pilot’s babble.

  As the Patrol Boat drifted away, our pilot used an orbit around Tres to pick up velocity. On the second pass, he pulled the ship out of orbit and headed for open space. Somewhere out there was a leaderless Galactic Council Realm BattleShip. And further out, an unknown enemy fleet.

  “How are my people?” I asked a crewman while pointing towards the deck.

  He glanced down and replied, “The containers are insulated and oxygenated. If they weren’t, we’d lose our produce. They should be fine.”

  It gave me some relief but I was worried. I was still bothered three hours later when two GC Navy GunShips converged on us. We’d reached the outer edge of the BattleShip’s defensive screen.

  “Merchant vessel. You are approaching a no access envelope,” a Navy pilot radioed, “You are warned. Adjust your flight plan accordingly.”

  I looked out of the tinted bubble at two GunShips. They were sideways to us so their machineguns and the gunners in their bubbles were visible.

  “Pilot, let me speak with them,” Captain Haitham said. He had moved to the base of the cockpit pedestal and was looking up at the pilot.

  The man looked down at Haitham. Sweat was visible on his brow and he was for good reason obviously nervous.

  “Not good,” he stammered while shaking his head no, “We’re leaving.”

  His two crewmen had eased up on either side of Haitham. Before they could lay a hand on the Captain, I shook out my Druid sticks.

  “Gentlemen. Please step back from the Captain,” I ordered holding the blunt sticks at my side, “Those are his pilots out there so I suggest you allow him to talk. Now.”

  I finished the pep talk by pointing the sticks at the men. They began to advance on me.

  “Stop this,” Tuulia ordered stepping beyond Haitham and climbing up to face the pilot, “My good man. Please hand Eaglet the radio microph
one before someone gets hurt.”

  “Not good. We’re leaving,” he restated.

  Apparently the crewmen took the ‘someone getting hurt’ phrase to be a signal. They pushed Haitham aside and stepped towards me. They had never learned the adage; range has its benefits.

  I reached out with my fighting sticks and simultaneously poked both of them in the forehead. Poked may be too soft a word. They fell to the deck with hands clasped to cover the painful swelling bruises.

  While Haitham was trying to regain his balance, the pilot shoved Captain Tuulia. She tumbled from the platform crumbling to the walkway by the seats.

  I was beginning to see a pattern. Could it be that Sho never intended for us to reach the BattleShip? If not, where was he planning to dump eleven members of the Galactic Council Realm’s military?

  On my way to the pilot’s platform, I kicked the downed crewmen. No sense letting them rejoin the fight. I was angrier than I should have been, but I was worried about my NCOs. I was also mad about the skullduggery of the smugglers and the rough treatment of my two Captains. Unfortunately for the pilot, it boiled over as I punched the release on his harness. He grunted from the blow. Once I had him unencumbered, I slammed him on the bubble overhead and threw his body to the deck. He grunted, bounced, and grunted again before laying still.

  “Captain Haitham. The radio is yours,” I said climbing down.

  “Check on Tuulia,” he replied as he climbed up.

  The Navigator was struggling to sit. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

  “Ma’am, please lay still,” I urged her, “Let me check for any injuries.”

  “Nonsense, J-Pop, I’m fine,” she said shaking her head, “Let me up.”

  I leaned away and she scooted back until the bulkhead below the seats supported her.

  “What’s our situation?” she asked.

  Before I could reply, the cabin of the delivery shuttle was filled with voices. Haitham had turned on the public address system.

  “Sir, I do recognize you,” a Combat shuttle pilot stated, “however, we are under quarantine until cleared by Councilor Jalal. No ships in or out from the Ander El Aitor. All approaching vessels will be fired upon. Well, except for the defensive screen.”

  “Ensign, when did you receive those orders?” Haitham asked with tension in his voice.

  “Representatives from the Councilor arrived shortly after the admirals’ Shuttle departed,” the young pilot reported, “Two Shuttles full of them.”

  While Haitham was having his fruitless conversation with the Ensign, I collected the crewmen and pilot of our vessel and secured them to seats.

  “J-Pop. Do you have any ideas?” Eaglet asked me once the three men were out of the way.

  “The only people who can countermand the Councilor’s orders are the ship’s executive officers,” I stated, “or another Councilor. Sir, what does Councilor Shi Peng have to say about the order?”

  The three prisoners took that moment to begin struggling against their bonds. I was thankful I’d gagged them as all three added gurgling noises to the ruckus.

  “Councilor Peng is sequestered in his quarters,” the pilot replied to Haitham’s question, “the Councilor representatives relieved the Marines and assumed the guard duty.”

  “Eaglet, I don’t like the sound of that,” I whispered to the Captain, “After we rescued Jalal and Peng from the Pirates, he didn’t seem too keen on returning to planet Tres.”

  The smugglers added to the intensity of their attempt to get free. I glared at them.

  “I know. He was impatient to return to the Galactic Council,” Haitham added, “So you think the guards are loyal to Councilor Jalal and not Councilor Peng?”

  “Yes Sir. We need to get aboard,” I said, “between the Constabulary fleet and an unprotected Councilor, this is about to get bad, very bad.”

  Captain Tuulia had regained her footing and although swaying, her eyes were clear.

  “Can we get aboard the GunShip?” she asked, “There seems to be a number of airlocks on this vessel.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we can,” I assured her before reminding her, “but we have personnel in the container below.”

  “Hold on,” Captain Haitham said holding up a hand for silence.

  The silence was broken by the three detainees. Again they began to twist against the straps, gurgle and now they added foot stomping to their routine. I was getting frustrated and thought seriously about knocking them out. At least then we could converse in peace.

  “Ensign, what’s your call sign?” Captain Haitham inquired of the combat pilot.

  “Wind Chime,” she replied and added, “Because I’m from planet Dos. Sir.”

  Captain Tuulia rolled her eyes and whispered, “Pilots.”

  “Wind Chime, this is Eaglet,” Haitham said with authority, “We are going tactical. Do you read me?”

  “Aye, Eaglet, standing by,” Wind Chime replied.

  “First, you are declaring a mechanical failure,” he instructed, “so you are requesting another GunShip to secure your sector. Also, because the nature of your emergency is a breach, you also require a transport Shuttle and a tug to drag your ship back to the Ander El Aitor. Is all that clear?”

  “Eaglet, I don’t understand,” Wind Chime pleaded, “My ship is not damaged.”

  “Wind Chime, I have eight NCOs in the container below me,” he said slowly so the message could sink in, “I require the tug to haul the container back to the BattleShip. Also, I need lots of flights in this sector so any councilor representatives who hear about the operation will be confused. Now, Wind Chime, declare your emergency.”

  There was no reply. It’s hard for a junior officer to go against their training. Especially when the orders come from a voice on the radio. Even when you recognize the voice, it’s an internal scuffle, when you can’t visually verify the person.

  Speaking of struggle, my captives began their antics again.

  “Sir. Permission to disable the crew,” I asked tilting my head at the noisy trio.

  “Hold on Lieutenant,” Tuulia said, “I believe we’ll need their input for decoupling the container. Some design specifications at least. Afterwards, you can eject them from an airlock.”

  I hadn’t really thought of pushing them out of an airlock. But, right now, it sounded like a fine idea.

  “Aye, Captain,” I replied.

  “Wind Chime to Eaglet,” the Ensign called back after several long minutes, “I’ve declared an air breach emergency. A replacement GunShip is on the way. Also, a tug, a Shuttle, and a Patrol Boat.”

  “Good work Wind Chime,” Eaglet said and asked, “What was the hold up?”

  “I caucused with my gunners,” she admitted meekly.

  “Wind Chime, it’s the mark of a leader to get comments from your crew,” the assistant chief of flight operations replied, “We’ll talk once we’re back on board.”

  “Eaglet, we have a flight of Fighters in bound,” Wind Chime informed us, “We are extending the defensive screen.”

  “J-Pop. While I coordinate the operation, why don’t you question our guests about safely separating the container,” he said before turning off the PA system.

  I could hear his side as he directed the Fighters and other arriving GunShips. His speech was rapid fire, his replies short and to the point. If nothing else, the Ander El Aitor was no longer defenseless. She now had a combat boss and could flex her muscles.

  Theatrically cracking my knuckles, I strolled towards the prisoners. Tuulia looked at my eyes. I winked and nodded towards an airlock. She caught on.

  “J-Pop, what are you going to do?” she asked in a squeaky voice.

  “One of these animals is going out an airlock,” I threatened, “If I don’t get the answers I need, another goes out the airlock.”

  “But that’s inhumane,” Tuulia stated in a shocked voice.

  “Sorry Ma’am, we need to free the container,” I replied nearing the three, “Which one of y
ou is first?”

  All three were jerking and twisting. Fear can do that to you. I choose the younger crewman first. Anytime you interrogate a group, start with the youngest. They’re usually malleable and by taking them first, the older, more set in their ways, prisoners can’t influence them. So I walked to the younger one and pulled off his gage.

  After Captain Tuulia’s and my performance, I expected begging, pleads for mercy or at least tears. Instead, I got two words.

  “Shi Peng,” he shouted with a huge smile on his face, “Shi Peng.”

  “As in Councilor Shi Peng?” I inquired of the happy prisoner.

  “Yes, Yes. Our Grandfather,” the delirious crewman said, “We thought him dead. Killed by the Galactic Council Navy.”

  “Why would you believe a thing like that?” I asked in horror.

  “Because Councilor Jalal’s office sent word to our Clan elders,” he said still holding the jaw breaking smile.

  Now I had an idea of what the smugglers had in store for their cargo of eleven military personnel. Space dump us as revenue for their Grandfather.

  “Them too?” I asked pointing to the other smugglers.

  “Yes, Sir. We’re brothers,” he replied, “We can safely uncouple the container. On one condition.”

  “You’re hardly in a position to demand conditions,” I said hardening my tone.

  “Please Sir. One of us would like to accompany you to see our Grandfather,” he said as tears began to fall down his cheeks, “Just one of us.”

  By then, I couldn’t count how many Galactic Council Navy war ships were in the vicinity, nor did I care. The vessel I was concerned with arrived and I breathed out a sigh of relief. It resembled a giant c-clamp with a bump on the backside of the main body. The bump was the cockpit and the grab bolt would easily fit around a distressed Patrol Boat. In this case, the clamps locked onto a single produce container and the naval personnel inside.

  Hui Peng and his brother had suited up and floated to each container clamp, hose and line. By carefully orchestrating these, they’d separated the occupied produce container and preserved the internal atmosphere. They’d also saved the rest of their cargo. They might be part-time smugglers, and would be murders, but the remainder of their livelihood was trade with space vessels.