Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard Page 14

  Chapter 16

  I discounted slashing. Waiting for a wounded man to bleed out didn’t guarantee he’d die quietly. Chocking was fine for one, but add a second, and I’d have a long protracted fight on my hands. I needed a way to occupy one while I killed the other.

  Backing away from the guards, I put distance between us before reaching under the doublet. It took a few seconds to free the tube from the rebreather. Next I pulled a Druid fighting stick from the Clan strap and extended it. With a length of knotted rubber tubing tucked under my sleeve and the Druid stick at my side, I walked back to the guards.

  Now I was in the most sensitive segment of my plan. If the other guard glanced over, he’d see a floating stick. My camouflage would reflect it on his side of my clothing, and the guard would be alerted. I didn’t relax until I eased behind the first guard.

  The tubing dropped around his neck and I shoved the Druid fighting stick behind the knot. I spun the fighting stick tightening the tubing. As he reached for his throat, I shoved him into the second guard. They fell to the deck. Before the second guard could utter a word, I’d shoved a Knight’s fighting stick into his mouth and out the back of his neck.

  It would take a while for the second guard to pass out from lack of air. I left the tubing in place.

  The door loomed above me and I pondered whether to go in soft or hard. I shouldn’t have wasted time thinking. The Sergeant decided. He opened the door. Seems taking down two guards had created more of an uproar than I’d hoped. I rose up half way, and put my shoulder into his middle. We tumbled into the Councilor’s room.

  He was strong but he was fighting a specter. Where he could grab me, I was solid. But he couldn’t see the arms, fists or elbows as I pummeled him into submission. One final elbow to the temple and he lay still. It took a second to separate my heartbeat from his but when I did, I realized his still beat strongly. He was strong and sneaky. To prevent any subterfuge, I crushed his wind pipe. Collapse a man’s trachea and you take the fight, and life, right out of him.

  I pressed up on my arms and looked around the room. No more enemies were there, but I did locate an old man. His was chained to a chair. Although he needed a shave and a haircut, I recognized him.

  “Councilor Peng. Give me a minute to tidy up,” I said climbing to my feet.

  “Who? Who? Oh, the ubiquitous Lieutenant Piran,” he replied, “By all means, finish up.”

  It wasn’t the first time Councilor Shi Peng had witnessed an invisible man dragging a pair of corpses into his room. He didn’t say anything until, the chain began to lift, the simple lock dropped to the carpet, and his leg swung free.

  “You seem to be making a habit of rescuing me,” he said.

  “How are you feeling, Councilor?” I asked.

  He looked leaner if that was possible for a slightly built older man. This time he didn’t have any bruises, but he did require a bath.

  “Piran. There’s a conspiracy on planet Tres,” he said, “I don’t know how deep it goes but I need to reach the Galactic Council.”

  “Please hold on a second,” I said punching three words into my PID.

  ‘Secured, Safe, Go,’ I typed to Warlock.

  “Councilor. We need to get into the head,” I said sliding an arm around the small man and gently taking some of his weight.

  His legs weren’t steady. I could have carried him but to maintain his dignity, I simply assisted him. We shuffled into the body washing room and I left him sitting on a couch.

  From the bed, I took three pillows. After tossing them into the bathroom, I grabbed an end table, twisted off the holding bracket, and carried it to the room. The end table, I jammed under the door knob.

  “Sorry Sir,” I apologized as I hoisted him into the tub, “There may be shooting before the Strikers arrive.”

  He lay down on the pillows I’d place in the tub and groaned.

  “I never thought of laying down as a luxury,” he said, “But there’s no time to relax, we need to make the Council aware of the danger.”

  “Councilor Peng. My team and I have gathered information about the conspiracy,” I related to him, “It gets worse. There are Empress Royal Constabulary forces on plant Tres and a Constabulary fleet on the way.”

  “The Empress? Are you sure? I thought it was a simple rebellion. In any case, I assume, the Ander El Aitor is underway to planet Uno,” he said hopefully.

  “No Sir. The Admirals and other command staff for the BattleShip are on Tres and hostages,” I informed him.

  “Who’s in command?” he asked.

  “Captain Haitham is in combat control and Captain Tuulia is at the helm,” I reported, “Their problem is they don’t have the rank or the authority to move a capital warship out of this sector.”

  “Do I?” he asked.

  “Aye, Councilor, you have the authority,” I replied.

  “Well Lieutenant, get me to the Bridge. I need to speak with Captain Tuulia,” he said pushing off the bottom of the tub.

  I placed a hand on the thin back and begged, “Please Councilor. A Striker team is on the way to secure our location. Once the Marines have taken out the Constabulary troops, we’ll get you cleaned up and...”

  “Just a minute Lieutenant,” he began and I tensed waiting for the impossible order to move him from the safety of the restroom to the Bridge, “If we’re just sitting here and I need to look presentable, let’s solve one issue right now.”

  “And that would be what, Sir?” I inquired.

  “Get rid of these pillows and I’ll take a bath,” he said, “My hand’s not steady. You may have to shave me.”

  “I can do that Sir,” I said as the sounds of a gun battle drifted in through the ventilation shaft.

  “You can uncloak Piran. I already know who you are,” the Councilor said as the razor scraped his face, rinsed off in the tub water, and raised again to his face, “Is it an anonymous super hero thing?”

  “Nothing like that Sir,” I replied slowly whisking away the last of his whiskers, “I seem to have a hearing problem and the hood helps.”

  The gun fire increased and intermixed with the pings of the kinetic rounds, I heard shouting, and the cries of dying men. As I rinsed off the Councilor, the fighting reached the outer door to the suite.

  My PID pinged, ‘J-Pop, knock-knock. You’ve got company.’

  I wrapped the frail Councilor in a bath robe and escorted him back to the sitting room. Once he was comfortable and sipping on a glass of water, I answered the door.

  Warlock came in, eyed the room, and turned her head, “Fire Dove, front and center.”

  The Striker medic came in and crowded me out of his way. He and the old Councilor were soon deep in a conversation about his health. Fire Dove put a blood pressure band on his arm. I could have told him Shi Peng’s heart was beating just fine.

  “J-Pop, you can come out now,” Warlock suggested as she turned back to the room, “The Marines have begun their sweep of the VIP deck. And, this hallway is secure.”

  “It’s hard to explain but, for now, I’ll keep the hood on,” I replied, “Fire Dove. Does the Councilor need medical attention?”

  I asked because the medic had inserted an IV drip in the Councilor’s arm.

  “Yes Sir, a wheelchair for mobility. Otherwise he’s in good health,” he replied while looking around the room, “That’s unnerving, not being able to see you, J-Pop.”

  I ignored the comment because in my experience, Strikers don’t get unnerved about anything.

  “Oh, he does need something else,” Fire Dove added, “Noodles with chicken and an egg roll from the Mess deck. Seems his jailers had him on short rations and he’s hungry.”

  Down the hallway, I heard an extended yell from a group. The group, still yelling, raced by our hallway and the cries faded. The Galactic Council Marine Corps had just introduced themselves to the Empress’ Royal Constabulary. And the Constabulary just learned they weren’t the biggest, baddest and meanest dudes on the bloc
k.

  Semper Fi.

  I stepped by Warlock and entered the hallway. Standing to either side of the suite were her Earth elements. Stone Angel to my right and Heavy Rain to my left. Their edged weapons were smeared with red stains.

  “How’s the Councilor, Sir?” a voice asked.

  I craned my neck following the sound. Above me, Thunder Eagle was clinging to the ceiling. A hand and a foot were in contact with the ceiling but one foot was braced on the wall. In her free hand was a short machinegun pointing down the hallway while her head hung down looking at me.

  “He appears fine considering he’s been a captive,” I replied, “How did you know I was out here?”

  “Sky elements have heat sensors in our helmets,” she replied, “From up here, you lit up the doorway like a torch.”

  “Friendly, coming in,” Master Sergeant Tereza shouted from around the corner.

  “Advance and be recognized,” Heavy Rain challenged the call.

  Tereza and four Marines in full combat dress entered the hallway.

  “My Marines are flushing out the last of the Constabulary,” she reported to Warlock, “How’s the Councilor?”

  I decided it was best not to be an invisible voice in the hall. So, I ducked into the suite, and became a voice from another room before speaking.

  “Tereza, I’ve got it on good authority, the Constabulary has sympathizers in the crew,” I said, “We need armed Marines with Captain Haitham, Captain Tuulia, our Chief Petty Officer, your Staff Sergeant and an armed guard with you. I’ll check to see if we can add Druids to the duty.”

  The Master Sergeant, as I knew she would, accepted all the commands except one.

  “Sir, I don’t need a bodyguard,” she insisted.

  “You are the senior NCO of Marines on a BattleShip,” I replied, “Making you essential personnel. No argument, you will have guards on you around the watches. Clear, Master Sergeant Tereza?”

  “Aye, Aye Sir,” she answered reluctantly.

  Warlock and Tereza were busy planning the move of Councilor Peng to the Bridge. They didn’t need me so I stepped out of the suite and left the VIP deck. In the corridors, I witnessed the aftermath of the Striker’s and Marine’s assault. Butchery, no matter how justified, is ugly and colorful in a macabre way.

  The vault was sealed. Around the circular stainless door, wood paneling rose up through four decks. I typed a message, located a bench and sat to wait. On all sides of the atrium, greenery gave the impression of a park, except where emergency rebreathers hung prominently between planters. Usually, the atrium outside the Druid’s inner sanctum would be full of crewmembers relaxing when off duty. Right now, it was empty except for the camouflaged man on the bench.

  I knew the Druids were monitoring the ship’s communications. They’d sealed off the passage way to the Red Heart plant, possibly even, before our offensive operation to free the Councilor. What I needed to know was if the Druids on the Ander El Aitor were with us. Or, with the Druids on planet Tres.

  The wait was boring, long, and I almost gave up. Druids are on their own time so letting someone stew for hours wasn’t unusual. Just when I’d decided to return to the Medical deck, the wheel on the vault began to spin.

  I continued to sit. They made me wait so I’d just sit until they made an appearance. He hadn’t changed. It was the Druid Elder who weeks before had accused me of being a delusional Knight of the Clan. I had attempted to tell him about Councilor Jalal’s treasonous activities and he’d dismissed my concerns. I wondered how he felt now.

  “Knight Protector of the Clan,” he spoke so his voice carried throughout the atrium, “Show yourself.”

  I couldn’t help it. Edging around to his side, I waited before speaking.

  “Elder, I have words,” I said into his ear.

  He didn’t jump or give any sign he’d been caught unaware. Druid Elders don’t show emotions but I noticed a tiny tremor in his index finger. Score one for the Knight. Now let’s see if he’d be helpful.

  “Speak your words,” he replied in a relaxed manner.

  “Planet Tres is under the Empress’ rule,” I relayed staying with just the facts, “Nolwenn has gone Folks. There’s a Constabulary fleet on the way to this sector. And Councilor Jalal is a proven traitor.”

  “Would it be wrong for Druids to accept new masters for the sake of our Heart plants?” he asked me.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  His eyes searched seeking to separate my shape from the background. I shifted after the answer and he couldn’t locate me.

  “Show yourself,” he demanded.

  “No,” I replied and moved to his other side.

  Four Druids stepped through the vault. As they neared the Elder, I caught a whisper.

  “Knight Protector of the Clan. Beware,” one of them warned.

  It wasn’t vocal. It was more as if I heard the words in my head. I was lost in thought about this new form of understanding. I almost missed it when they pulled their Druid fighting sticks.

  So now I faced a Druid Elder and four fighters arranged in a battle formation. Two flanked the Elder while the other two positioned themselves one behind and one in front of him.

  I backed out of striking distance before saying, “There is only one question. Do the Druids of the BattleShip Ander El Aitor stand with the Galactic Council Realm?”

  There was no reply. The five Druids stood stock still secure in the knowledge their private conversation was secret. It wasn’t or at least part of it wasn’t.

  ’The Knight lies’

  ‘The Councilor was held’

  ‘By Councilor Jalal’s folks’

  ‘The Empress is no friend’

  ‘Yet if she reigns’

  ‘The Knight lies’

  I’d had enough of the debate. Their concerns were only for the survival of the Red Heart planet and who would best protect it. The Elder’s insistence, however, that a Knight Protector of the Clan wasn’t trust worthy, was a big problem.

  “Let me make this simple,” I said, “In four months, we’ll be in Council space. I will than have this entire Druid family arrested and sent back to planet Uno in disgrace. You will be replaced by a loyal family. So swears a Knight Protector of the Clan.”

  I was angry and the mental exercise of picking thoughts out of a maze of thoughts had given me a headache.

  “Consider this unworthy family confined to your inner sanctum,” I ordered as I began to walk away, “Any Druid found wondering the corridors, will answer to me.”

  It wasn’t an idle threat. After my announcement, if I found any Druids out of the vault, I’d have to kill them. Why? Because if they defied my word, they’d be up to no good.

  My ire grew and a final idea came to me.

  I turned to address the Druids, “I know the Constabulary has confederates on this ship. I never envisioned it would be Druids. You bring shame on the memory of Asthore’ Mother Shea.”

  Gitta Shea was the first Druid and revered by Druids and members of my Clan. She was also my Grandmother three times removed. These Druids didn’t know or care about my relationship with Dear Mother Shea. They did recognize the cutting insult.

  I was at the lift about to press the button for the Medical deck when my PID buzzed.

  ‘Knight Protector of the Clan. Meet with us. Three hours for our gathering.’

  The Druids were holding a gathering. This couldn’t be good for their Elder but might be good for me. I typed two messages in reply.

  ‘Agreed. Three hours,’ I sent to the Druids.

  ‘Warlock. Need team at atrium in three hours,’ the second message stated.

  I might be a Knight with enhancements but I wasn’t up to fighting an entire family of Druids. A little backup wouldn’t hurt if their decision was to remove the Knight instead of their Elder. The lift arrived and I took it to the Medial deck.

  Chapter 17

  “Medic, it’s not the bends,” I said as the Navy Medic glared at me, “No Strik
ers this time. What I need to know, is something wrong with my ears?”

  I’d pulled off the Knight clothing. As the cowl pulled back, the buzzing in my head caused me to squint. The Medic reached for me and helped me to a chair. It wasn’t until I put the noise suppressing headset back over my ears the buzzing levels dropped.

  “Lieutenant. I ran tests when they brought you in,” he informed me, “Your ears are structurally fine and the pressure on your inner ear is standard. There is nothing medically wrong with your hearing.”

  “But you thought it was the bends,” I offered.

  “Standard procedure for returning crewmembers in distress,” he admitted, “Without our doctors, we’re running on SOP, no matter what the hyper sensitivity.”

  “Hyper sensitivity? You get a lot of this?” I asked.

  “Sure Lieutenant. The bends, blurred vision, joint pains, allergic reactions to the Druid’s Red plant and other negative responses from transitioning between space environments,” he explained, “Most people acclimate after a few days of bed rest.”

  “Wait a second. Go back and tell me about the Red Heart plant,” I challenged the Medic, “Who has allergic reactions to the plant?”

  “It’s rare but sometimes we get a transfer from a different color environment,” he explained, “For instance, a crewman arriving after a long stay on a Station with a White may display an allergic reaction upon arrival in our Red’s environment. Have you been in contact with a White plant recently? I don’t recall if there’s one on Tres.”

  I had contact with a White Heart plant and recently. But, it had been dead for a couple of centuries. Even so, I inhaled a heavy dose of the ash. If there were spores or mold living off the decomposing White, they may have infected my system.

  “What’s the treatment for a reaction to a Heart plant?” I asked.

  Having read something in my expression, he stood as if to leave the examination room.

  “It’s always handled by a Doctor, a specialist. I don’t have the access, the authority or the knowledge to diagnose Mycosis,” he pleaded, “I am sorry, Sir.”