Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard Read online

  “Try the Galactic Service Organization,” I suggested, “They’re busy around the watches when a ship’s in port. You know with things for the sailors like births, deaths, and divorce announcements. Plus, the GSO arranges emergency leaves as well as providing entertainment for the troops.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Stone Angel said hoisting his mass off the chair and heading for a door on the far side of the kitchen, “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

  Warlock watched as the big man ambled out of sight. She took a deep breath and turned to me.

  “You should be asleep. Lieutenant,” she stated.

  “I just needed a nap,” I replied “I’ve got things to do.”

  “No, you should be asleep,” she repeated, “Fire Dog shot you up with enough joy juice to put out Heavy Rain for a good six hours.”

  Another gift from the Druid’s for a Knight Protector of the Clan. Apparently, I metabolized medicine faster than my body weight should allow. When or if I ever had a chance to speak with the Druid Council, I’m going to suggest a training period for all new Knights. As it was, I seemed to learn new things about the enhancements as they came up. I didn’t explain that to the Strike Kill team leader.

  “Speaking about Heavy Rain. Did he locate the ELF?” I asked.

  “He reported in and the Extremely Low Frequency transmission went active about an hour ago,” she replied, “Stone Angel confirmed it’s a hotspot on Tres. Good for navigation if an outlying ship knows approximately where to look.”

  “But why would a Galactic Council ship need guidance?” I asked, “All they need is a heading from Naval Movement Command or even the Merchant Fleet’s Master of Transit.”

  “Unless the ships honing in on Tres aren’t Galactic Council ships,” Warlock ventured, “Any idea who?”

  “I believe they’re Royal Constabulary vessels from the Empress’ Empire,” I admitted, “Everything I’ve seen and read convinces me of it. But, it’s not like I have a written confession from anyone to take to the authorities.”

  “I wouldn’t trust the Tres government even if I had proof,” Warlock stated, “Heavy Rain says he needs another twenty-four hours to lock down the rotation of the ELF. Once he does, Stone Angel can isolate the space zones where the ELF is visible. When we finally contact the Ander El Aitor, we’ll pass it on and they can keep beams on the sectors. At least, she’ll have advance warning if you’re correct about foreign ships.”

  “I need a ride,” I said walking over to the water bottle, “to the Druid compound.”

  “I’ll have Thunder Eagle drive you,” she said as she judged my every move. Warlock wasn’t convinced I was fully functional.

  In the pickup truck, I dozed. Guess, I didn’t clear the joy juice as rapidly as I first thought.

  In the Office of Nolwenn, Druid Elder of Tres, I wrapped up, “That’s when I came over the wall and broke into your home.”

  “While this Festival of the Boughs is troubling,” Nolwenn stated, “The rest is purely conjecture.”

  “It’s a cult created to counter and discredit the Druids,” I said.

  “One evil event doesn’t prove treason. And your conclusion that an Empress, an almost mythical entity, has returned and is accepting an invitation to rule Planet Tres,” Elder Nolwenn stated, “It sounds a bit far-fetched.”

  “I can’t confirm the invitation aspect but units of the Royal Constabulary are here,” I assured him, “And so is her Ambassador. If she’s not from the Empress’ Empire, she’s doing a good job of acting the part.”

  “What do you need help with, Knight Protector of the Clan?” he asked.

  There it was, the final question. Once he asked it, the meeting was all but over.

  “I need you to send a report about my suspicions to the Druid Council of Elders,” I said, “And I want you to get your Druids off the planet.”

  He took another sip, looked me in the eyes, and shook his head.

  “I’ll send your message, although, I’ll add my own conclusions,” he stated.

  “As is your right, Elder,” I admitted.

  “As far an evacuation of planet Tres by the Druids,” he explained, “I am not convinced. So, no Knight Protector of the Clan, the Druids will not leave planet Tres.”

  “I bow to your decision,” I said placing the empty glass on his desk and rising to my feet, “I have no more words.”

  He nodded and waved his arm dismissing me. Now, I had to find a way out while I avoided the security on the grounds surrounding the Druid compound. The solution presented itself in the form of a large gray Space Cat.

  Loana appeared in the hallway outside of Nolwenn’s office. She stood with her body facing towards the wing opposite the one I’d use to enter the compound. She turned her face to me and quickly turned away. After two repetitions, I gathered she wanted me to follow her. As soon as I stepped into the hall, she jogged off. I followed.

  We emerged in the wing where the construction crew was building the never to be occupied Heart Plant display. Loana walked up to a plastic barrier. It was there to keep dust from the work area out of the Druid building. With one sharp claw, she shredded an opening and walked through the plastic sheet. Ducking down, I passed the barrier and found myself on an unfinished exterior deck.

  The Space Cat leaped off the flooring and landed in a narrow space between two short retaining walls. I joined her on the raw dirt and we walked to the end of the walls. Beyond was a short rise up to grass level. Further out was a broad expanse of grass ending at the wall. It was a long way.

  I stood bent over looking at the top of the grass and imagined the sensors, guards who were still agitated from earlier, and the dogs roaming the grounds. My original idea had been to secretly enter and leave undetected. At this point, I’d given up any hope of stealth.

  A trickling of water caused me to look down. Loana was voiding her bladder in the dirt. Now I’d have to dodge the sensors and the dogs while leaving a trail of cat scent. The Space Cat looked over her shoulders and sashayed up the rise towards the grass. There was no alternative path so, as I raced forward and passed her, the damp earth caked the bottom of my boots. I topped the rise at a jog while pulling the hood of my Knight’s doublet down.

  The sensor beams were as easy to see as flashlight beams. Dodging them, I moved quickly across the lawn. A glance back and I saw Loana’s heat signature close behind me. Off to my left a whistle blew and a dog barked. These were answered by another bark and whistle from the other side of me. To generate this rapid response, the security system had to be equipped with pressure sensors. I might be virtually invisible, but I still had weight.

  The final distance to the wall, I did in a sprint. Hopefully, I could get to the other side and meet my ride before the police converged on me. Any hope for a secret meeting was vanishing as the barking grew closer. I started to make out individual voices as they closed in on my position.

  I leaped and gripped the top of the wall. Before I could get a read on the wall lasers, a weight momentarily pressed down on my shoulders. Loana, after using me as a step, took a position on top of the narrow wall. She sat up right licking her paw ignoring the security beams which had locked on her. I pulled and rolled over the top. Landing on the other side, I looked up and the big Space Cat was turning around creating an even larger profile.

  I heard the dogs and their handlers on the other side of the wall. Loana answered them with a hiss, rocked back, and leaped. The last sounds were the dogs’ fading barks and the curses of their handlers. To security and the delicate olfactory senses of the dogs, the only intruder had been a Space Cat out for an early morning stroll.

  Chapter 7

  The pickup truck slowed and I jumped into the bed. It picked up speed leaving the Druid compound behind. Three blacks away, Thunder Eagle pulled over just long enough for me to transfer to the cab.

  “Successful night?” she asked as the vehicle turned down a ramp.

  “Not as successful as I’d like,
” I replied while stifling a yawn, “How far to the safe house?”

  “You were asleep on the drive over,” she replied, “It’s on level three. Not far.”

  “Any news on the Ambassador’s troops?” I asked.

  “There are a lot of them. Way more than you’d expect for a diplomat mission,” she replied confirming my earlier suspicion, “I’ve asked around. So far I’ve got leads on two of their bases. Tomorrow, the Vice President of Procurement will have a look at them.”

  “Who is the V.P. of Procurement and Vice President of what?” I asked.

  “Snow Industries, an enterprise specializing in shipping and storing products for high tech companies,” she replied, “Arna Thorsten, V.P. of Procurement. Nice to meet you.”

  “Oh, it’s our cover story. Nice to meet you too Miss V.P.,” I replied, “So what’s my title?”

  “Ah, I don’t assign positions,” she said hesitating, “Look over there. Our company’s headquarters.”

  The pickup had entered a light industrial area. We passed older buildings with names prominently displayed on aging signs. As we drove, the buildings fell into decay and the signs went from legible to broken or fallen. Farther down the road, buildings on both sides of the street suddenly became like new. Construction equipment dotted the narrow strips between the facades and the street and bright street lights reflected off of new paint and facing material.

  “We took a temporary lease on a rehabbed office space,” Thunder Eagle stated, “The owner likes the extra money. We’ll have to vacate once he sells the entire complex to a large corporation. Until then, it’s our place of business.”

  As she spoke, we turned a corner and pulled into a wide drive. A garage door rose and she let our pickup truck drift into a ten vehicle, below ground, parking complex.

  Two vans, one grey the other white, stood next to a magnetic sign machine. The other side of the garage held three motorcycles and two sedans. Thunder Eagle pulled into an empty space in the center.

  “What no sports cars?” I teased.

  “Fire Dove has it,” she replied, “He’s Snow Industry’s Marketing Manager. According to him, he needs it for appearances.”

  “What’s my title?” I asked.

  She ignored me or didn’t hear me. Either way, she jumped from the cab of the truck and led us to a set of concrete stairs. All the way without saying a word in reply.

  Warlock met us at the top of the stairs.

  “You look beat, Lieutenant,” she observed.

  She was right. Other than a two-hour drug induced nap, I hadn’t slept since early morning yesterday.

  “Any success contacting the Ander El Aitor?” I asked.

  “Stone Angel managed to contact the GSO and they put him in touch with a Marine Corporal whose Mother is in ill health,” she replied, “He’ll need regular updates on her condition.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is her condition serious?” I replied.

  “You are tired. The Corporal is an orphan and an undercover Galactic Council Investigative Services agent,” she said with a grin, “We’ve set up a link and he’ll relay our information to an Ensign in the radio room. After him, there’s no specific chain of command. All of the senior officers and section commanders are coming down today to prepare for the Gala.”

  “I’m done in. Which way to my bunk?” I asked the Striker team leader.

  “Down the hall, third door to the right,” she replied pointing me in the correct direction.

  I began to walk away when I remembered, “Say Warlock, what’s my title for Snow Industries?”

  “Facilities Maintenance Technician,” she replied.

  “And what’s my job description?” I inquired.

  “Why Lieutenant, you’re the janitor,” Warlock replied.

  ‘Third door on the left,’ I though as I stumble down the hall in search of a bed.

  The Special Navy Operations’ undercover facility appeared to be empty when I awoke. Stumbling to the small kitchenette, I hunted down a sealed container of food. While munching, I took stock of the room. Trash was piled up in a corner. Figuring it was my job, I tossed the empty box on top of the pile, found a trash receptacle and gathered the discarded items together and placed them in the can.

  I was shoving open a side door with my hip when the pressure of the door lifted. Almost falling out due to the release, I stumbled into the massive arms of Stone Angel.

  “Wow there, Mister Piran,” he said easily standing me upright.

  “Not fully awake yet,” I explained, “Where’s the recycle bin?”

  The big Striker was soaking wet as was the sweat suit that stretched across his broad chest. He pointed to a large box about half a block away.

  “Everyone’s out. I’ll be in the radio room if you need anything,” he said stepping around me and entering the building.

  I hauled the refuse to the bins and separated the items for recycling. On a space station or ship we always turn trash into something we need or save it to be traded in or refilled. It seemed logical to do the same on planet Tres. Janitorial duty done, I walked back to the building.

  Stone Angel’s radio-room was the office suite’s conference room. A long glass topped table had been sectioned off. One end had a big screen and five hand held radios while the other held two small screens, a speaker array and two standing microphones. Between the crowded ends, the Striker had placed a line of big screens. I studied these as I wandered in and realized they were playing live maps of the mega city of Tres.

  Extra desks had been moved into the room. They were strategically place around the glass table to provide a workstation for each section. Each desk had a key pad and a computer tower. The odd thing about the set up was the wires running to and from the screens and computers. These were complimented by bigger cables snaking over the table, down to the floor, and converging into a bundle which plugged into a simple box. I almost tripped over a cable.

  “What no wireless in the building?” I asked carefully lifting my legs to step over another of the fiber optic cables.

  “Oh, the rebuild included hot spots,” the Striker stated leaning back from a desk, “We’re not taking advantage of it as we can’t afford to be hacked. All this is a closed circuit. A bit elementary but sufficient for our purposes.”

  I looked around at the jungle of electronics and the vine like cables. It didn’t look elementary to me in the least. However, I wasn’t a communications expert. According to the Galactic Council Marine Corps, I was barely a basic radioman.

  “A few days ago you gave a briefing on the Jalal family. You mentioned a Colonel Jalal, who personally led the final attack on the Empress’ Palace,” I stated to Stone Angel, “and his twin brother.”

  “Yes. It might be a dead-end in explaining the miss information Council Jalal laid on Warlock,” he said and added, “But, they are an interesting family.”

  “It’s the family I’m interested in,” I said, “Does their history go back far? When did they arrived on Planet Tres?”

  I’d been seeking a reason for Councilor Jalal’s treason. She’d backed the increase in raiding by Pirates in this sector of the Realm, and planned a trap for a Navy ship of war. Now, she’d invited a foreign Ambassador and her military units to operate openly on the planet. Something in her past or her family’s history might give me an explanation. Stone Angel despite his powerful physique was a Master Gunner and in charge of gathering intelligence for the Striker team. In short, he was in possession of a very large intellect. I hoped, he’d help me find some answers.

  “The family was involved in space trading when Planet Tres was in the early stages of erection,” he said typing on a key board and scanning through a few pages, “Ah, here’s the report. Their route had them traveling between a Mercantile Station and Tres hauling construction supplies, workers and consumables.”

  “Sounds like a pretty mundane start for a dynasty,” I observed.

  “It was until year three. The reports are scar
ce, but I found a reference to a group of refugees,” the Striker said leaning back and crossing his ankles on the glass top table.

  “Refugees? Are you sure they weren’t settlers?” I asked, “There were a lot of families migrating to the new planet. If I remember my history.”

  “This was about two years before the planet was ready for settlers,” Stone Angel stated, “After the refugee mention, the Jalal’s brought down hydroponic farming structures. They also bought three new transport ships and opened the first trading company on Planet Tres. All in the span of a year.”

  “That would require a hefty investment,” I ventured, “Any idea where the Pesetas came from?

  He shrugged his wide shoulders and shook his head to indicate no.

  I was thinking about the Dilshad’s, however, their raiding at the time was confined to Planet Dos and the space around it. The branch of the family running a restaurant and gambling establishment on Planet Tres was in no position to finance such rapid growth.

  “I suppose the city’s expansion over the years swallowed the hydroponic farming structures,” I ventured.

  “In fact, the farm structures were constructed in what’s now a national park,” he replied, “The farm was built an infeasible distance from the city. And so, the Jalal’s had to use shuttles to bring food in for the growing population. Once the terra-transformation was completed and crops could be grown on dirt farms, the hydroponic process and its location made it unprofitable. According to reports, the farm was abandon just before the Great Schism.”

  “I’d like to have a look at those structures,” I said.

  My parents were Druids and my Clan members, for the most part, become Druids, warriors or farmers. My interest was partially from an agrarian prospective but also from a question about the logistics. Why invest in expensive farming equipment only to place the farm far from the designated population center?

  “Let me do some research,” Stone Angel replied, “I’ll see if I can isolate the area. Shouldn’t be too difficult. It’s number 1 on the Historic Register.”