Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard Page 9

  I pulled out my Knight Protector of the Clan doublet and trousers. It was difficult to pull on the clothing while lying in a ditch and trying to stay hidden. My hope was the CAP had other aircraft on its mission profile and not a small biological entity

  In my struggles to pull on the trousers, my eyes shifted from the sky to the ground in front of me. Although leaves and dirt had piled up, the shape of a concrete wall was unmistakable. As the doublet slid over my head and the hood dropped, I thought it funny. I’d been looking for ruins of the hydroponic farm and all the while I was standing on them.

  The second craft to top the hill was a full size Shuttle. Sections of armor bristled around it at critical points. You can’t fully armor a Shuttle for planet sided duty but, you could extend the protection with light weight plates. Placed away from the ship with thin arms, the armor would cause incoming to explode early before reaching the ship itself. The ship executed a tight circle before dropping quickly to the valley floor.

  I recognized the black with red and tan stripes of the combat uniforms. They didn’t have Prods this time. They toted assault rifles. A team of six poured from the Shuttle and they fanned out. Next off the ship were two women. One, a Sergeant, began checking and adjusting the placement of the security detail. Once confident in the security, she turned and said something to the other woman. That woman walked back into the Shuttle. A few moments later, she and another woman appeared. This woman, I recognized. Ambassador Brigitte, like me, had come to tour the number one site on Plant Tres’ historical register.

  However, the Ambassador wasn’t dressed in her gown and elaborate headdress. She’d changed into a uniform and was sporting four stars on her collars. Ambassador Brigitte, or rather, General Brigitte of the Empress’ Royal Constabulary walked purposely down the ramp and headed in my direction. four of the security elements flowed forward on either side of her. I felt as if they were about to play capture the flag with me. I was out numbered and out gunned. Fortunately, the Ambassador stopped about half way to me.

  She dropped to her knees and bowed her head. I watched as her security turned outward giving their principal some privacy while she, what prayed? It resembled a praying position and the time she remained seemed long enough to repeat a missive. Eventually, she rose, turned slowly and strolled back to the shuttle.

  They boarded quickly and sealed the hatches. The shuttle lifted and disappeared behind the hills. A last loop and the GunShio chased after its charge. I was along in the quiet of the valley but my mind wasn’t at peace.

  It was easy to locate where Ambassador Brigitte had knelt. Two areas of crushed grass for her knees and two light depressions of the vegetation where her feet touched. I aligned myself in the proper direction and surveyed the area. At first I couldn’t see any cause for the prayer. Grass, lower than the surrounding area, formed an enormous circle. It’s why I didn’t see it at first. If I didn’t have the General / Ambassador unwittingly showing me the shape, I might have missed it.

  The circle didn’t tell me anything but the small shape at my feet did. It was marked by low grass about a body’s length long and two shoulders’ width wide. The exact shape of an airlock. The kind used at the Heart Plant temples on the Druid homeland.

  I paced to the center of the circle of low grass and dropped to my knees. With bare hands, I began to dig in the soft soil. Under the layer of grassy topsoil, I found a thin strata of clay. It cracked under my punch exposing a thick layer of sand. Scooping away the sand took some work but, eventually, I found a compacted field of organic material.

  Using both hands, I dug into the material. The aroma of ancient mulch hit me fast and I rocked almost tipping over. My head swam as I inhaled the musty scent. The sea salt fragrance was muted by decay but the smell was unmistakable. It was the remainder of a White Heart Plant.

  Images blurred my vision. Druids fighting crewmen and a paralyzing sense of fear overwhelmed me. I don’t know how long I knelt with the mulch pressed against my nose. The spell broke when a light painfully shoved aside the images.

  The late afternoon sun’s rays reflected off a snow capped mountain. Between the strong light and the reflective surface, they enhanced the rays into beams. Those beams brought me back to the present.

  Reverently, I smoothed the mulch, carefully replaced the layer of sand and reset the clay as you would pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Finally, I tamped down the top soil going so far as to place individual stalks of grass back in place. Once satisfied I’d corrected my desecration of the White Heart’s grave, I bowed my head.

  I didn’t pray. The Heart Plants aren’t gods. They are in a way sentient beings and Druids are infused with their pollen. It gives those chosen, of which I am not one, the ability to see the thoughts of fellow Druids and Space Cats. As well, some minor mind control over non-Druids. In return, the Plants provide rich air for our species while traveling, working and living in space. So, as if it were the resting place for an honored yet distant relative, I said a few words before rising on unsteady legs.

  I stumbled to the trail and located the motorcycle. I was dizzy from the unexpected fragrance and its heady and emotional effects. Resting longer then was wise, I didn’t clear the bike from the narrow trail until well after dark. At the inn, I found my room and crashed forgetting to set the alarm.

  The natural sun crept in my window and I awoke from a deep but troubled sleep. It felt as if I’d been drugged.

  Memories from the deceased White Heart Plant played in my head and I only nibbled at the fine country breakfast. A vision of a mutiny with Druids slaughtering a crew flashed across my mind. Then, the ship damaged and a young White Heart Plant in danger. Desperately, a signal and a rescue by another ship. Boxes of gold transferred from one ship to another. Then, a long fearful wait. Finally, another ship, big enough for the juvenile White Heart to be transferred to it. Eventually, a planet, dry and barren, and a dome for protection. But the fear remained and for defense, the Druids were tasked with being the strongest ever. And to lead then, one was chosen to be the hardiest among them.

  My bacon and eggs were cold and I shoved the plate away. I couldn’t decipher the memory, or vision, whatever you’d call it. It was a mad collection of scenes and I had no frame of reference for them. I paid for the partially eaten breakfast and checked out of the inn. The highway, the speed, and the wind in my face finally cleared my head. I had twelve hours of isolation ahead and I planned to use them wisely. Wisely by not thinking about anything. The open road stretched out before me.

  The sky was dark as I took the highway up to level one. Tres this late in the evening had little traffic. I was grateful for that as my reaction time was down to nil after pushing through the day. Two down ramps later, I turned onto the road facing the SNO safe house. I didn’t remember the turn, just Fire Dove helping me off the motorcycle. He gave me a gentle nudge towards the stairs and a promise to bring in my bags.

  I remember seeing my Dress Whites hanging in my room as I fell into bed. The ghost vibrations from the motorcycle kept me awake for a few minutes. Once I’d reasoned I was actually in bed rather than about to fall asleep on the highway, I let go. I dreamed of fear and the need for secrecy and defense.

  Chapter 10

  Sometime late in the morning, I stumbled out of my room and found a conference taking place in the kitchenette.

  “From the serial number off the generator,” Stone Angel was saying, “we know it was purchased by the Jalal estate about fifteen years ago.”

  “No joy there,” Warlock replied, “Councilor Jalal was only about fifteen years old so she couldn’t have bought it.”

  “But her family did,” I said stepping in from the hallway, “I believe the entire Jalal Clan is involved in a conspiracy. They want the return of the Empress’s Empire.”

  “What do you base that on, Lieutenant?” the team leader challenged.

  “Because the Ambassador is a Constabulary General, not a diplomat,” I stated, “And I believe the ELF is a beaco
n to bring in her fleet with the express purpose of taking over Planet Tres.”

  “Wow there, J-Pop, that’s quit a leap,” Fire Dove warned.

  “The Lieutenant is right,” Stone Angel added, “from my research everything points to a long running conspiracy to get control of the Tres government. Now with the arrival of the Ambassador, we’re seeing signs of their plan.”

  “Actually it’s a good plan,” Thunder Eagle added, “There are a lot of people on Tres who hold a grudge against the Galactic Council. The fighting during the Great Schism ravished the planet. Every resident has ancestors who died during the war. Some wouldn’t protest the return of the Empress.”

  “The people can’t blame the Galactic Council,” Heavy Rain said, “The Empress had a lot to do with the fighting. She started it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I stated, “People will blame the closest entity. They know the Galactic Council so they blame the council. If the Empress was around, she’d get their ire. As the saying goes, ‘familiarity breeds contempt’.”

  “I’ve sent the space zones where the ELF signal is visible,” Stone Angel announced, “The Ander El Aitor can’t go on offense without a command staff but they can scan the area. At least, they’ll know if something shows up in those sectors.”

  “So what’s left?” Warlock asked.

  “We attend the Gala then get our Deep Space GunShip off the BattleShip. After that, we get back to Special Navy Operations,” I said, “We’ll dump the data on them and let the brass sort it out.”

  “Ah, if you remember, Lieutenant, our shore leave was more than a suggestion,” Warlock stated, “I don’t see us getting travel orders for off planet.”

  “Well, I’ve made other arrangements,” I assured her, “With the information we have, it’s better to get forgiveness later then wait for the Councilor to allow us to leave. Besides, with all the BattleShip’s command here, we can bluff our way through once were on the Ander El Aitor.”

  “So the team’s packing up and you and I are leaving the Gala early?” the Striker team leader asked and answered her question, “I like it. Okay people, by tomorrow afternoon, I want all this gone. Wipe it and sell it or deep six it. I don’t want any sign we were operating out of this facility.”

  “I suggest a last night on Tres party,” Fire Dove suggested.

  “No one goes out,” Warlock stated, “We’ll order in pizza and beer.”

  “That’s an issue for me,” Thunder Eagle said, “I’m still sorting out the locations of the Constabulary forces.”

  “Pizza first, recon second,” Warlock ordered smiling for the first time.

  I woke up late the next morning. After a cup of coffee, I went for a run with two of the Strikers. We arrived back at the SNO safe house to find Stone Angel loading up one of the vans.

  “Most everything’s erased,” he said, “I thought I’d sell this equipment and get J-Pop back some of his Pesetas.”

  “Much appreciated,” I said, “Are we set on a rally point?”

  “Aye Sir. We’ll meet at a park,” the big guy replied, “It’s about half way between the arena and the Space Port.”

  I thanked the Strikers for the workout and went to my room. There, I typed Nasrin Dilshad’s man about getting us off planet.

  ‘Sho, need transportation courtesy of Nasrin,’ I typed.

  ‘This evening. How many in your party?’ the reply came back.

  ‘6 plus guests,’ I wrote figuring it would be better for us to allow for some extra bodies.

  ‘Glad to help. Meet transportation on level 4, at the farmer’s market,’ Sho typed back.

  At the farmer’s market on level 4? Our rally point was on level one. Well I couldn’t be picky. I needed a smuggler and I’d take what I could get. Once I’d secured transportation, I stretched out on the bed.

  Visions of a stricken ship invaded my brain. Gripping fear and an incessant desire to survive flushed the ship’s dilemma from my mind. I awoke in a sweat. I swear, I could smell a White Heart Plant.

  It was late in the afternoon and Councilor Jalal’s Gala to Salute the Military was just a few hours away. After my nap, I spent the day collecting trash from the entire safe house and depositing the bags in the proper receptacles. I was, after all, the team’s Facilities Maintenance Technician.

  I took a long, hot shower before dressing in my whites. In the hall, Fire Dove whistled and winked at me.

  “Looking very Navy there, Sir,” he teased, “Even your strap is formal.”

  The Clan Strap was encased in starched white cloth to match my uniform. It shouldn’t stand out. Many people who spend their lives in space always carried extra gear. At the Gala, I imagined, I wouldn’t be the only one.

  Warlock was the picture of a Marine Corps’ recruitment poster in her dress blue uniform. On her chest were five rows of ribbons with a row of medals for bravery hanging stately below the final row. I was a little embarrassed by my weak two ribbon display. On her arms were 4 hash marks denoting her sixteen years of service in the Corps.

  I was also a little jealous. Shoving down my feelings, I inspected her uniform. Nothing was out of place, not a wrinkle, no flags, she was squared away.

  “Good evening, Lieutenant,” the highly decorated Striker said snapping up a hand salute.

  Crisply, I returned her salute and said, “Master Sergeant, I am impressed.”

  She eyed my two wee ribbons and cocked an eyebrow.

  It was minor but it still irked me. My service records were sealed. While it really wasn’t an issue, I would have liked to show off my four hash marks and my four rows of ribbons with a couple of medals for bravery. What was I doing? Playing a game of whose was bigger. I shook off the thought but one hit me in the face. Warlock beat me. She was a Master Sergeant while I’d been a Sergeant and she’d seen more action. Warlock’s was bigger.

  “It’s a long story,” I replied to the unasked question about my ribbons, “Are we ready to go?”

  “Heavy Rain has the limo in the garage,” Warlock replied.

  “Limo?” I asked this time it was my eye brow raising with a question.

  “It would be unsightly for us to arrive at Councilor Jalal’s Gala on a motorcycle,” she stated.

  “I agree,” I said waving for her to proceed me.

  “No Sir, R.H.I.P.,” she said waving for me to go first.

  A smart officer doesn’t argue protocol with a senior Sergeant. Besides, rank-does-have-its-privilege.

  The limo was black and long. Heavy Rain in keeping with an unauthorized Special Navy Operations mission, was dressed in a gray chauffer’s suit. Except, with his size, he resembled a bodyguard more than a driver. He even held the door for me adding a tilt of his cap as I climbed in. After seating me, he rushed around and held the door for Warlock.

  “Nice Ride,” I commented as Heavy Rain piled his bulk into the driver’s seat.

  “Look in the compartment behind the front seats,” he suggested as the limo climbed the ramp out of the garage.

  I leaned forward and pulled open the padded access door. Inside the compartment were two GCMP 45s with extra kinetic magazines.

  “Accessories for the rich and famous?” I asked.

  “You should see what’s in the trunk,” the Striker said giving me a wink in the rear view mirror.

  I turned to Warlock and asked, “Is the team clear on the rally point and the need for alternative transportation to the farmer’s market?”

  We’d decided to switch vehicles leaving the original at the rally point and taking another to the smuggler’s meeting on level 4. While we weren’t under suspicion by the Tres police, as far as anyone knew, we wanted to play it safe.

  “Aye, Lieutenant, everyone’s been advised and Fire Dove has it handled,” she answered, “I haven’t heard from Thunder Eagle since she shoved off last night.”

  “Is there reason for concern?” I asked.

  “No. She’s capable of handling herself,” Warlock assured me, “If she�
�s snooping around the Constabulary, she may not be able to report. I left orders with Fire Dove to track her down if she hasn’t contacted Stone Angel in another hour.”

  “Then Master Sergeant, let’s go enjoy the Gala,” I said as the limo pulled up behind a line of limos and sedans.

  The stadium entrance was on level 3 and a straight drive across town from the SNO safe house. Heavy Rain eased up and stopped.

  “Please wait, Sir,” he said as he slid out of the driver’s door.

  For a big guy he moved quickly and soon stood at my door. It opened and he stood to the side.

  “Have a pleasant evening, Sir,” he said with another touch to the brim of his cap.

  I stepped out of the limo. Bright lights flashed and a crowd broke out in applause and oohs and ahs. It felt as if I were on the red carpet for the premiere of a movie. Except, I wasn’t a star and had never attended a premiere nor wanted to attend one. Looking back into the limo, I saw that Warlock had made her escape out the far side of the vehicle. She was nowhere to be seen.

  The curb was a smooth ramp from the road to a broad sidewalk. I guess it was so people getting out of limos or cabs wouldn’t trip on a curb. I strolled up the ramp bathed in cameras flashing and shouts from adoring fans. Looking to my left and right, I noticed Admirals, Commodores, Generals and Colonels departing their own limos. In all the uniforms rolling onto the sidewalk, I didn’t lay eyes on any uniform ranking lower than a few Captains and Majors. And they were aids to the big brass.

  I decided the grand entrance was for them and ducked under a velvet rope. In the crowd, I became just another cheering fan of the military. You’d have thought at least some of the crowd would acknowledge me. They didn’t. As a matter of fact, the people cheering and waving their arms didn’t have smiles of joy on their faces. The cheers and assorted verbal accolades were delivered almost automatically. It appeared as if they were going through the motions, just doing a job.