Art by Rain Elegy
Previously. Chapter 19 “Let’s Step Out” https://onthebeachatnightalone.com/2025/12/02/fiction-the-girassian-debacle-chapter-19-lets-step-out/
Summary of first Secton of 18 Chapters: Our Story so Far: https://onthebeachatnightalone.com/2025/12/02/fiction-the-girassian-debacle-our-story-so far/
A glint off to the side of the Plaza caught Maureau’s eye. A dozen or more Emissaries, their helmets, a rainbow of colors, caught the dawn-like light as they moved along the periphery of the crowd. People skirted before them, giving the squadron a wide berth. They towered above the throng. Their cape matched their helmets’ color, except for the cape of one Emissary who had a white cape and titanium-colored helmet and armor.
They came to a halt and in their stillness they looked like statues in a park, except for one, an Emissary in aquamarine armor and helmet, on the end of the line and swayed to the side, back and forth. Ever so slightly, but distinctive compared to the others.
Suddenly, the Portal flared like a stirred ember. People shouted in alarm when the Emissaries brightened with an intensity of a port worker’s welding torch. Maureau’s vision flashed white and, looking away from the Emissaries, he let the visual spots resolve.
Recovering from momentary flash blindness, Maureau looked up and saw the Portal’s surface swirling as if vigorously stirred. Starting at the middle of the Portal, an envelope of molten light parted like a theater curtain, behind it, darkness. Two swirling whirlpools of light drained away from one another towards the Portal’s opposite poles. It looked as if two black holes faced one another. As the last surface light swirled into oblivion, the Emissaries’ eye-searing brightness blinked off. The light of the city was provided only by street lamps and buildings, casting the city in deep shadows.
Paying no attention to the Portal’s activation, the speaker maintained her pounding, insistent cadence, without pause. She became even more urgent when the city fell into darkness.
The glowing, oblong pearl of light had transformed into a black pit suspended in the center of the Mars Gateway. Maureau realized how similar it appeared to the null-void. This same volume of space was shared in the Gateway Portal half a galaxy away off of Planet Girassia.
The glow of forward fusion rockets appeared in the darkness at both ends of the Portal, as if rising out of a surface. The rest of the vessel followed and, moving across the pool of absolute black, passed one another heading to the opposite pole.
Steadily, the lights of the Girassian Portal City came into focus, as if out of a mist. The Portal had become a window between two Gateways, their cities shining into the Portal and illuminating fractal tunnels at the poles. Functioning as an interstellar lock for voyages between Mars and Girassia, ships transitioned within the Portal between two tunnels of collapsed space. A stream of vessels became visible moving in the tunnels towards and away from the shared space. A kaleidoscopic pattern multiplied the traffic within an endless depth seen in facing mirrors.
From their side, Girassians looking into the Portal space might be able to identify the longshoreman assembled on Embassy Plaza. The massed spacers would be distinctive in their orange jump suits. Maureau Looking out past the Portal towards earth, Maureau could see space tugs swarming around the ships emerging into Solar space from the face of the Portal. I expect the Girassians are wondering what such a large group of longshoremen is doing gathered together while there is such an efflux of shipping into our Port. At least I wonder about the timing of this rally.
A nebula glowed beyond the Girassian Gateway. Primarily red, with patches of blue, it cast light into Mars Portal City. The Plaza and surrounding buildings became tinted in an eerie crimson with deep shadows.
Maureau noticed the Marines, mouths agape. “The Portal is unbelievable,” he said. “After all my visits, I still am in awe of it.”
“Did you see what happened to the Emissaries?” Gray said. “They lit up like the sun when the Portal activated.”
“I did. Have no idea what made them flare like that,” he said.
“With technology like the Portal, it makes sense they would use it for themselves. No wonder people think they’re super beings.”
“Technology not understood appears to be magic to most people. But I wonder how much their appearance is based on technology,” Maureau said.
Gray looked at him quizzically.
“I think we’re dealing with something way beyond any scientific understanding,” he said.
#
The awe of seeing ships move through the fractal tunnels made the time the Portal stayed open feel longer than the five minutes it took to move three dozen ships through it. After the last ships plunged into the tunnels, the Portal’s shell reconstituted itself starting at the termini where molten light spun out of the fractal patterns and formed two sheets that drew together and enveloped the ovoid Portal. The egg-shaped window into another part of the galaxy was again closed, covered by its shell of roiling light.
There was a disturbance behind the speaker. Behind the dais, a group pushed their way through the crowd the front below the speaker. They were easy to spot in black shirts worn over their orange, dock overalls. Balaclavas revealed only their eyes. People parted as they moved away from the speaker. With this movement, six Emissaries broke off from the unit and moved into the crowd.
“The Emissaries are headed towards the stage,” Maureau said.
“I fear they’re moving more towards us than the stage,” Song said.
“Both groups are headed our way,” Gray said.”
Lieutenant Song stayed focused on the crowd. “This is not good. Not good at all. Why are they coming into the crowd? There’s only six of them? That’s not enough for crowd control.”
Song looked back and forth between the approaching blackshirts and the Emissary detachment. “They both look like they’re coming in our direction,” she said.
The orator continued haranguing the crowd, shouting and thumping the podium causing the sound system to buzz. She pointed at the Emissaries. “Your work supports the Portal, but they do not respect it! Look, see they try to intimidate you on the celebration of your day. We are talking about your livelihood. And they send in shock troops to shut down our gathering.
“But we should be the ones shutting things down. Shutting down the Emissaries, by closing the port! Stop servicing ships. That will get their attention. ” People around the team gave a raucous cheer, a sloppy exclamation with no real anger behind it.
“What would they accomplish by going on strike?” Maureau asked Song.
“Chaos. She’s a National Progressive,” Song said. “Remember meeting their leader at Alpha One? Rance Yeoman. They want to take power from the Emissaries. That goal drives their party.”
A group near the stage started a chant. In tight unison, “Give us, free-dom! Give us, free-dom!” cut through the ambient noise which had built with the advance of the Emissaries. The chant sounded well-practiced and increased in volume as people joined in. Soon after it started, half the chaotic Plaza joined in an asynchronous, muddled chant that bounced off the surrounding buildings. The last syllable lingered and sounded like a terminal thump. “Give us, free-dum…bbb…! Give us free-dum…bbb…!”
The crowd started to compress with the movement away from the advancing Emissaries. A din of distress rose. Along with the chant, the speaker’s voice disappeared in the cacophony. Song motioned for the away team to back up. “This crowd is becoming ugly. Sir, I advise getting out of here.” They started to move sideways away from the blackshirts.
The Emissaries arrived before the blackshirts reached the London team. Making a line between the London team and the blackshirts, the six Emissaries acted as an escort, an unrequested escort.
Between the Emissaries, Maureau could see the blackshirts move to the edge of the throng remaining amidst the rally attendees. One of them reached into a bag at their hip and pulled out what looked like a black pyramid. The blackshirt avoided its edges and points by pinching the pyramid surfaces with gloved fingers.
As if cheering the blackshirts on, the crowd increased the chant’s volume. “Give us, free-dum…bbb…! Give us, free-dum…bbb…!” reverberated off the embassies.
“We run this spaceport. It should be ours!” the speaker shouted, for an instant, audible over the chant.
“Those blackshirts have some sort of projectile,” Song said.
“And they brought them right to us,” Gray said.
The Emissaries stepped towards the blackshirts. One, in aquamarine armor, ignited their plasma blade and, with feet spread shoulder-width apart and knees bent, held it upright in both hands. The blade’s plasma stream coiled around itself to one meter above the hilt. It glowed the aquamarine color as the Emissary’s armor. The other five Emissaries followed, igniting their plasma blades. Each plasma blade glowed with the color of its wielder’s armor. Even at ten meters distance from their line, Maureau felt a wave of heat wash over him. The air sizzled.
The retreating crowd left the armed blackshirt exposed. They rotated their head to sight the pyramid and then launched it with a flick of the wrist. The instant it left their hand, the pyramid spun into a blur and accelerated out of sight. The other blackshirts followed launching pyramids. Suddenly, dozens of unseen missiles whistled through the air.
“What the…” Maureau ducked as Emissaries blocked the barrage, their plasma blades producing a blurred wall of bright color. The blocked projectiles produced a chain of explosions. The marines drew their sidearms and closed around Maureau. Song stepped in front of him, Gray to his side. The marines could see no target to shoot at behind the barrier of explosive colors.
A hissing cut through the clamor as the Emissaries held ground, their whirling plasma blades deflecting and incinerating invisible missiles. The electric odor of burnt metal permeated the air. The chant stopped. Stunned observers, momentarily confused by the explosions, stood motionless. Maureau saw something streak by in his peripheral vision, like a darting floater. Someone’s scream cut through a sudden outburst of shouting and people began to run from the Plaza. The Emissaries who had remained at the edge of the crowd started to move forward.
The Emissary with the glowing aquamarine helmet and armor turned to Song and Maureau. “We will move towards the stairwell to get you safe. Stay behind us.” Before the Emissary could turn their head back, a pyramid hit their chest armor with a grinding hiss and Gray reflexively thrust out her left arm and leg towards Maureau as the pyramid skipped off the metal. She blocked the ricocheting projectile.
Blood sprayed the Plaza. Gray stumbled forward with Song spinning to catch her. Having sliced through muscle and artery, a pyramidal object embedded into her femur. It was made of a black metal with razor sharp six-centimeter edges. Stunned, Gray’s legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground with Song bracing the fall.
Maureau waved to the closest marine. “Give me your belt!” Rapidly he removed the holster from the belt he was given and wrapped the belt around Gray’s thigh. Tightening the belt with all his strength made Gray groan, but the spurting stopped.
One of the Emissaries saw Gray get hit and waved to the Emissaries moving in from the periphery. They moved forward rapidly like wind-blown snow snaking on the pavement with their ignited blades waving side to side. When the extra Emissaries started to move rapidly the attackers broke off their barrage and disappeared into the scattering crowd. The speaker ducked behind the stage.
The aquamarine Emissary retracted their blade. Blood welled and spilled in a rivulet from the gash in their armor. Despite the apparent injury, they said, “We need to get her aide. I’ve called London for medical assistance. You can put away your sidearms. No one will attack you, now.”
Song looked at the bloody armor. “You also need help.” The Emissary shook their head but said nothing. “Let’s get her off the Plaza.” she said. The Emissary helped Song get Gray up on her feet.
The defensive line of the other five Emissaries kept their blades ignited and upright as they backed towards the shaft from which the London team had entered the Plaza. They tightened their formation to encircle the London’s team.
A window exploded with the sound of thousands of pebbles raining down upon the tiles of the Plaza. The shattering repeated several times. More Emissaries exited the embassies. People ran in every direction, into buildings and down thoroughfares and stairwells, anywhere to get away from the Emissaries.
“So much for stretching our legs, Captain,” Gray squeezed out through her pain. Song braced her, an arm around her waist. Gray swung her right arm around Song’s shoulder, the aquamarine Emissary on her other side to help support her.
With the dispersal of the crowd, seriously injured people became visible where errant missiles had struck. Some were mortally injured.
An Emissary in white armor, scarlet cloak and titanium helmet, strode up to the Emissaries encircling the London team.
“Those blackshirts came here to attack you, not us!” Maureau said.
“We believe you too, were in danger,” the Emissary said. “The blackshirts are unpredictable. The barrier we formed should have protected you.”
Maureau looked over at Gray, hesitated, then said, “It was almost perfect. But, moving towards us brought hell to us.“
“An unacceptable mistake by one of our order. You do not let a missile get through a defensive perimeter.”
“Why don’t you relieve your injured man?” Maureau said.
The leader shook their head. “They are all right. Humiliated, but they have called off assistance.”
Maureau watched Song and the Emissary brace Gray bearing all of her weight on their shoulders. Blood soaked her pants leg below the knee. The aquamarine Emissary’s wound also continued to well with blood that dripped down their armor onto the Plaza tiles. Maureau thought the blood to be odd, glittering with a metallic quality, somewhat gold in tint.
“I would not give them the option of refusing care,” Maureau responded. He ordered a marine to take over for the Emissary, who did not protest now. Upon being relieved, the Emissary stumbled forward onto one knee and two Emissaries hurried to attend to them.
Upon reaching the stairway shaft from the dock level, Gray groaned, a guttural sound, and her eyes rolled back as she lost consciousness. Maureau saw Gray’s pants smoking. The pyramid was dissolving, turning into a fluid that dissolved bone and clothing. It loosened and the free pyramid fell out of Gray’s wound, dissolving into a black pool of toxic fluid. The Plaza tiles started to scorch.
They helped Gray lay down. Nearby lift doors opened and three of London’s star-sailors exited with a gurney. Gray clenched her teeth while the marines helped lift her onto the gurney. The crew hurried the gurney to the elevator. As the door closed, one of the medic team prepared an intravenous line.
Feeling calm, Maureau marveled over the Emissaries’ hubris. He felt no intimidation. As he turned away to join his team he spoke over his shoulder. “You have problems here. I will await your summons.”
As he hurried down the stairs, he heard the white-armored Emissary call behind him, “Yes, we have problems. You will learn they are so much more than a mere riot in the Portal City.”