A Star Rising (The Star Scout Saga Book 1) Page 3

  He rolled his eyes upward to stare through the sylcron overhead. No stars were visible, only the inky black curtain of n-space. However, Dason knew that Out There, the planet Veni swung around its G-type star.

  Veni, enveloped in clouds, and shrouded in mystery. It was what had happened on that planet almost twenty years ago that now raised its ugly head and threatened not only Dason’s novice status, but of any hope of ever becoming a vaunted Star Scout.

  Avoiding the stares of his teammates, he kept his head down, absolutely sure that their looks would hold nothing but incrimination.

  Once they had gone to hyper drive and entered null space, Dason squeezed into the scouter’s tiny hygieno, letting the vibro-sonic cleanse himself and his uniform as best as the barely adequate device could.

  Picking at his somewhat clean sleeve, Dason thought that while his outside was now unsoiled, once his secret was out, those around him would consider him unclean on the inside.

  Unfit to wear even the plain novice Star Scout camouflage field uniform.

  They would shun him, cast him out, never again giving him the chance to wear the Arrow of Light, as had his father before him.

  Dason was grateful that his teammates had taken seats to the front of the small troop compartment. The last thing he wanted was to engage in small talk, and especially to try to come up with evasive answers to awkward questions.

  The other good thing was that Grolson had made Sami the pilot in charge for their trip back to Terra. Even a few hours without having to endure Sami’s constant jibes was a stroke of luck and right now, Dason was grateful for even the tiniest of blessings.

  While his teammates dozed, Dason too sought the peace of sleep but just when he began to nod off, he was jolted awake by the thought that he would soon face the Scoutmaster and his questions.

  The flight from Alistar’s semitropical setting to the blistering reds, browns, and chocolate shades of Terra’s Sonoran Desert took only hours at hyper light speed.

  Flashing through the Earth’s atmosphere, Grolson announced over the small ship’s comms, “Stand by, we’re on final approach. Prepare for immediate debarkation upon engine shutdown.”

  The scouter made a slow arc to starboard, straightened, and settled to the ground. Dason felt a gentle bump as the craft’s landing tripods touched and then eased them down on the landing pad.

  Except for a few clicks and whirring sounds from the ship’s electronics, silence soon replaced the engine’s muted whine, and Grolson gave a wave from the pilot’s pod for the team to disembark.

  Dason waited while the other novices began to exit the vessel. Just before she entered the airlock, Shanon leaned over and whispered sincerely, “Good luck in the inquisitor’s office.”

  He nodded back, the underlying meaning of her analogy quite clear. When the Scoutmaster approved of a novice’s performance, he always praised in public.

  When he delivered bad news such as a tragedy in a novice’s family or dismissal from the program, he always did that in private. Since Dason didn’t have any family, there was only one reason Tarracas would be calling him into his office.

  None of the others had met his eyes or said anything, except Sami, who gave him a little smirk as he passed by.

  Grolson strode from the pilot’s pod and beckoned to Dason. “Follow me.”

  Dason rose, went through the airlock and moments later, they were through the ship’s outer hatch and striding across the landing field. They skirted around two scouters and marched toward the domes that marked the academy grounds.

  The desert sun blazed down, and it wasn’t long before Dason was sweating under his camo field uniform.

  He wished he could take his torso vest off, but that would cause him to slow and Grolson was moving at such a determined pace that Dason knew that any delay would draw the Instructor Scout’s ire.

  After a few minutes, they were inside the coolness of Glenn Hall. Grolson led Dason to the gleaming bronze door that marked the Scoutmaster’s office. Emblazoned on the door was a broad circle with an inner and an outer ring.

  The outer ring, in shimmering silver lettering, had the novice scout’s motto, To Seek, To Find, To Share.

  The inner circle was a constantly shifting hologram showing scenes of alien worlds that past novices, now Star Scouts in their own right, explored.

  Grolson turned and asked, “You know what to do?”

  Dason swallowed and replied, “Yes, sir. Wait here until called for and then report to the Scoutmaster.”

  Grolson nodded and then firmly said, “Correct, and when you do report, make it a sharp one, mister. Understood?”

  “Clearly, sir,” Dason answered. He had tried to reply in a firm tone, but to his ears, his voice sounded weak, fearful.

  Grolson eyed him for a moment before he reached out to tap on the door pad. In silence, the door slid into the wall. Grolson stepped inside, leaving Dason to grapple with his anxiety.

  Dason could feel his stomach tightening into a constricted knot, forcing the sour and acidic taste of bile into his mouth. He swallowed hard to remove the taste, but it did little to settle his churning stomach.

  The lethal alien viper’s attack had been nerve-wracking; waiting outside the Scoutmaster’s office came a close second.

  The door slid aside, and a firm voice called out, “Enter, Novice Scout Thorne.”

  While the instructors called the novices by their last names, but never by their first names, to the Scoutmaster, they were always “Novice Scout.”

  Dason entered the spacious office, marched forward, stopped, and did a brisk right-facing movement that put him in front of the Scoutmaster’s desk.

  Tarracas had his back turned to him so Dason’s eyes flicked to the wall behind the gleaming cherry wood desk, where high on the wall hung a large Terran Imperium flag.

  Its galactic spiral shimmered in the bright, translucent white light. Draping the larger flag on each side were the smaller Star Scout and school color emblems.

  Just below the flags, emblazoned in glimmering gold letters was the Scout Oath.

  Of my own free will and choice, I solemnly pronounce this oath and do covenant that;

  I will do my best to do my duty at all times, in all places, in all climes, and with all people.

  I will obey all lawful orders of the Imperium and Star Scout Command.

  On whatever star paths I stride and worlds that I visit, I will respect the sanctity of life, taking life only in the defense of myself or for those for whom I hold responsibility.

  I will safeguard the lives of my teammates, holding their lives as sacrosanct as I do my own.

  I will magnify my abilities by keeping myself physically fit, mentally alert, and morally just.

  From my First, to my Last Trail, I will Return with Honor.

  To Dason’s mild surprise, as the rest of the room was quite bare, on the side wall to his right was a beautiful mural that was several times larger than the Imperium flag.

  At another time, Dason might have enjoyed studying the exquisite painting, but now he only registered that it was there and kept his eyes centered straight ahead.

  Tarracas continued to keep his back turned to Dason and seemed deep in thought. Dason dared flick his eyes to the left. Grolson gazed out a large oval window that overlooked the rugged Sonoran Desert.

  That neither acknowledged his presence confirmed Dason’s worst fear—he was no longer a novice scout.

  His past, or rather, his family’s tainted history had caught up with him. He could no longer avoid the punishing questions that would come, evade the consequences of decisions made years ago, but for which Dason would now pay the price.

  The Scoutmaster turned to gaze at Dason. As was his custom, Tarracas was clad in the standard field uniform but without weapons, communicator, or torso vest.

  Dason had heard that some Scoutmasters wore the ceremonial and somewhat ostentatious “black and gold” Star Scout semi-dress uniform while in garrison, but not Tarra
cas.

  He always appeared that if given the order, he could have kit and vest in hand and be ready to hit a star trail within minutes.

  Unassuming, quiet, and small in stature, Tarracas was also the most highly decorated Star Scout to have ever served Out There.

  Medically retired from active service, he was now charged, along with dozens of other Scoutmasters on Terra and elsewhere, with taking untrained, unskilled, and slightly naïve Imperium youth and turning them into humankind’s explorers within the esteemed Star Scout Corps.

  He was a legend within the Corps, but right now, all that mattered to Dason was that he held Dason’s fate in his hands.

  Tarracas turned and peered at Dason with a penetrating stare. Neither his face nor his eyes held any expression. Dason wasn’t sure to take that as a good sign or not.

  Tapping on the small pane of inset sylcron glass on his desk that held his compu screen, Tarracas said, “Star Scout Command requires that I evaluate each Phase Four novice scout’s training and personnel record to ensure that all is in order.”

  Dason stood at ramrod attention but with his knees slightly bent, per the manual of arms protocol. At the mention of his personnel file, he became rigid, his knees locked.

  Tarracas’ s tone told Dason that the Scoutmaster knew the horrible truth.

  “Your birth record did not accompany your preliminary entrance file,” Tarracas stated. “That was not necessary at the time of application because your proctor certified that you were of the appropriate age to enter the novice program.

  “However, Phase Four packets must be complete for the pre-enlistment review, and that includes a registered birth certificate.

  “I contacted the planetary authorities on your home world of Randor to obtain the necessary document. However, they informed me that you were not Randorian born. Your birth world is Earth.”

  He again tapped on his desk’s compu screen. “I now have your Terran birth certificate.”

  Tarracas’ s eyes seemed to bore straight through Dason. “You came to us under the name of Thorne.”

  He stopped, took a small breath while his eyes narrowed, became sharp and questioning. “But the birth record states that you are not Dason Thorne.”

  Tarracas leaned forward just a bit, his eyes holding Dason. “Apparently, you are not who you say you are.”

  Chapter Four

  Star Date 2433.055

  The Office of Scoutmaster Tarracas

  Staring straight ahead, Dason was certain that his heart’s loud thumping must reverberate off the office walls. Why had he ever been so foolish to think that there would be no questions about his family or the past?

  Now, the awful, damning truth had finally caught up to him. There was no escaping reality’s snare that would tighten around him until it led to his dismissal as a novice.

  The next few minutes would tell if he went forward, or if he would be cast out in disrepute, his name tied to a discredited father.

  For Dason, the past, present, and the future now merged into this one moment.

  Tarracas had the last word on whether a novice stayed in the program or not, and he didn’t have to justify his actions—to anyone.

  Though short and slight in build, he had a commanding presence. The instructors often reminded the novices, “You may grow taller than the Scoutmaster, it's doubtful you will ever reach his stature.”

  The Scoutmaster’s dark brown eyes held Dason, and the young man was relieved to see that there wasn’t any anger or incrimination behind those eyes. Instead, there was something else, but Dason couldn’t quite put his finger on the expression.

  “Thorne is your mother’s maiden name,” Tarracas stated. “I need to enter the reason your birth record does not correspond with the information on your application.”

  Dason stood ramrod straight. He couldn’t, wouldn’t shade the truth; no lies, even if it meant expulsion.

  If there was one thing that Dason knew about Tarracas was that he passionately hated lies and falsehoods, whether verbally or in one’s life.

  Dason hesitated to get his thoughts in order before saying, “Yes, my birth world is Terra, but when I was a baby, my mother and I emigrated to Randor.

  “You see, on Randor, when a person reaches accountability age, the custom is that you may choose whatever name suits you.

  “When I turned in my application for the novice program, I used the name I’ve always gone by, Dason Thorne, and not by—” Dason stopped, unsure of what else to say, and unwilling to bring up his father’s name.

  Tarracas brought a hand to his mouth and rubbed at his lips as if contemplating Dason’s explanation. He brought his fingers away and asked, “Is this what your mother wanted?”

  The question stung Dason and he tried to control his emotions but his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “Tanom’s Plague swept Randor, and we lived in a very remote community.”

  He swallowed hard before saying, “My mother died before the medicos could get to her. It was just before I applied for novice status. It was my choice to use Dason Thorne.”

  Tarracas stood stone-still, his eyes never leaving Dason. His shoulders seemed to sag just a bit. “I am very sorry. I didn’t know. For some reason, your proctor didn’t put that information down on your application.”

  He shook his head slightly and his eyes, to Dason, seemed to have sadness while he spoke, “Not that he should have as you are of majority age and parental consent is not required. Still, please accept my apology for broaching such a private matter in such an abrupt manner.”

  Tarracas’ genuine sense of sorrow caused Dason to furrow his brows in surprise. It was rare for Tarracas to display emotion, and for him to do so for someone he didn’t know puzzled Dason.

  Plus, why would he bring Dason’s mother into the conversation? Dason didn’t know and dared not ask as he didn’t want any further questions about his family.

  The moment passed, but Tarracas dashed Dason’s hope of no more inquiries and presented him with the one question that he feared the most. “And what do you know about your father? Star Scout Deklon Marrel.”

  Grolson had been standing off one side, his fingers slowly rubbing at his chin as if he were deep in thought. At the mention of Dason’s father he jerked his head up, stunned surprise evident on his face.

  He hurried across the room to stand close to Dason. “You’re Deklon Marrel’s boy?”

  Dason didn’t answer for several seconds before he replied softly, “Yes sir. I am the son of Star Scout Captain Deklon Marrel.”

  The silence stretched out before Grolson turned to Tarracas. “Sorry Scoutmaster, I didn’t mean to butt in.”

  Tarracas raised a hand and waved off the interruption. “Given the circumstances, understandable,” he replied. He gave Grolson a sideways glance and muttered, “We both have been surprised today.”

  The Scoutmaster moved from behind his desk and motioned for Grolson to follow him across the room. The two stopped in front of a trio of narrow, oblong windows that let in natural, though shaded, sunlight instead of a running stream of holograms which most offices now exhibited.

  They spoke in hushed tones for several minutes. Not daring to turn his head toward the two, but watching out of the corner of his eye, Dason waited, his nervousness increasing with each passing second.

  Dason had no doubt what they discussed. Whether he remained in the program or they dismissed him outright. After a while, Grolson nodded and left the room.

  Tarracas came back to stand behind his desk. His fingers drummed on the gleaming surface, and he stared at Dason as if he were considering several thoughts that ran through his mind.

  “I take it,” he began in a slow and deliberate tone, “that you thought that if you entered your father’s name on your application, the Star Scouts would not accept you into the novice program.

  “Or, perhaps even now, that I would consider your father’s past as a reason to dismiss you?”

  Dason could only nod in an
swer.

  Tarracas stood mute for several seconds, and then, with a small shake of his head he muttered, “Some might say that the child should suffer the father’s sins, but I am not one of those.”

  He motioned toward his compu console. “When I review a candidate’s initial packet, I do not even know the person’s name. There are no personal identifiers in the packet, nothing concerning family or anything similar.

  “What I see are your qualifications such as your mental aptitude scores, your physical agility scores, your physical examination certifying that you are fit to withstand the rigors of the course, your school grades, the endorsement letters from the appropriate school and planetary officials, and your application letter.

  “However, as you’ll recall, you were instructed not to address your letter to any particular Scoutmaster nor were you to provide a signature.

  “Your packet has a random alpha-numeric number assigned by Star Scout Command. Once I make my selection, I notify Star Scout Command according to the assigned numerical identifier and they, in turn, inform the candidate.

  “That’s done so that we very human Scoutmasters are not swayed by personal prejudice.

  “So, Novice Scout Thorne, when I selected you, I did not know beforehand who your parents were and didn’t know until a few hours ago. Does that change your standing in my program?

  “Not one whit!”

  He straightened and peered intently at Dason. “Right now, my immediate concerns regarding you are several, but first I must ensure that the official documentation meets Star Scout standards, and second, that you fulfill the course requirements in all aspects.”

  Dason felt some of his tenseness drain away. The unexpected turn in the conversation left him stunned and almost in disbelief.

  The Scoutmaster must have noticed Dason’s sudden relaxation for he spoke knowingly, “You’ve been worried about this the whole time you’ve been here.”

  Dason swallowed and stammered, “From the moment I received my appointment notice, Scoutmaster.”

  “And your apprehension only grew worse the closer you came to graduation.”

  “Yes, Scoutmaster,” Dason replied almost in a sigh. Dason began to wonder how much more of his soul he would have to bare to Tarracas.