STAR'S HONOR (THE STAR SCOUT SAGA Book 3) Read online

  He took a breath and glanced at Jadar. “After that, we immediately head back to Earth.”

  “Sir, I—” Dason began, but his uncle interrupted and said, “Dason, Colonel Tuul is being more than obliging, so don’t push it, okay?”

  Dason clenched his jaws together and peered from one to the other. He nodded and said in a monotone, “Understood.”

  Just then, the airlock door slid open and out stepped a Star Scout officer in full field uniform. “Bart!” Jadar exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were into making house calls.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Jeremiah Bartley, commander of the battalion of Star Scouts that now scoured this part of the planet looking for signs of XTs and missing scouts cracked a broad smile that befitted his large frame.

  “Jadar, Colonel Tuul, this kind of house call I’m more than willing to make. I thought maybe I’d hustle over here and deliver the news personally. We may have found an XT ship.”

  “What?!” Shar and Jadar exclaimed in unison.

  Bartley held up a hand. “Let me rephrase that, I should say, pieces of an XT ship.”

  “Where?” Shar demanded.

  “There’s a fairly sizeable lake about fifty kilometers planetary west of here, one of my teams found a debris field up on a hillside. They followed the track back into the water.

  “My people are on personal hovercraft, so I’ve called in a couple of scouters to try and do an underwater search. The water looks pretty deep and there’s nothing visible from the surface.”

  He grinned again. “Thought you two might like to go have a look yourselves.”

  Jadar glanced at Tuul with a questioning expression. Tuul was mute for a second, mulling over the invitation before he said, “All right, we’ll go. If you have found an XT ship, the general will have my hide on his wall if I turned down the chance to eyeball the thing.”

  With a grin, Jadar turned to Bartley and gestured at the pilot pod. “You want to drive?”

  “You bet,” Bartley answered. “I’ve heard about these new Zephyrs, been waiting to get my hands on one.”

  “Your battalion will be the first to be outfitted,” Shar said. “You should see an initial push of twelve units to your battalion in the next week or so.”

  “Great,” Bartley said and slid into the pilot seat. He ran his hands over the control panel. “Nice,” he crooned, “very nice, indeed.”

  “Handles and drives the same as the SSLC32 model,” Jadar explained. “But notice the extra controls? They’re for the weapon platforms.”

  Bartley grinned and said, “I’ll try real hard not to push those, but you might want to keep a close watch on me, I’ve always wanted to fire an ion cannon.”

  Looking up at Shar he pleaded, “There’s some nice big boulders where we’re going. Maybe just a small one?”

  “Bart, you’re an incorrigible Scot,” Shar answered, “but the answer is no.”

  Bartley leaned toward Jadar and whispered, “Couldn’t help to try, right?”

  His hands started moving across the control panels, “All right, gentlemen, if you’re not strapped in, don’t blame me for the bloody nose.”

  Winking at Jadar, he waited several seconds until he heard the slapping of acceleration bars across torsos before saying, “Okay, here we go.”

  The Zephyr rose, rotated its nose toward the lowering sun, and darted away. After a few minutes, Bartley pointed ahead, “There’s the lake.

  “See where that blackened area begins near those large squarish boulders in the water? That’s the debris field. Goes from the water several kilometers up the hillside.

  “The metal must have been so hot that it scorched the ground and set trees and brush on fire. I’ve got a team searching the waterline on the lake’s other side to see if there’s debris over there, too.

  “What have you found so far?” Shar asked.

  “It’s like someone went into a recycling scrap yard with one of those giant swivel metal throwers you see that sorts out the various metals, and just started spraying stuff everywhere.

  “The impact must have been cataclysmic because I haven’t seen many big pieces, just a lot of little stuff everywhere.”

  Shar jutted his head forward into the pilot’s pod and asked, “Have you sent this to the ops shop so that they can coordinate with the SciCorps group leader?”

  “Yes, sir. Did that just before I came knocking on your door. They’re rounding up a team. Should be on site, shortly.

  “I’ll set us down here, and have my hovercraft guys pick you up and take you across. I’ve got so many flyers in the air that I’m afraid that someone’s going to play sky bumper cars and get hurt. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure,” Shar replied.

  The Zephyr glided over a small cove and landed at the base of a sloping hillside that ran down to the water’s edge, where tiny waves lapped against the stone-littered shoreline.

  Glancing up the hillside, Dason could make out several stands of trees and numerous whitish boulders that seemed to stick out of the earth. In the near distance was a sharp cleft which appeared to mark a narrow pass through the ring of hills.

  The four scouts trooped from the craft and stood in the waning light to watch several small specks, like tiny wasps, head straight for their position. Seconds later, with a slight whoosh, three hovercraft came to a complete stop just above the ground and settled next to the lake shore, their turbines lowering from a high pitch to a low whine.

  Shar said something in Jadar’s ear and then strode out with Bartley to a waiting craft. With a frown, Jadar turned to Dason and said over the pitch of the turning blades, “You’re to stay with the Zephyr. Colonel Tuul’s orders.”

  Dason opened his mouth to protest, but Jadar turned, jogged out to a hovercraft, and hopped onto the flying platform.

  Seconds later, the three flyers rose straight up, tipped their blades at a slight angle, and then sped away toward the distant hills and the supposed XT discovery. In moments, they disappeared around the jutting shoulders of the nearby hills.

  Dason stood watching, unsure of what to make of Colonel Tuul’s surprising and unexpected order to stay behind. He glanced at the setting sun; its green-tinted rays were fading fast behind the hilltops, causing long shadows to reach out and almost encompass the Zephyr.

  Dason clambered aboard the craft and entered the pilot pod. At the very least, he could monitor the chatter among the search teams and get some idea of what it was that they had stumbled on near the lake’s shoreline.

  He reached across the board to adjust the antenna gain when he froze in place.

  Movement!

  Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen something, or someone, move on the hillside above the Zephyr. Dason turned on the bino-camera, and rotated it so that its aperture zeroed in on where he had seen the movement.

  He increased the magnification several times and zoomed in on his target area. He panned the camera across the terrain several times but nothing came into view. His eyebrows furrowed together while he peered at the display screen.

  Nothing there, he thought, must be getting jumpy, could’ve sworn that something moved up on that hill.

  He started to turn off the camera, when he caught the movement again. There is someone on that hill! He zeroed the camera in on the exact spot. His eyes grew wide, and he sucked in his breath.

  Half-crawling down the slope was a Sha’anay!

  Moreover, by the way he moved, it was evident he was severely hurt. Without thinking, Dason tore out of his seat and dashed for the airlock.

  Seconds later, he was pounding up the slope toward the injured extraterrestrial. Pushing himself hard, Dason darted around boulders and clumps of misshapen bushes.

  He burst through a small hedgelike bush and skidded to a stop.

  A devil dog!

  He whipped out his L-gun and trained it on the unmoving canine form. Breathing hard, Dason stared at the brown shape, before edging forward with cautious footsteps.

 
; His nose wrinkled at the smell of decaying flesh. The dog was long dead; the jagged flesh-torn line across the chest a telltale sign of a death-dealing shot from an energy weapon.

  Swiftly scanning the nearby area, Dason saw two more brown shapes lying stiff and motionless a short distance away.

  More warily than before, Dason followed the trail of slain animals until he came around a rounded boulder and stopped. Lying belly down in the short grass was the Sha’anay.

  Holstering his weapon, Dason sprinted to the humanoid XT. An almost human moan escaped the Sha’anay as Dason rolled him over.

  Dason grimaced at what he saw. The warrior was a maze of slashed muscle and tissue. One hand lay across a large mass of caked blood that had congealed on his abdomen. Deep bite marks ran up and down his legs.

  His eyes fluttered open, and he focused on Dason. He blinked several times and tried to speak, but Dason held out both hands and spoke in Sha’anay, “I am Dason Thorne, friend of Tor’al.”

  The Sha’anay’s breath came rapid and hard, but at the mention of Tor’al he swallowed and mumbled, “Tor’al?”

  “Yes, Tor’al,” Dason replied.

  Slapping at his comms button he all but shouted, “This is Scout Thorne, anyone, please respond.”

  No answer. He tried several times again but with the same result. Something was disrupting the signal and he decided that either they didn’t hear him or he wasn’t receiving their transmission.

  He glanced at the immediate area with the thought of flying the Zephyr back to the injured Sha’anay, but the incline was too steep for a safe landing.

  However, some fifty meters away, a small ravine cut away at the hillside, leaving a small flat area that was just wide enough for the craft. It would be delicate work to land the ship up against the hill to make it fit, but he was confident he could make it work.

  Dason sprinted back down the hillside and moments later, had the Zephyr in the air. He tried one more time to contact the nearby scouts over the ship’s comms but once again, there was no answer.

  Turning his full attention back to the ship and with expert piloting, he managed to snug the craft tight against the small cliff and set her down.

  Seconds later, he was out the airlock and dashed back to where the injured Sha’anay lay on the ground.

  Dason bent down, and placed one of the big alien’s arms over his shoulder. He grabbed the XT by his waistband, lifted, and managed to get the warrior to his feet.

  “Good thing we’re going downhill and you’re on the small size for a Sha’anay,” Dason muttered, “or I don’t think I could do this.”

  The Sha’anay must have realized what Dason was doing for he staggered forward, almost falling, but with Dason’s help managed to stay upright.

  Laboriously, step by step, the two stumbled and weaved their way down the slope until they reached the short ramp that led up to the airlock.

  Breathing hard, Dason sized up the incline. “What I wouldn’t give for one of those SciCorps body lifters about now.”

  The Sha’anay mumbled something, to which Dason answered, “Don’t pass out on me now, we’re almost there.”

  In a half-dragging, half-pulling fashion, he got the humanoid up the ramp and into the airlock which the Sha’anay so completely filled that Dason was hard-pressed to reach the controls and open the inner door.

  Staggering under the load, Dason pulled the warrior into the passenger compartment where the big alien began to collapse onto the floor. The XT seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness.

  Dason bolted into the pilot pod and slapped at the comms pad. “This is Scout Thorne, anyone, please respond.”

  His voice sounded loud and harsh, even to his ears. There was still no answer to his calls. He tried several more times, but there was no reply to his frantic hails.

  “What is going on with the comms?” he angrily muttered to himself.

  He slipped from the pilot seat and knelt next to the Sha’anay. He began to search the XT’s uniform. “Where is that med kit you guys carry?”

  In a deep side pocket of the Sha’anay’s trousers, he found a box that matched the one that Tor’al had carried and pressed on the lid. He took one look and muttered, “Empty. That’s not good.”

  He stared at the Sha’anay’s blood-caked and ripped flesh and said, “If I use our meds, those could kill you. But if I don’t, judging from your wounds, those definitely will.”

  Dason started to rise when a deep rumbling filled the ship. “What . . .” he started and glanced upward.

  Through the transparent, sylcron sheath he watched an enormous dark shape pass overhead. He began to smile, believing it was a Sha’anay ship similar to the one that he had seen before.

  His smile quickly turned to a frown as he realized that it didn’t resemble a Sha’anay craft, nor was it an Imperium vessel. The deep rumbling persisted as the giant ship passed over the lake. Dason scrambled through the airlock and ran down the ramp.

  A second vessel passed over the hills to his left and maneuvered close to the first ship. Like lightning bolts, scarlet rays of searing energy lashed out from both ships. In crisscrossing patterns, the beams seared the ground below the two metal behemoths.

  “No!” Dason shouted and ran forward several steps.

  He stopped and stood in a rigid stance, his face a mask of agony while he watched the ships rain down blistering discharge after discharge.

  Dason had no doubt as to who was behind the savage and remorseless attack.

  Mongans.

  Their merciless fire seared the ground where the Star Scout search team and Dason’s uncle had landed.

  Dason’s mind was numb with shock and grief knowing that nothing could survive under the thunderous, withering blasts of energy that covered every meter of open ground.

  Chapter Seven

  Star date: 2443.075

  The Alpha Prime Planet, the Helix Nebula

  Clenching his fists, Dason’s initial searing agony turning into pure, unfettered rage at those who killed in such a wanton and ruthless fashion.

  Turning, he sprinted into the ship, his one thought to raise the armed Zephyr and charge into the fray.

  He had no illusions that his tiny craft could damage, much less destroy the giants he would confront; nevertheless, he couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.

  Just as he passed the Sha’anay, the alien reached out and latched onto Dason’s leg. Startled, Dason peered down at the Sha’anay while the warrior held firm onto his foreleg.

  The Sha’anay mumbled something unintelligible in his language, but his eyes locked onto Dason’s with a stern, almost fierce look.

  He shook Dason’s leg and again spoke in a harsh guttural growl. “Mongans! Darken your ship or they will see! Live to fight another day.”

  Dason hesitated, his rage still burning, before he whirled away, knowing that the Sha’anay, even in his injured state was thinking clearer than he was now.

  Racing to the pilot pod, Dason’s fingers flew over the controls, extinguishing not only the ship’s interior and exterior lighting but its energy signature as well.

  Finished, he peered outward toward where the two Mongan ships held station above the lakeshore. Neither moved toward the Zephyr.

  With worried eyes, he watched the two giant ships for any indication that the Mongans were aware of the Zephyr and its occupants. However, they stayed silent and still above the lake so Dason went back to the Sha’anay to say, “I don’t think they saw us.”

  The Sha’anay’s eyes widened and he stated, “You speak my tongue.”

  Dason nodded while saying, “Yes, Elder Tor’al shared your sensator technology with me.”

  “Elder Tor’al,” the Sha’anay breathed. “I thought that was what you said before but then decided I was dreaming.”

  “Yes,” Dason replied. “Now listen, you’re badly hurt, and your medical kit is empty. I can treat you with our medicines; they may help, or they may do worse harm. But if I do no
thing, I’m afraid that—”

  The warrior raised a hand. “I understand. To do nothing may well kill me, too. I grow weaker from the loss of my life fluid. If that is not stopped, then I will surely die.”

  He gave a weak nod and said, “Do what you can, and I will be forever grateful.”

  “Rest easy then,” Dason replied. “And lie still while I get the med kit.”

  Dason darted back to the small storage locker that held the ship’s medical stores. He grabbed two oversized bags and hustled back to the Sha’anay.

  Unclipping one of his vest lights, he turned it on to dim, and set it under a seat, hoping that the Mongans wouldn’t see the diffused light glow.

  With quick hands, he brought out several tubes of InstaHeal and packets of sterile dressings. He slipped on a pair of surg-gloves and using a saline pad, wiped away the caked blood on the XT’s midsection.

  Dason shook his head at what he saw. A ragged gash cut deep through the top layers of tissue and into the alien’s striated muscle that lay underneath.

  A continuous oozing of the XT’s cardinal-colored blood signaled that indeed, the Sha’anay was bleeding to death.

  “I need to stop the bleeding and suture this,” Dason explained. “And I can’t chance giving you anything for pain.”

  The Sha’anay raised a limp hand in acknowledgment and closed his eyes. Dason brought out an electro-coagulator and with deft fingers touched the spots where he could see bleeding.

  Each time he brought the coagulator’s tip to tissue, the Sha’anay winced from the electric charge but said nothing.

  Once he had the bleeding stopped, Dason placed the auto-suture machine above the wound. With a soft, blue light, the little med-device scanned the gash and then in a staccato fashion inserted numerous, tiny tissue-clips that brought torn muscle and skin together.

  Dason finished the job by spreading a liberal amount of InstaHeal on the suture line along and sealed it with form-fitting sterile bandages.