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

  In quick fashion, he did the same to the numerous other gashes and slashes that dotted the Sha’anay’s body. Dason sat back and surveyed his work. It was the best he could do for now. With luck, it was enough and the warrior would recover.

  He placed several thermo-blankets over the warrior, along with a small cushion for a pillow under his head. As the Sha’anay drifted off to sleep, Dason snapped off the vest light and stayed with him for several minutes before.

  Satisfied that he’d done all he could, for the moment, and the big alien hadn’t reacted adversely to the InstaHeal, Dason stood, and made his way to the pilot’s pod.

  From the pilot’s chair, Dason peered with hard eyes through the sylcron window toward the two Mongan warships that still held motionless in the distance.

  Without warning, from one of the ships came garish, bright, columnlike bolts of light that shot down into the lake water. For several minutes, Dason peered wide-eyed at the vessels and wondered what the intense beams of light could mean.

  Even with the Mongan warships so close, he decided to gamble and try the comms again. He had to get the word out of what was happening at the lake.

  For close to an hour, off and on, he tried both the ship’s communication system and his personal comms but the result was the same, no answer to his calls.

  If the Mongans attacked us here, he thought bitterly, did they also attack the other Imperium forces and sites on the planet and our ships in orbit?

  Is that why there wasn’t any answer to my communication attempts, because there wasn’t anybody left to answer?

  He considered trying to slip the Zephyr away from the two nearby Mongan ships. Fly it low and fast behind the hills and approach the debris field from the opposite direction.

  Then, he would land the Zephyr and do a foot search in the dark for his Uncle Jadar and the other Star Scouts.

  He forced himself to set that thought aside as it was certain that the Mongans would pick his ship up the instant he powered up his engines. He glanced back at the sleeping Sha’anay.

  Letting out a long sigh, he felt that he could rationalize risking his own life; however, he couldn’t do the same with his newfound companion without his consent.

  Throughout the night, Dason alternated between tending to the Sha’anay, keeping an eye on the Mongan ships, and trying to raise someone, anyone, on the communicator.

  The dawn was still a few hours away, when the Sha’anay warrior roused, and asked for water. Dason handed him several water balls and without hesitation, he swallowed and then asked for more of the refreshing liquid orbs.

  The Sha’anay raised himself on one elbow and said, “I am El’am, Son of Go’resh, and Sha’anay warrior novice of the House of Na’thic, Son of the Sixth Sword. I thank you for your aid and kindness.”

  “I am Dason Thorne,” Dason answered. “My friend Tor’al of the Seventh Sword instructed me to say to any Sha’anay that I met that our blades have sung the victory song, we have fought together.

  “I was also to say that henceforth, until the stars grow cold, the human Dason Thorne is under my House. To him give the choicest cut of the Kor’ar meat, may his cup never be empty of the Mir’al berry, and may his pallet be the softest and closest to the clan fire.”

  El’am’s eyes widened, and he almost gasped out, “You are the human Dason Thorne.”

  “Yes,” Dason replied before he hung his head and said, “My friend Tor’al gave me a chance to escape the dogs and to warn my people of the Mongans, which I have, but I’m afraid that he died in doing so.”

  “No, human Dason, he did not,” El’am stated.

  “What?!” Dason exclaimed.

  “Elder Tor’al escaped the devils,” El’am explained, and went on to describe how Tor’al and the other Sha’anay had found the Mongan ship.

  Gesturing toward the lake, he muttered, “I believe that somehow my brethren commandeered the ship, but for some reason they could not fly it away, so they crashed it into the water.”

  His expression took on an almost human look of satisfaction and pride. “A great feat for so few. If I am able to return to my people, this tale will be added to our lore and history, and we will tell it many times so that our children and children’s children will not forget.”

  Gingerely easing himself back down, he went on. “I had no sooner turned to begin my journey back to the A’Gesi, when a devil dog pack fell upon me.”

  He took a deep breath and rumbled low in his throat. “I had been so intent on watching the Mongan ship die that I did not hear or sense their presence.”

  Motioning toward his torso and legs, he growled, “They did much of this before I even had a chance to draw my ta-gun and fire.

  “One ripped my communicator from my wrist so that I could not call for help. I fought them up the hillside for I knew of a place that I could use to my advantage instead of facing them on open ground.”

  Dason nodded in response. “I saw the trail of carcasses. You killed many.”

  “Yes,” El’am replied with a grin of satisfaction. “I finally reached that which I sought, a rock formation where the dogs would have a hard time getting at me without paying a hefty price.

  “After I emptied my ta-gun of charge, I managed to keep them at bay with my swords, but I was too weak to attack them, and they too cunning to face my sword in the narrow space that I had wedged myself into. So there I stayed while the dogs prowled just out of sword reach.”

  “A standoff,” Dason observed.

  El’am nodded in response. “I’m not sure how long I lay there, for I admit, I could not always keep my eyes open.”

  “You lost a lot of blood,” Dason remarked. “That you were able to go as far as you did was remarkable.”

  El’am nodded acknowledgment before saying, “I believe the sun crossed the sky twice before I saw a ship land near the lake. It was neither Sha’anay nor Mongan, so I assumed it was your people. I—”

  “Wait,” Dason said. With quick thoughts, he filled in the days between when his Uncle Jadar had rescued him and taken him off the planet, and the time that the first Star Scouts and Imperium forces had arrived here.

  The passage of time didn’t match up. He asked, “You’re sure that only two days passed between when the Mongan ship went down, and you saw this other ship?”

  “Yes,” El’am replied firmly, “of that I am certain. Though light-headed from the loss of life-fluid, I neither slept nor lost consciousness for the first several days. After that . . .” he shrugged, “I’m not sure.”

  Dason nodded and said, “Please go on, what happened next?”

  “The first craft was followed by a second,” El’am answered. “It flew low over the water, but both were too far away for me to signal, and I was still hemmed in by the dogs.”

  Dason’s deep frown caused El’am to say, “Your expression shows unease as if something were wrong. Were these not your people?”

  “I’m not positive,” Dason replied. “What did they do?”

  “They crisscrossed the hillside and lakeshore before stopping where the Mongan craft crashed into the water. They lingered there for some time.

  “Then, one craft submerged while the other waited above. Soon after, a third ship appeared and it too, went into the water. Both remained below the water for some time before they surfaced.

  “One carried a long, oblong object in a sling and bore the thing to the lake’s far side behind a low hill while the other ships followed. I lost sight of them after they passed over the hill.”

  He winced in pain from his injuries before saying, “Since the Mongan ships are still nearby, I would counsel that we be patient and wait, unless, of course, your ship is powerful enough to engage them in combat.”

  “No,” Dason answered with a little laugh. “This ship is lightly armed compared to the Mongans. If we attacked them, I doubt if we would be much more than a tiny, harmless insect buzzing about their head.”

  “It is as I thought,” El’am
responded. “That is too bad, for I had hoped that we might strike a blow at them in some manner.”

  “What about your own ship?” Dason asked. “If we’re able, should we make a run for it?”

  El’am shook his head while saying, “I do not know if the A’Gesi is still on this planet or if it managed to leave. I have had no communications with it for several days.”

  He took a deep breath. “Though bittersweet to know that I am left without my comrades, and they must think me dead, still, it is my hope that she managed to escape before the Mongan attack and was not destroyed while on the ground.”

  Dason asked hastily, “El’am, do you know if there were any humans on board the A’Gesi and if there were, would your people have taken them off-planet or left them behind?”

  El’am curled his lips back while he considered Dason’s question. “Though I did not see of myself, I understand that there were several of your kind aboard. It is doubtful that we would have left any of your clan behind if there were any chance of a Mongan return.

  “No, if they so desired, we would have taken them with us. I know not if that gives you any solace or not, human Dason, but that is the way of it.”

  “Thank you. Yes, that does bring some comfort.”

  “So, human Dason, if the hated ones leave, will your ship be at least able to evade them, or will we have to walk to meet with your clansmen?”

  Dason shook his head and said, “I don’t know at this point for I too have lost all contact with my people. But in case we have to abandon the ship, how are you feeling?”

  “I feel as if no part of my body is without pain, but I still breathe, so that is a good thing, yes?”

  “Yes, it is a very good thing,” Dason answered.

  He was silent for several moments before he explained about the Mongan attack across the lake and then said, “If the Mongans leave, I owe it to my fellow scouts to search for survivors.”

  “As it should be,” El’am responded. “Let us hope the hated ones leave quickly so that we can go to your clansmen. And I would ask that if we are able, we might also see about the A’Gesi, yes?”

  “Yes,” Dason replied. “Which way does the A’Gesi lie?”

  “I thank you, human Dason,” El’am replied and raised a hand toward the line of hills that paralleled the shoreline. “Four or so days’ walk in that direction,” he said in a tired voice.

  Recognizing that his companion needed more sleep, Dason jumped up to form a couch out of the passenger seats. He managed to get the Sha’anay to his feet and onto the makeshift bed. Once settled, it didn’t take long for the young warrior’s breathing to deepen in slumber.

  The sun’s first early rays fell on the Zephyr when Dason’s head jerked up. He had fallen into a series of catnaps during the night, rousing every so often to check on his wounded companion, but now something different in his surroundings snapped his eyes open.

  He jerked his head toward the Sha’anay, but El’am seemed to be asleep. He sat up and glanced outside. The Mongan ships were gone!

  Striding through the airlock and down the short ramp, Dason surveyed the sky and the nearby terrain, but there was no sign of the Mongans, anywhere.

  He dashed back to the pilot pod and powered up the Zephyr. He scanned his sensor panel, but the display showed no ships anywhere near.

  Seconds later, he was airborne, hugging the hillside and running parallel to the lakeshore. It would take less than a minute for him to get to the area where he assumed the scout team had set down before the Mongan attack.

  Opening a comms channel, he called, “This is Scout Thorne, aboard Zephyr six alpha, can anyone hear me? Please respond.” There was no answer, but he tried again.

  A raspy voice then answered, “This is the Saratoga, go ahead.”

  Dason explained his situation and asked, “Can you patch me through to the closest scout ground commander? I need help.”

  A new voice came on, “Scout, this is Captain DeNair,” she said, “commanding Saratoga. You obviously don’t know the situation. All ground elements have evacuated, or at least the ones that were able to reach a transport.

  “If you’re still on the planet, you’re most likely the last living scout down there.

  “We were attacked by extraterrestrials,” she stated in a blunt tone. “The alien warships blew right through us, and what’s left of our fleet are escorting the noncombatants out of the system.

  “If your ship has hyperlight capability, I suggest you escape and evade. If it doesn’t, I’m sorry, but there’s no way we can get to you now.”

  She paused before saying, “Find a good spot to hide and wait. I’ll try and get a message to Star Scout Command that you’re still down there.”

  “Uh, thanks, Captain DeNair,” Dason replied, “but my ship is n-space capable, so I’ll try and get off the planet on my own. Please relay that to Star Scout.”

  “Will do, Thorne, and good luck. DeNair, out.”

  Dason’s shoulders sagged forward. The fleet destroyed and the planetary contingents of Star Scouts and SciCorps personnel hit so hard that they had to evacuate!

  The Mongans had returned to the planet with a vengeance.

  What had Tor’al said about the Mongan war fleet? Something about the Sha’anay had never seen so many of their warships gathered in one place at one time. He also said that this planet must be of extraordinary importance to them.

  But why?

  A scorched and blackened area, devoid of any foliage came into view and Dason slowed the Zephyr. The devastation stretched up and over several hillsides and clear to the shoreline.

  Smoke still rose from where the plasma beams had passed. In some places, the energy’s intensity had melted the ground and formed what looked like small lava flows that twisted and melded together in ribbonlike forms.

  To Dason, it was apparent that no living thing had survived the onslaught.

  Dason caught sight of several large lumps of metal and landed the Zephyr. He walked with leaden steps toward the charred and twisted remains. His footsteps crunched over the charcoal-like ground, sending tiny sprays of grayish ash spurting outward with each step he took.

  Wisps of smoke still clung to the blackened metal and he coughed at the pungent acidic aroma of seared and torn plas-metal.

  The hovercraft’s blades had fused together along with the engine housing, and both gyro-axles. Off to one side, the melted remains of a second hovercraft seemed to flow into the charred earth.

  Dason knelt on one knee and bowed his head. He reached out and wrapped a hand around a protruding spoke of still warm metal. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Muffled steps caused him to turn and raise his head.

  El’am stood a respectful distance away. The warrior raised one hand and with an open palm placed it on his chest. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

  Straightening, Dason murmured to the warrior cub, “Thank you, El’am.” Together the two walked back to the Zephyr.

  Dason slumped into a chair and brought his hands up to his face while El’am remained silent and still nearby. Bringing his limp hands down to his knees, Dason stared at the floor, his mind enveloped in a fog of gray nothingness.

  First, he had watched his mother die, then his teammates, and now his Uncle Jadar. I can’t do this, he thought, I can’t keep going on losing everyone I care about. In his mind’s eye he saw his uncle’s strong, calm face, the way he stood, tall and proud.

  For a second, the images of Sami, TJ, Nase, and Shanon flashed before him. His eyes softened as he once again saw Shanon’s smile, felt her gentle touch on his arm and he thought, or who might care about me.

  He felt movement beside him and El’am’s big pawlike hand rested on Dason’s shoulder. “Human Dason, you are troubled,” he said. “You have lost clansmen, those who had meaning in your life, yes?”

  “Yes,” Dason replied, his voice husky and low. “They had much meaning in my life.”

  “This I understand,” El�
�am replied. “I too have suffered this, and among my people, only the very young have not yet endured such.

  “The Sha’anay have a saying, ‘To each there is a time, and a time there is to each.’ It means that when it is time to mourn, mourn. When it is time to rejoice, rejoice. And, when it is time to fight, fight.

  “Human Dason, friend of Tor’al and now my friend, now is not the time to mourn or to rejoice.”

  Dason lifted his head and stared at the big Sha’anay. El’am’s eyes were sympathetic but firm. Dason nodded in response. “You’re right,” he breathed out. “We need to go.”

  He stood and said, “Before we boost out, I want to see what it was that those ships pulled from the water.”

  El’am gave a slow nod in return. “That was my thinking, too. You have not said it, but your thoughts are that they were not your clansmen.”

  Dason shook his head from side to side in response. “No, El’am, I don’t think they were.”

  He took a deep breath and grimaced. “If my suspicions are correct, they are from an element in my people that do not observe or obey our rules, our laws, our . . . way. We call them the Gadion Faction.”

  El’am considered Dason’s words before he asked, “Are they the same ones who attacked us when we searched for the Mongans?”

  “Yes,” Dason returned. “Not only did they attack you, but my clansmen as well. And not just on this planet, but throughout our civilization’s worlds for many years now.”

  He raised one side of his mouth in disgust. “They are devil dogs in human guise.”

  “Then let us go quickly to see what they brought to the surface,” El’am responded firmly. “It may have some importance.”

  Dason slid into the pilot seat and with El’am standing behind, brought the Zephyr up for the quick trip to the lake’s far side. Nearing the lakeshore, Dason put the Zephyr in a slow glide so that they could scan the rolling terrain.

  They hadn’t traveled far when El’am reached out a hand and pointed. “There,” he said.

  Dason nodded. He too had glimpsed the cylindrical-looking object on the ground. He set the craft down, and the two hurried to what appeared to be an open hatch.