by GARY DARBY
“You said that you grew up under the name of Thorne?”
Dason wet his lips before saying, “Yes, sir. You see, Randor is pretty backward and isolated. It’s not a premium colony planet, and not many folks emigrate there.”
He hesitated before saying, “In all honesty, the colonial authorities don’t question who you are, why you came to Randor, or even if you’re immigrating under your legal name. If you want to get away and become lost, it’s just about perfect.”
Tarracas scratched one finger against his cheek, his expression one of deep thoughtfulness before he asked, “Are you saying that your mother wanted to get away and become lost?”
“Yes sir, she did,” Dason replied. From the Scoutmaster’s expression, he knew, without being told, that Tarracas wanted a fuller explanation.
He paused to gather his jumbled thoughts. Everything seemed to be coming out in a rush, and he had never expected to be telling this much of his story to anyone, especially not to Tarracas.
“My mother explained, shortly before she died, of how and why we came to Randor. I grew up believing I had been born on Randor and so had my mother.”
Tarracas put out a hand, stopping Dason. “You didn’t know about your father? She didn’t tell you beforehand?”
Dason shook his head. “Before, when I asked about him, she would simply say that she didn’t know where he was and would only tell me his first name. That’s all . . .”
His voice trickled off to a whisper. “Until she caught the plague and knew she was dying. Then, she told me everything.
Dason’s voice grew firmer. “She said that we were on Earth when she received word that my father was missing and presumed dead on Veni.
“And then, shortly after, she began hearing rumors and allegations about his disappearance, nasty accusations.”
Tarracas nodded as if he too were familiar with those same rumors. He motioned for Dason to continue.
“After a while,” Dason went on, “she began to feel uneasy, nervous, on edge. She couldn’t help the feeling that we were being watched, followed, wherever we went. She also told me that she had this growing sense that we were in danger, grave danger.”
“Danger!? From what?”
Dason shook his head. “She never said exactly other than we were being constantly watched and followed. She went to the authorities, but without proof, there was nothing they could do.
“She had no one to turn to, no family, no real friends she could trust. She became convinced that whoever was watching us could take our lives. I wasn’t much more than a baby, when, one night she left our home as if to go shopping.
“She took only me, the clothes on her back and a few digi-photo plats. She didn’t stop running until we landed on Randor.”
Tarracas stared at Dason, his eyes displaying an incredulous expression before he shook his head and asked, “No family you say? Did she try to contact your father’s brother, Star Scout Jadar Marrel?”
“She tried,” Dason answered, “but was told by the medicos at Star Scout Command that he’d had some sort of a serious accident, was in a coma, and not expected to live.
“She wasn’t listed as next of kin so they wouldn’t give her any other details. She told me that he died a few weeks after my father’s disappearance.”
Dason shrugged and explained, “Her parents were dead, she had no other relatives, my father’s parents were dead and as far as she knew, my Uncle Jadar was my dad’s only living kin and then he died.”
Tarracas stared at Dason with a peculiar look. He started to speak but seemed to change his mind and settled his mouth with a perplexed expression.
He stood peering at Dason for some time, breaking his silence by asking, “When you filled out your application, what did you know of Veni?”
Dason took a deep breath. It had finally come to this. Veni and all its mysteries.
He wet dry lips. “My mother knew that I was thinking of seeking enlistment in the Star Scouts. That’s why she told me all this before she died, she wanted me to know about my father and . . .”
His voice trailed off before he straightened and said, “My father’s last mission was to Veni, but he disappeared while on the planet and that on the Corps’ official records he’s listed as ‘missing in action, presumed dead’.’’
Dason started to go on but choked and had to swallow several times before he could continue. “She also told me that he was accused of desertion, abandoning his team to die, conduct unbecoming to a Star Scout officer . . .”
Dason’s voice lowered to a whisper, “and cowardice.”
He struggled with his thoughts before saying, “In all honesty sir, I don’t think she ever knew the real details of what happened, just the rumors. I’ve tried to find out, and I’ve read the official report in the archives several times.
“But the more I read, the more questions I have. The report doesn’t actually explain anything; it just seems to point fingers at—”
Dason stopped, his lips pressed hard together, with his eyes staring past Tarracas at the Scout Oath and centered on the words, Return with Honor.
He cleared his throat and began again. “My school counselor helped me with the forms. I—I didn’t enter my father’s name on the application as he stated that I didn’t have to but actually it was because I wanted the Star Scouts to judge and accept me for what and who I am. Dason Thorne.”
He stopped, and his mouth became a hard, straight line. “Not the son of . . .” His mouth worked, but he was unable to complete the sentence, to speak his father’s name.
A tiny buzzing sound came from Tarracas’ console. He glanced down and waved his hand across the desktop. Dason could hear a soft whoosh as the outer door slid aside.
Seconds later, Grolson stood next to Dason. “We’re set, Scoutmaster,” he remarked. “It’s confirmed, just as you requested.”
“Thank you,” Tarracas replied.
He stared at his desk for a long time as if he were debating with himself. Then he said, “Novice Scout Thorne, would you care to hear from someone who was on Veni at the same time as your father?
“I’m not sure it will answer all of your questions or ease the load you bear, but I believe you are entitled to hear at least this much. But be forewarned, there are parts of the story that may prove quite—hurtful.”
Startled by the Scoutmaster’s invitation, Dason’s mouth dropped open. He regained his composure, vigorously nodded and blurted out, “Yes, sir.”
Tarracas turned to Grolson. “Tell him what you can. He knows about the allegations and has read the archived report, but nothing else.”
Grolson nodded and stepped to the side so that he fronted Dason. “I was on Veni,” he began, “at the same time as your father. In fact, we were in the same battalion, though I was just newly assigned.
“But I made a point of meeting Deklon Marrel because, well, before Veni, he and his brother were something of a legend in the scouts.
“Twins, who, between them, had more Lion Hearts and First Landings than you’d find in a whole line company of veteran scouts.
“However, I was only able to speak with him for a few minutes as we both had to get going on our respective assignments.”
Grolson scratched his head for a second before saying, “The Veni operation was real quirky from the beginning.”
“How so, sir?” Dason asked.
“Well, for starters, Veni was a recent discovery, a non-cataloged planet, and its screwy, haywire magnetosphere played havoc with electronics, even EMP hardened circuits, and sensors.
“Because of that, our air and mech bots, our hover nano-cams, atmosphereic drifters, nap-of-the-earth jetpacks, just about everything we sent down for the prelim surveys transmitted very little data.
“No infra-red readings, no radar, no sonar, no sidar, no acoustics, no meteorological, geological, ecological, environmental, terrain or topo studies . . .”
He sighed. “You name it, no nothing for all intents and pu
rposes on the upstream data.”
Grunting, he went on, “Orbiting skysats couldn’t even give us a window as big as as a picture postcard.
“Between the EMP’s short-circuiting everything and a cloud cover that was so thick that it made the surface as dark as a black cat at the bottom of well, we didn’t know if we going to land in acid or on a Bermuda beach.
“Altogether, the lack of information made for spotty pre-mission planning and the tac teams ended up going in pretty cold.
“What little data we did get indicated that the planet’s life-zone was concentrated in two belts, one at each pole. The equatorial region didn’t seem to have much in the way of vegetation or animals, yet that’s where the sector commander had us down planet.
“Given that we had such a small amount of info to work off, we should have taken it nice and slow, but the SC pushed us out in a real rush to survey our mission grids.”
Grolson shook his head and Dason could see on the usually calm man an expression of real anger. “We planeted a rump brigade of scouts, two battalions. Given the tactical situation, the most that should have hit the surface was a platoon, if that, until we knew the score.
“I have no idea how the SC justified putting that many scouts on the ground, but from what I saw of the planet specs, there didn’t seem to be a single good reason for so many of us to be sticking our necks out.
He paused to draw in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “On top of that, almost at the last minute and without doing so much as a preliminary risk assessment or ecosystem study, the sector commander had SciCorps techs assigned to individual teams on the planet.
“It went totally against normal operating procedures and those teams with embedded techs, such as Team Marrel, your father’s team, had tagalongs who were liabilities from the get-go.
“They slowed everyone down, made them vulnerable, and threw the whole tac plan out of sync. The Veni operation was dysfunctional almost from the start and became more so because of having to babysit those techs.
“Not to mention we began losing communications from the moment we hit dirt, and the local fauna turned out to be pretty nasty.”
He crossed his arms and frowned. “I was the battalion executive officer of Thompson’s Travelers. A newly minted major and fresh from a stint at Cheyenne Mountain so I was eager to walk the trail again.
“But I can tell you from the view in the battalion head shed that it was a nightmare practically from the moment the batt commander issued the Scouts Out order.
“What comms we had were spotty at best even within the base camp perimeter, but as soon as the teams started pushing out, we lost communications with practically everyone.”
He worked his mouth several times as if choosing his words carefully before saying, “Team Marrel was one of the first to go off the net.
“However, late on the first day, we picked up what sounded like a Search and Save call from Captain Marrel, but it was so garbled that we couldn’t get a direct bearing to his location.
“Colonel Thomson had me take two scoutcraft and using her best-guess hunch as to Marrel’s location, do an area search. It was a good call on her part, it was just too bad we didn’t find them sooner, things might have turned out much different.
“We found their scouter, empty, but not the team. We still didn’t have comms with them, so, flying low and slow, we followed their tracks.”
He squared himself to Dason. “Are you sure you want to hear the rest?”
Dason didn’t hesitate. “Yes sir, I do.”
Grolson gave a sharp nod. “All right. From what we could tell, as with just about everyone else, they’d been attacked by a hunting pack of large, saurian quadrupeds. They’re now cataloged in the Galactica as Pasadosaurusveni or Pasado’s Winged Lizard of Veni.
“Jaws that could break a femur with one bite, claws that could almost slice you in half with one swipe. They materialized out of the fog like winged wraiths. Real nasty critters. Almost like the mystical dragons you read about in fantasy stories.”
He grunted and muttered, “Me? I would’ve named them Pasado’s Flying Stomachs.”
Shifting his stance, Grolson went on. “Either during or after the attack, the team took shelter in a small cave. I don’t know if they knew it or not, but that cave was the outer part of the local pack’s den.
“Marrel’s team killed a good dozen or more before the lizards broke through the team’s defenses.”
He stopped, and his eyes took on a sad expression. “We found the remains of four—Simms, Honsa, Powers, and Coulier. The things didn’t leave much to identify; we had to use genetic testing, teeth fragments, anything we could find to confirm it was them.
“Several side tunnels branched off the cave. In one, there were two sets of boot prints, one belonged to Captain Marrel, the other to their SciCorps tech—I think his name was Franklin if I remember correctly.”
“Sir,” Dason asked, “pardon the interruption, but do you know why my father and the tech left the others?”
Grolson shook his head, his expression grave. “No. But I can tell you that there weren’t any saurian tracks in that particular tunnel, so it didn’t appear as if they were being chased.”
His eyes met Dason’s without blinking. “And since they made it alive out of the outer cave, the assumption is that they left before or during the attack.”
“But no way of telling which?” Dason whispered.
Grolson shook his head. “No,” he stated flatly.
No one spoke for several long moments before Grolson went on. “Those tracks led to an enormous cavern, the creature’s nesting ground. There were hundreds of the things from full-sized adults to sprogs.
“We had to go back and bring in our special weapons section to gas the cave and put’em to sleep before we could follow the prints.
“About halfway across we found Franklin’s remains. But your father’s boot marks didn’t stop there; they crossed the cave to an outer exit.
“Just past that, we started coming across saurian carcasses, and about a hundred meters further on, we came across a large torn-up piece of ground. That’s where Captain Marrel’s footsteps ended.
“Where they stopped, the terrain looked odd, like someone had taken a giant scraper and scoured back the first meter or so of dirt and left piles here and there.
“Later, we found microscopic traces of Kolomite in those dirt mounds. Someone had mined out the area and it was recent, too. From the volume of what was left over, we estimated that they took out at least a thousand kilograms of ore.”
Grolson ran a hand through his short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. “Any idea how much a thousand kilos of Kolomite is worth?”
Dason shook his head in answer.
“Well,” Grolson answered with the hint of a smile, “there’s a saying that a kilo of Kolomite will power a starship for years. Ten kilograms will buy you the governor of a planet. A hundred kilograms and the governor will throw in the planet.”
Grolson gave a little grunt. “But a thousand kilos? I can’t even begin to imagine the wealth and power it would bring.”
Pausing, he rubbed at his chin. “We searched for days but never found any sign of Deklon Marrel. It was as if he had just vanished from Veni.”
The instructor scout hesitated and glanced at Tarracas, who met his gaze and said, “Perhaps I should tell the rest, since I’m somewhat familiar with what followed.”
Tarracas turned to Dason and began. “The sector commander investigated the incident. In direct and strong terms, his statements implied that your father led his team to that spot, left them behind, linked up with a group of conspirators, mined the Kolomite ore and boosted off-planet.”
Dason struggled with his thoughts, trying to make sense of the astonishing revelations. He fought to find the right words to counter the dark accusations but all he could think of saying was, “Sir, with all due respect, my father was awarded eight Lion Hearts, and had twice that many First
Landings.
“Does that sound like a man who would do such a thing? Weren’t any other possibilities discussed? Didn’t anyone consider that—”
Tarracas held up a hand to stop Dason. “There’s more. The report also noted that Team Marrel killed the saurians with their L-guns set at disruptor level. Our disruptor emissions produce a very distinctive tissue disintegration pattern.
“However, those saurian carcasses found near the Kolomite site and where Captain Marrel’s boot prints ended were not killed by Star Scout weapons.”
His direct stare matched his explicit statement. “Those creatures were killed by weapons that resembled the signature made by Gadion Faction disruptors.”
The silence pressed on Dason until his shoulders sagged. He dared to move his head from Tarracas to Grolson, whose face and eyes were grim, and back to Tarracas.
“Gadion Faction,” he whispered in a bleak tone. “Please tell me that he didn’t . . .”
But their stony eyes and faces said it all. His father had joined none other than the ruthless terrorists known as the Gadion Faction.
His own father was a cross-over, the worst kind of deserter and coward.
Chapter Five
Star Date 2433.055
The Office of Scoutmaster Tarracas
Staggered by the mountainous weight of the accusation, Dason’s mind ground to a halt as all he could think of was that everything he knew about his father had been a lie. He had been living in a fantasy world regarding Deklon Marrel.
His thoughts swirled with the shocking revelation. The Gadion Faction—a brutal criminal organization whose very name meant cold-blooded murder of innocents, political bombings, kidnapping, slavery, and corruption within the Imperium.
Dason’s mind and stomach churned at the very thought that his father could ever associate with such an evil, secretive and noxious group.
Then, several thoughts came out of the churning in his head. “But,” he protested, “That wasn’t in the archives report.”
