A Star Rising (The Star Scout Saga Book 1)

by GARY DARBY

  Dason shut down the thrusters, trying to conserve what little energy remained in the power packs. He did a quick check on his three unconscious charges and then inspected the tiny craft.

  The ship’s upper part seemed intact, but he doubted that they would be so fortunate with the lower compartment.

  Dason raised the hatch and shone a hand-light into the small hold. The orange-red fluid roiling below confirmed his fears.

  What little atmospheric pressure remained in the cabin hadn’t been enough to keep the caustic fluid from leaking into the ship. It would be only a matter of minutes before the fluid pushed out what little air remained and replaced it with acid.

  Dason hesitated, unsure of what to do. Then he remembered the Scoutmaster saying, “Nothing terrifies a team more than a leader who cannot make a decision.”

  Dason climbed down the short ladder and stopped just above the rising fluid. He could see the cabinet that stored the crew’s extra flex-suits. The small storage unit sat just above the rising tide.

  But to get to it, he would have to wade through the caustic brew. He had no idea if the suit’s ply-crene material would withstand the chemical’s searing touch.

  With grim determination, he moved into the aqueous material. He hurried, but not so fast that he would slip and fall into the corrosive broth.

  Reaching the locker, Dason pulled out the spare flex-suits. At the same time, he snatched a repair kit and bundled it up with the suits.

  He stomped up the ladder and flung his collection aside so that he could sprint unencumbered to the airlock. He closed the hatch and hit the emergency decon button.

  A powerful series of needle sprays showered his whole suit, washing off the remaining liquid and sucking it into the holding tanks. Where the acid had made contact with his suit, he could see almost microscopic pits.

  That answered the question of whether or not the protective material could stand up against the acidic solution’s destructive power. It wouldn’t.

  A few more minutes and the liquid would have gone through the ply-crene to eat at his flesh.

  Leaving the airlock, Dason grabbed the extra flex-suits and raced to his shipmates knowing that precious seconds ticked away.

  First checking to ensure that their internal oxygen generators still worked, he then activated each suit’s emergency homing transponder.

  Next, hindered by their deadweight, he labored to put a second flex-suit on each of his unconscious charges. Finishing, he grabbed the aerosol QuickSeal canister from the repair kit and sprayed the three still forms.

  Used to close small leaks or rips in a flex-suit, for Dason’s needs, the aqueous ply-crene solution would solidify on contact with the suit’s exterior and provide another protective layer against the oncoming acid.

  Finished, Dason bolted to the pilot’s pod. Jabbing the communication's button, he declared, “Stinger Two, this is Stinger Three. Do you read me?”

  He waited for an answer, but none came. Repeating, he called, “Stinger Two, this is Stinger Three—please respond.”

  No answer.

  Sprinting back to the lower hold hatch cover, Dason eased the square doorway up and flashed his light down. The orange fluid had almost filled the entire compartment.

  He slammed the hatch closed and tightened it down. It wouldn’t take long for the caustic acid to eat through the hatch seals and flood the central compartment.

  Dason needed to buy them more time. But how?

  Rushing to the pilot’s pod, he once again transmitted a distress call. A muffled answer came, “. . . three, this is Stinger . . .”

  Dason yelped, “This is Stinger Three, we urgently need help!”

  Listening intently, he could just make out, “. . . say again, you’re breaking up.”

  The craft overhead was having trouble hearing him, no doubt due to damaged communications equipment that couldn't send a strong enough signal through the thick soup.

  His one hope was that, even with his short message, they would get an approximate fix on his location. Help was on the way but would it get there in time?

  The sight of small smoke wisps rising from the lower hold dampened his momentary elation. The acid was dissolving the hatch seals!

  Dason looked around the ship. He stared hard at the one place that might offer them temporary refuge.

  The airlock.

  It might buy them a few extra minutes. Only big enough to hold two people, could he fit four? He would have to!

  He transmitted one last call, “Stinger Two, this is Stinger Three. We are on the lake bottom. I repeat; we are on the lake bottom. We may have to abandon ship and attempt to swim to the surface. Stand by for immediate pickup!”

  Dason grabbed Jy and dragged the renegade into the lock and formed him into a misshapen ball on the floor. He next lifted Sami on top of Jy and then Bianca on top of the human pile.

  He hoped that the other two’s weight didn’t smother the unconscious Jy, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

  Spraying the remaining spare suit with the quick-seal solution, Dason hurriedly put it on. To his ears came a muffled “pop.” He turned to see orange liquid oozing up from the lower hold.

  They were out of time.

  The hardened sealant on his flex-suit caused Dason to move like a wooden stick-figure as he backed into the airlock. He had to pull uncooperative arms and legs of his companions back into the cubicle to keep them from jutting out.

  Sami’s left arm kept flopping out into the troop compartment preventing Dason from closing the airlock door.

  “Sami,” Dason muttered, “even when you’re unconscious, you’re still Sami.”

  With the acidic brew lapping up against the hatch’s bottom frame, Dason finally managed to keep Sami's arm in by pinning it against the inner wall with one knee.

  He punched the control to close the metal door. They were safe for now, but it was only temporary. Though tougher and stronger than the lower hold seals, Dason knew the airlock hatch fittings wouldn’t hold forever against the acid.

  Once the acidic brew breached that last defense, he could think of only one frightening option left.

  The little unit's lights flickered on and off so he switched his helmet lights on and scanned the door hatches, waiting for the telltale sign of melting seals.

  Minutes later, he caught the first faint puffs of gray smoke rising upward.

  It was time to go.

  He couldn't wait any longer because if the acid ate through the electronics controlling the door mechanism, and he couldn’t open the hatch by manual means, they would be trapped inside the airlock.

  After switching on his companions’ helmet lights, he pressed on the door controls. The door cracked open. A stream of ochre-colored liquid spewed into the cubicle’s narrow confines. It didn't take long for the fluid to fill the small stall.

  Not hesitating, Dason grabbed Bianca and pushed her out into the thick chemical soup. Like a weighted down helium balloon, bit by bit she began to rise.

  Struggling to keep his balance, Dason grasped Sami and shoved him out, followed by Jy. He gripped the airlock’s rim and propelled himself out into inky redness.

  Above him, Dason could see the outlines of Sami and Jy in the darkness, but he had lost sight of Bianca. He grabbed the two unconscious figures by their arms and kicked his way upward.

  Small, pearl-like bubbles covered Dason’s helmet while tiny foamy globules covered the upper torso of his suit. The acidic cauldron was melting his protective layers.

  Dason kicked harder to get the three moving upward. The brew’s viscosity was just light enough that the air in their suits gave them some buoyancy. For what seemed an eternity Dason struggled upward until he could see the dark shadows begin to lighten.

  Breaking the surface, he shook his helmet to clear the acid off. Dark gray clouds swirled over the lake, cutting Stygar’s light into a patchwork of crimson and garish orange illumination.

  Praying that his communicator st
ill worked, he shouted, “Stinger craft, this is Thorne!”

  In an instant, TJ exclaimed, “Dason! Keep talking so we can get a fix on your location."

  "I’m on the surface, I’ve got Sami and Jy,” Dason gasped out. “They’re unconscious, and I think Bianca is somewhere close, but I’m not sure where. You need to hurry; this stuff is eating through our suits!"

  “Keep transmitting,” TJ answered. “We’re pinning down your location.”

  “WILCO,” Dason replied through hard breaths as he struggled to keep himself, Jy, and Sami afloat.

  “TJ,” he huffed between sucking in great gulps of air, “I understand that you and Sami had a bet.”

  He took another deep breath. “For the record, he touched ground at ten and thirty-one hours. So, who wins the bet and no cheating now, even though I would love to hear Sami sing at graduation.”

  “Dason,” TJ answered, “did you honestly think for one second that I was going to let Sami get within ten light-years of my sisters?”

  “Good for you,” Dason replied. “We’ll tell Sami that you beat him by a full minute. He'll never know.”

  He wrenched his neck around so that he could get a better look up through the thick haze. “How close are you?”

  “Close, Dason,” TJ responded. “Almost there, we’ve got locates on three suit transponders.”

  “Okay,” Dason replied. “I’m going to let go of Jy and Sami, I think they’ll float while I look for Bianca.”

  Dason eased his grip on Sami and Jy, and swam in tight circles around the two, making sure that neither sank. He scanned the murky soup for Bianca, but she was nowhere in sight.

  A bright spotlight pierced the clinging haze. Dason exclaimed, “Come right, twenty meters!”

  The scouter side slipped toward Dason. TJ called out, “Dason, we see you. Lara doesn’t want to land in this goop, so stand by for the sling basket.”

  “I can’t find Bianca,” Dason replied. “Do you have her transponder?”

  “No, she’s not showing up on the scope,” TJ replied. “Heads up, the sling is right on top of you.”

  The basket splashed down, and Dason pushed Jy into the metal cradle. “He’s in,” Dason yelped. “Go!”

  Dason watched the basket ascend toward the scouter while he held Sami close in the liquid poison. A new voice came over the communicator, “Stinger Two this is Stinger One.”

  “This is Two, go ahead.”

  “We’re inbound to your position. Status?”

  “We’ve winched one onboard. Three still in the drink.”

  The Stinger One voice paused before saying, “Stinger Two, we are passing over an enormous surge wave. My SIDAR has the wave top at thirty meters.

  “At current speed, it will arrive at your position in five or six minutes. I don’t believe you want to have anyone in the lake when it reaches you.”

  “Roger that, Stinger One. We’ll start tracking on the Moving Target Indicator. What is your estimated time of arrival?”

  “We’ll beat the wave by a couple of minutes. Sorry. Don’t think we’ll be much help,” Stinger One’s voice answered.

  Dason put two and two together. A mammoth wave caused by the titanic eruption had overtaken their vessel and sent it to the lake bottom.

  The enormous swell then sped down the finger lake, rode up the massive, rising slopes at the far end, and the rebound surge caused a second, smaller tsunami.

  Dason knew that it was almost miraculous that they had ridden out the first wave; to be caught on the surface when this second immense breaker hit would mean certain death.

  He looked up but didn’t see the basket lowering. Nervously, he called out, “What’s the holdup?”

  “Dason,” TJ explained, “we have to wash the acid off in the decon unit before we can pull the cage inboard.”

  “Sorry,” Dason replied. “Just a little antsy, this slop is eating through the suits pretty fast.”

  “We’re moving as fast as we can. Here it comes.”

  Dason asked, “Do you see Bianca?”

  “Not yet, we’re all looking though.”

  “What about her transponder?”

  “You three show up on the S and S display,” TJ replied, “but not Bianca. Hers might not be working.”

  Dason pushed Sami into the rescue cradle and locked him in place. “He’s in,” he stated. The rescue craft yanked the basket upward and hoisted it toward the airlock.

  Dason examined the tattered pieces of his outer suit. It was all but gone, allowing the caustic soup to begin its toxic work on his inner suit. Soon, the first lesion would open up allowing the acid to ooze inside to scour flesh.

  Without hesitation, he declared, “Listen up, this is what we’re going to do. Lower the basket. Once I’m in, raise it a meter off the deck. Start a slow sweep.

  “I know Bianca’s close. When we spot her, I’ll get us both in and you climb out of here. Got it?”

  “Got it, Dason,” TJ replied. “But we have less than three minutes before that wave hits. If we don’t find her by then, we’ve got to pop out of here.”

  “Understood,” Dason returned. “Let’s do this.”

  With a splash, the basket hit the liquid, and Dason clambered into the metal frame. The scouter lifted him until he swung just above the orange goo.

  Balancing on his knees, he peered through the wisps of smoke into the liquid's dark depths. Seconds passed by without any sign of Bianca.

  Softly, TJ said, “Dason, we’ve got the wave on the MTI radar. Two minutes.”

  “Check,” Dason answered. “Swing over to the left about five meters and circle out from there.”

  The basket swung over to the designated spot. Dason scanned in all directions but failed to find any trace of Bianca.

  Directing the scouter to widen the circle, he spotted a discoloration in the acid that appeared different from its surroundings.

  “Left about three meters!” he shouted.

  The basket swung toward the darker spot in the liquid and Dason’s heart jumped.

  Bianca!

  For some reason, she floated just below the ash-covered surface with her helmet lights aimed downward.

  “I’ve found her. I’m going in.”

  “Dason,” TJ called out, “wave ETA in one minute!”

  “Got it,” Dason replied in a grim tone and leaped into the lethal liquid. His downward momentum carried him just far enough that he was able to grab her. With fierce kicks, he pulled Bianca to the top and stroked for the basket.

  Dason was almost to the metal frame when it began to slip away. “Keep the basket steady!” Dason shouted.

  “Trying. It’s the backwash,” Lara called over the communicator.

  Dason knew what was happening, he’d seen it once before. The impending tsunami was again suctioning up the liquid in front of it, and the drag had them in its commanding grip.

  The basket whipped out toward them. With a frantic lunge, Dason grabbed the metal frame.

  Swifter and swifter the current sucked them toward the oncoming churning surf. With one last desperate push, Dason propelled Bianca into the plas-steel cradle.

  “Dason,” TJ cried out, “we’ve got to lift. The wave’s here!”

  “Go! She’s in!” Dason yelled.

  Clawing at the basket’s sides, Dason frantically tried to hang onto the frame while it rose above the onrushing torrent.

  His hands kept slipping off the slimy bars, so he tried to whip one of his legs up over the metal rim, but it too slithered off the frame.

  Dason knew that his rescuers winched the basket upward as fast as the little hoist could manage, but the scouter seemed like it was light-years away. He didn’t know if he could hang on much longer.

  For an instant, the smoke cleared. The basket rotated, and Dason stared wide-eyed at the riveting scene.

  A monstrous dark shape surged toward him—the gigantic wave. And they weren’t high enough yet to clear its crest!

  The only th
ing he could do was to watch the massive breaker roar closer and closer.

  Seconds trickled by. Dason sucked in his breath when he realized that they were going to clear the liquid mountain’s top, but it was going to be close.

  Whether it was some fluke of the surf’s foaming structure or his miscalculation of its height, Dason would never know.

  Just as the wave reached them, a fist like column of liquid shot skyward and caught Dason full in the chest.

  Ripped from the basket, he was powerless to stop his fall and tumbled over and over toward the waiting acid far below.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Star Date 2433.058

  Star Scout Command Cheyenne Mountain, Earth

  Pacing the room like a caged Zorenian Griffin, Jadar Marrel stopped to run a hand through his short-cropped salt and pepper hair. His hands were sweaty, his lips pressed tight and his mind seemingly had more thoughts in it than the Andromeda galaxy had stars.

  His swirling emotions were like a spinning frozen comet passing close to the sun as its icy gaseous envelope starts to boil. Gas jets erupt, shooting gaesous material in all directions, a chaos of fire and ice—the exact sum of his feelings at the moment.

  He hadn’t felt this way since . . .

  Jadar glanced once again at the star field that hovered in midair but shook his head and walked away, unable to concentrate on his task.

  It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to leave the mount and rush to the Sonoran Desert in search of a certain novice scout.

  But after a lengthy and emotional conversation with Scoutmaster Tarracas, he agreed to remain at his post and wait, though it was the hardest decision he’d ever made.

  Still, the decision had been heart-wrenching and now as he rubbed at red-rimmed eyes he wondered if he had made the right choice.

  His one consolation was that the Scoutmaster had promised to keep him updated and for now, that would have to be enough.

  A soft swish from the door opening caused him to turn. Shar Tuul walked in and held up a large mug of steaming herbal tea. “Thought you could use one of these. Know what time it is?”