War Without Honor (Halloran's War Series Book 1)

by J. R. Geoghan

  “You kill any Praxxans?”

  The oddness of the question caught Kendra unawares, and she turned to him. “What?”

  “You know, you shoot up any Praxxan ships? Kill some?”

  “Xilas, it’s a war. You shoot to kill.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he fingered his drink. It looked alcoholic, something she never allowed herself the luxury of. “But those red things need killing. All of them.”

  To hear him say it so bluntly and plainly shocked her a bit. But she agreed wholeheartedly. To the officers in the Fleet, making war was their business, and they went about it with deadly earnest. But she intellectually knew that letting the emotions in, that could get you killed in action. Make a mistake. Maybe I do need a break. Too many lost battles, too many dead friends.

  “Xilas, leave me alone, thanks.”

  She needed time.

  Chapter 16

  Rat City - Outer Canal

  The human device was elegant. Deadly elegant.

  Elexxan poked and puzzled over the warheads of the missile for some time before admitting defeat and clambering out of the tube.

  “Scanners indicate that all pure fusion warheads are intact,” noted Alexa as he reviewed information on a handheld device. He passed it to a science tech and stood back to allow Elexxan room on the tilted surface of the black human water-ship. Human slaves had constructed access ramps from the side of the canal up to the missile bay enclosures, then painstakingly cut open the first one, removing the heavy hatch and setting it aside. From there the science techs had removed the rather simple nose covering on the missile, exposing the ring of eight cone-shaped warheads.

  The two of them looked down at the weapon. “You’ll notice that four slots in the ring are empty, Alexa,” chided Elexxan. There are in fact warheads missing.”

  “It appears that the humans intended this, since the weapon was ready to launch in its current state.”

  “Hmm. We need to get it out of there so we can access the entire weapon and disassemble it.” Elexxan looked out across the bulk of the vessel, now baked dry in the desert heat. The volume of water that had transported through time with it had dissipated quickly into the canal filth. Unfortunate, he thought suddenly. It would have been enlightening to research a sample of it, to understand more about the toxicity of the liquid housed in this world’s oceans during that phase of Earth history, before their self-destruction.

  The vessel itself possessed a deadly simplicity that had impressed Elexxan upon his first, hurried tour of the ship’s interior and exterior since the humans and their corpses had been removed. Despite the apparent complexity of the maze of piping and electrical conduits that filled the hull, he had been able to see the builder’s hand in apportioning space for all the major systems; propulsion, weaponry, navigation, life support, depth control within the liquid environment.

  Elexxan marveled at the notion of waterborne undersea craft. He had spent some amounts of time since his arrived on Earth visiting the large water bodies of the planet and recording human travel methods and the effect of the liquid on their bodies. He’d seen many of the craft the humans used to transport over the water, but those seemed antiquated compared to the ships the humans had constructed to travel through the atmosphere—not to mention the vacuum of space. No, Elexxan thought as he surveyed the black hull he was perched atop. This craft was truly of a different era. One where hardened metal warships cruised the Earth oceans in secrecy, ready to pounce on unsuspecting merchant ships or warships of their enemies. And then there were these glorious missiles…

  “Removal equipment is being transported to this location.” Alexa turned to go, a hint of a smirk passing over his features. “I will oversee its arrival.”

  “Very well, see to it. Time waits not for the weak.” He glanced at Alexa’s back with some suspicion, then leaped down into the missile tube once more. Alexa would not be allowed to steal his glory. He would present the new weapons to the Prime himself…without interference.

  At that moment, Deacon was in the act of closing a closet hatch deep in the lower levels of the Center, so mentally distracted that he gasped at the sudden hand on his shoulder. He whirled to face his assailant.

  “My, but you’re jumpy today, Deacon. Something on your mind?”

  He recovered quickly and the mask dropped once again, hiding the caged animal that had threatened to leap from his startled features. He focused on Lira, one of the other human workers. “You startled me.”

  “I see that.” Lira was many years his senior, and grown wise in her adulthood. Deacon had a grudging respect for the elderly woman while at the same time harboring some animosity towards her for bowing under the heel of the Prax for so many years. But so few grew truly old on Earth. Most died or were killed once they became useless to the aliens. Or hid themselves, as the Elders did. In fear and trembling.

  “My mind was elsewhere, Lira. Are you in need of something?”

  “Well,” her dark eyes sparkled, “my shift is coming to a close and I wanted to let you know that…”

  He closed the hatch and faced her. “What?”

  She looked suddenly pensive. “It’s that they’ve told me…they’ve told me I am too old to continue service here.” She wrung her hands together. “This day may be my last. Or perhaps tomorrow. I’m not sure when they will remove me.”

  Deacon felt some remorse at his earlier annoyance towards her. To be removed meant almost certain death; the Prax were much too practical about things to leave humans who had intimate knowledge of their headquarters station alive once they—literally—outlived their usefulness. “I’m sorry, Lira.”

  She replaced her had on his shoulder. “You’re different, my boy.”

  He grew wary. “No I’m not. What do you mean?” Was she working for the Prax to save her life?

  Her wrinkled face was soft. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’ve been alive for a long, long time. Longer than I deserve, I expect. I’ve seen many of our kind come through these corridors…and then go.”

  Deacon said nothing, allowing her to leave her hand in place as he listened. The touch was not unwelcome, but unusual; humans didn’t show affection, in his experience.

  “I was very young when they came, you know. All we dreamed of was traveling to the new world of Coloran…even though the government had planned for an attack nobody could stop them. It was all over in a few weeks.” Lira’s eyes were far away, remembering. “Everyone scrambled, trying to find somewhere to hide out, escape. Those who managed to get aboard Mars or Coloran-bound ships were the lucky ones; at least they had the Fleet to defend their retreat. And then the communications were cut off from the rest of the outlying worlds. And the occupiers descended.”

  “It’s hard to imagine a world like that you were a child in.”

  She nodded. “Yours was a hard childhood, as I remember from our conversations. You don’t know what you missed, son; the freedom, the beauty. You could travel to faraway worlds for a reasonable sum, perhaps even settle there, as many did on Coloran or planets along the route. I hear Coloran was almost as wonderful as Earth…perhaps even the Old Earth, before the dark years…” Lira looked down.

  Deacon was determined to see those faraway worlds, once he delivered Axxa to the Fleet. And got paid. Perhaps smuggling was a profitable way of living among the stars, too, he found himself wondering.

  “…But you are different, Deacon.” Lira was still talking. “You came to work here and pretended to be obedient, but you are a clever man. I’ve watched you over the years. You survive where others didn’t. She smiled slightly. “I know you’re keeping company with that Praxxan leader.”

  He was certain she was a spy. “You’re not making sense. What human would do that?”

  “Ha. In my experience, most any human worried about his or her skin would do anything for the Prax. Including sell out their own families.” She averted her face.

  His eyes met hers as he removed her hand from his shoulder. “You di
d that. Didn’t you.”

  Lira nodded heavily. “Once, when I was young, I feared for my life—for that of my baby sister.” She looked up, a new resolve of steel showing in her dark eyes. “I did what was necessary to survive.”

  Deacon nodded, seeing her in a new light. She was no spy. “We will destroy the Prax.” He suddenly became nervous and glanced around. If the recording devices were on, this personal conversation could easily undo everything he had planned. He regretted his quiet outburst of defiance. “One day,” he added softly.

  Lira held his hands. “Deacon, you were meant to see great times. I sincerely hope and pray to God that you will succeed in your plans.”

  “Plans? I work in this dungeon and live outside in fear of my life, just as you do.”

  “Oh come now, son. You are in control of your destiny more than any young man I’ve known here.” She nodded and squeezed his hands before dropping them. “You take care now, y’hear? Keep moving forward, no matter what. You understand?” She lifted a finger and pointed at him as she backed away. “No matter what.”

  Deacon was mesmerized at her words. “No matter what…”

  “That’s my boy.” Lira turned away and walked off down the corridor without looking back.

  He was still looking after her when he sensed a presence behind him. Deacon flinched again; this was turning into a bad day, getting caught unawares twice in short order. He turned to face…Axxa. The red giant had done a nice job of sneaking up. Again.

  “Deacon, we must speak.”

  The human looked around. “This is too open a location.”

  “I have disabled the recording devices in this compartment.”

  Deacon was quietly thankful his conversation with Lira hadn’t been overheard. “What is happening? Can we leave tonight?”

  “We must move now.”

  Deacon became alarmed. “Now? It’s daylight outside.”

  Axxa took his shoulder and gave him a push up the corridor. “Much has happened this day. Your human ship from the past was brought to us and the crew was brutally killed. But not all.”

  Deacon tried to protest their forward motion. “What? How many?”

  Axxa kept his pressure up. “Keep moving. The Prime plans to execute all but the ship’s officers and torture those for information. We must secure the crew’s release.”

  Deacon looked up at the alien’s face, flabbergasted. “Why? Isn’t that an unneeded risk to getting you out of here safely?”

  Axxa glanced down at him, a new expression on his face that Deacon didn’t recognize. “I owe them a life. You would not understand.”

  Since he wasn’t being given a choice in the matter, Deacon tried to pick up the pace rather than be constantly pushed along by the bigger creature, who was clearly agitated. The duo turned several corners before ending up at a large cargo hoist.

  Deacon understood. “They were locked up in a cargo hold.”

  Axxa said nothing but pressed a series of controls only Praxxans could operate biometrically. Indicator lights flashed to show that the device was functioning.

  “Axxa, what are we doing? Do you have an actual plan?”

  The Prax wouldn’t look at him. “We will release them. You will take them with us.”

  “What?” Now Deacon had the first flash of real fear. “That’s crazy! How many are there?”

  “Forty-three survivors from the human crew. Several wounded but able to walk.”

  “We can’t move through Rat City with that crowd—the drones will be on us in minutes!” Deacon wanted to run away and hide somewhere.

  Now Axxa turned on him. His eyes were smoldering green. “You humans. You fear death more than shame. I would rather perish a hundred times than live in shame.” He tapped Deacon’s chest menacingly. “If you still want me as a prize to present to your leaders, the cost is that you will help me save these humans. All of them.”

  The lift opened in front of them. Axxa shoved Deacon into it. The human knew that when the door closed on him there would be no going back; they would be descending into restricted floors without authorization. His carefully-cultivated cover would be forever blown. He had a sudden memory of Lira’s steady eyes on his. No matter what.

  The Prax stepped in behind him and pressed a button on the console. As the doors slid closed on them, Deacon gritted his teeth and began mentally recalculating his meticulous extraction plan to account for forty-five passengers instead of two.

  Chapter 17

  Prax Sol Center - Lower levels

  “What do you remember, Captain?”

  Antonov favored his right arm. Corpsman Whitney had checked it and found only heavy bruising in the forearm where the Russian had taken a few blows. “I saw the sun low in the sky, very red. It reminds me of Africa or the Middle East.”

  Halloran nodded. “I didn’t see that as clearly, but you could be correct.”

  “There were buildings and a huge structure, this was unlike anything I can remember seeing in my travels.”

  “And the men?”

  Antonov snorted. “They were no men. They were demons.”

  Skip Chandler said, “you can’t mean that.”

  Antonov regarded him coolly. “You two were in the thick of the fight, perhaps your judgment was impaired by seeing your comrades falling. But the enemy were creatures that resembled men, yes, but they were not. Tall—two and a half meters. Very red in color, and strange glowing eyes. Humanoid, yet…”

  Halloran folded his arms across his chest. “I suspect we’ll see more of them soon. I bet they are negotiating with the State Department right now with the missiles as bargaining chips.”

  Chandler shook his head. “Sir, this makes no sense. Even if I could believe that some foreign power has developed a means of teleporting an entire submarine, how could they expect to keep all that power tech a secret, let alone hide a five-hundred foot vessel outdoors? Every satellite in orbit will be gunning for them.”

  Antonov said, “I can promise you it was not the Russian government.”

  Petty Officer Carruthers was standing nearby and piped up. “How can you be so sure?” She seemed suspicious. “Maybe you carried some sort of homing device aboard that allowed those things to track us.”

  Halloran watched the two face off, letting it happen to see how the Russian handled things. He seriously doubted that the man was in any way responsible for their predicament, but Gail Carruthers was a tough sailor who’d get under the other’s skin.

  Antonov squared his jaw, apparently offended. “You know nothing, woman—”

  In a flash, Carruthers was up under the man’s jaw with her fist. He was knocked backwards, stunned into silence as he grabbed at his chin.

  “Wanna say that again, Captain?” Carruthers glowered, fists dropping to her sides. Ready to swing again.

  Chandler caught Halloran’s suppressed grin. “Petty Officer, as you were. There’s no, ah, accounting for foreign cultural differences.”

  Antonov rubbed his jaw, trying to look properly chastised as he remembered the company he was keeping. “My deepest apologies, Petty Officer, I meant no offense.”

  Halloran noted Antonov’s knowledge of US rank insignia and filed the info away. What Carruthers had done would have landed her in the brig, under charges. But these were exceptional times. He needed everyone staying aggressive…just in case.

  He tapped the bulkhead nearest him. “Anyway, it’s my estimation that the attack on the boat was the doing of an as-yet unidentified foreign military power—one with significant technological advances in their corner. No offense, Captain Antonov, but I think our Navy Intel has a pretty good handle on the current Russian capabilities. I think your people are off the hook.”

  “What about them?” Chandler indicated the two Chinese officers, who continued to avoid interaction with the Americans and stayed huddled in a corner. “They’re acting suspicious.”

  Halloran rubbed his eyes briefly. “I don’t see a motive. They already have all
the plans on the Hyper-Tridents and the warheads. They’ve reverse engineered to make their own pure fusion warheads…why provoke an international incident by stealing a US vessel?”

  “Captain! We’ve got incoming.” Chief Reyes had stationed himself at the entry hatch, listening closely over the humming of the mechanicals for any signs of life.

  Halloran jogged over. “What did you hear?”

  “Voices outside.” The Chief lifted an eyebrow to Halloran. “Sounds like they’re arguing about something, sir.” Halloran thanked the stars that he’d gotten his Chief back—he suspected they’d need his steadiness before long.

  “Is it English?”

  “I don’t think so—”

  Just then the hatch shifted and a light changed color above their heads.

  “Back, everyone! Against the bulkheads!”

  The crew not huddled miserably in the middle of the decking obediently jumped to the nearest steel wall and flattened themselves against it, instinctively making themselves as small as possible in the case of more hostiles. Which was all but assured…

  Halloran pulled Reyes to one side of the opening just as two halves of the hatch split apart and slid outward in a motion that Halloran didn’t remember seeing before in a military base.

  For a second or two, nothing happened. Then, Halloran heard a slight gasp from Skip Chandler and leaned out a bit to see what was there.

  One of the red people stood in the opening, nonthreateningly. He was wearing one of the uniforms that Halloran had seen up top earlier. It was an odd rust-colored red-brown in color that seemed to be one-piece at first glance. He stood as one with some authority. The face was thick but with clear bone structure and high cheeks. He wore a helmet of sorts, which shaded his eyes.

  The guy looked around and immediately caught sight of Halloran. He said something in a language that Halloran didn’t understand and, realizing that nobody was moving, half-turned and began gesturing out towards the corridor. Halloran stole a quick glance around and saw that everyone was being properly still, not responding nor drawing attention to themselves. Some—the more traumatized—continued to sit on the decking, not paying any attention to the new activity at the hatch. Halloran realized that when they got out of this situation, the Navy would have to do some serious psych evals on his remaining crew.