Honor's Reserve (Galaxy Mavericks Book 1)

by Michael La Ronn

  Grayson and Uncle Ray took a side of the coffin. They wheeled it out of the pod, across the flowered courtyard of the funeral home, and into the wake parlor, positioning it in front of a pipe organ, a pulpit, and rows and rows of pews.

  As they locked the coffin’s wheels in place, he glanced up at an easel that had his father’s picture on it.

  There he was, dapper in his favorite baby-blue, button-down Oxford, posing in front of a white background, with those thick bifocals that Ma always hated. And that crescent moon smile—not quite smiling, but not frowning, either.

  A fitting picture.

  He grabbed a program from a table.

  Carter James McCoy

  Hathaway Place

  Carter McCoy, age 66, left the love of his life, Rose, on December 8, 3045. He was born December 18, 2979, in Hydrangea Heights to Arnold and Viola (Patton) McCoy.

  Carter worked for over forty years for the Provenance Public Schools and retired as a Curriculum Specialist and Swim Coach.

  He is survived by his wife, Rose, and his son, Grayson; his brother Ray and his family.

  He was preceded in death by his brother, Miles; and his parents.

  Memorials contributions may be directed to the Provenance Coast Guard Reserve in his loving memory.

  When Grayson read the last sentence, he lost it.

  Chapter 22

  They buried Grayson’s dad the next morning.

  Numb, Grayson sat through the funeral service as a pastor revered his dad and paid tribute to his life; he shook hands and hugged all those family members who had flown in from all the continents to pay tribute; he bore his dad’s coffin along with his uncle and cousins, and somehow the coffin still felt so heavy that it might as well have been the entire planet of Provenance bearing down upon him; he stood under the bright blue azure sky as the pastor made his final comments, said a prayer, and commended the family’s name to God. And he said nothing as the family lined up and each threw a ceremonial clod of dirt into the ground over Pop’s casket. He’d even thrown dirt himself, but he moved with the motions of a robot, living but not really living, and seeing but not really seeing.

  He made small talk as best as he could at the fish fry that Uncle Ray held at home after the service, not truly tasting his fried catfish sandwich or the German chocolate cake that his mother had made to send Pop off the right way.

  And when it was time for everyone to start dancing, when Uncle Ray turned on the radio and started dancing in his white apron, when everyone started shuffling and swinging and laughing, Grayson slipped further into the backyard and watched quietly.

  Uncle Ray and his mom danced together, and for the first time since he’d come home, his mother smiled. She filled the backyard with her boisterous laugh.

  Grayson sipped a cold beer. It tasted terrible, but it didn’t matter. The can sweated in his palm.

  Soon his mother joined him.

  “How are you doin’, baby?” Ma asked.

  “All right.”

  “You don’t look all right.”

  “What does all right look like, anyway?”

  “I’m hurting just as much as you,” Ma said. “But there are ways of coping with these things.”

  She locked her arm under his. “Come on over and socialize. Your cousins always talk about how they don’t see you.”

  “I just don’t feel like it, Ma.”

  Ma was quiet. Across the lawn, one of his cousins caught a Frisbee and cheered with victory.

  “You’re thinking about space, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I know it was hard for you to leave,” she said. “But I’m glad you did.”

  “I’ll take care of you, Ma,” Grayson said.

  “I know you will, as best as you can.”

  “As best as I can?”

  “I know you,” she said. “Don’t try to hide it. Now come on, why don’t you take care of your Ma now, and fix her a plate?”

  “Gladly,” Grayson said.

  He walked to the picnic table in the middle of the backyard and made a plate—a catfish fillet, collard greens with pieces of ham hocks, and French fries.

  He handed Ma the plate, but before he let go, someone screamed.

  At first he thought it was a game the kids were playing.

  But then more people screamed. Piercing, frantic screams.

  Then the men joined in, yelling.

  Ma’s hands went to her mouth.

  Grayson narrowed his eyes.

  Then he looked up.

  Dozens of fiery balls streaked through the sky like meteorites bright enough to be seen during the day.

  The fire burned off the balls and then he saw them—the pointed, sleek lines.

  They were Argus ships—dozens of them, armed for war.

  Chapter 23

  “It’s the pigs!” someone screamed. “The pigs!”

  Uncle Ray stared up at the sky with tongs in his hand. Specks of grease splattered on his arm and he jumped back.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said.

  Grayson dropped the plate of food he was holding.

  Ma stumbled backward, her hands clutching her chest.

  Grayson grabbed her.

  “Why are they here?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Grayson said.

  A sonic boom shook the house pod as the blue disk of a Galactic Frigate flew overhead, its weapons charging and its engines hissing.

  “There we go!” Uncle Ray said, pumping his tongs. “Grayson, you know how to fly one of those things?”

  That was a navy ship. He knew as much about those as he did calculus, which wasn’t much.

  He thought of Will. And Beau.

  And the passengers.

  He dashed into the house, tore through the kitchen and swung open the door to his bedroom. He jumped over the bed, nearly tripping.

  He slid the closet door open and beheld an empty wardrobe.

  He opened the window and called out into the backyard.

  “Ma, where’s my uniform?”

  Ma was shaken. “Uniform?”

  “My flight suit,” he said.

  Ma wagged her finger. “Wait a minute—now don’t you go thinking about going back into no Galactic Guard!”

  “Ma, I need my suit!”

  “It’s in the washing machine!”

  “Aww, damn!” Grayson said, smacking his palm against his forehead.

  “Watch your mouth!”

  Between the roaring engines in the sky, he heard the washing machine in the laundry room whirring and rinsing.

  He glanced at himself in the mirror.

  He was wearing a black suit and tie. And black lace-up dress shoes.

  He burst out of the bedroom and back into the backyard.

  “Ma, gotta go.”

  “Go where?” his mom asked, incredulous. “You already completed your last mission!”

  “Paperwork ain’t signed yet,” he said, fist-bumping Uncle Ray on his way out of the backyard.

  “You better barbeque them sons of bitches, you hear?” Uncle Ray asked. “Bring back some ham shanks for your ol’ uncle. Ha haaa!”

  Grayson hopped the fence. Then he grabbed his dad’s motorcycle, revved, and took off as more Galactic Frigates filled the sky.

  ***

  Traffic on the main thoroughfares hit a standstill as everyone got out their cars and watched the Argus ships.

  Grayson weaved through cars, staying low to the bike and yelling at people to get out of the way.

  His suit was uncomfortable.

  He’d never liked suits. Never liked wearing ties or dress shoes or slacks. Always made him feel like some high and mighty guy. He preferred a nice fitted dress shirt and jeans—those made him feel normal. Clearly, suits were not meant to be worn on motorcycles.

  He only had a few more blocks to the tram station. From there, just a few minutes to the base. And then he could rendezvous with Will and Beau and figure out what was going o
n.

  If there was going to be a war…

  The planet would need the Guard. He’d have to perform terrestrial rescues, or deliver food and water to devastated zones. Everything he’d trained for.

  The Argus ships formed a long line in the sky.

  They were heading for the base.

  So far, no attacks.

  He expected gunshots and bombs any moment, but they never fell.

  The citizens of Provenance must have expected the same. They were stopped all over the streets, watching the Argus ships with curiosity.

  He drove as fast as he could, revving his engine to scare people out of the way. And as he drove, he kept his eyes on the sky.

  ***

  When he reached the tram station, a line of Galactic frigates had formed near the Guard base as the Argus ships approached.

  At first he didn’t think anything of it.

  But now it was weird.

  Why were army ships gathering at the Guard base?

  He jumped off the motorcycle and ran up the steps to the tram platform. An attendant in a blue uniform waved him down.

  “We’re closed due to the emergency,” she said. “Military personnel only.”

  The blue tram sat silently in the terminal, empty. People were gathered on the platform, watching quietly.

  He cursed and dashed back downstairs and onto the bike. He guided it onto the rocky soil and drove parallel to the tram tracks.

  He prayed for stability, and that he wouldn’t hit a rock that would send him flying to his death.

  He revved.

  Drove faster.

  Revved again.

  Dust rose up in an unruly cloud, covering his suit jacket.

  But he kept going faster.

  The tracks passed by him in a blur. Soon, he saw the raised plateau where the base sat, and he steered for it.

  ***

  He couldn’t reach the base directly. The plateau was too tall.

  The tram platform was fifty feet in the air, an elaborate metal track that looked somewhat like a rollercoaster. The metal bars that supported the track crisscrossed each other in a thatched pattern.

  He parked the bike at the base of one of the posts. Then he spit on his hands.

  “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” he said.

  He jumped and grabbed hold of a metal bar, then pulled himself up.

  He glanced up and down the track.

  If a tram powered down the line, he’d probably be electrocuted.

  Between this and climbing into Rina’s ship, he didn’t know which was crazier.

  The wind picked up and took him by surprise.

  “Whoa!” he said, almost losing his grip.

  The wind was going to be tough on him today. He knew it.

  He pulled himself up further and grabbed another bar, then checked and made sure there wasn’t a tram coming.

  Breathing deeply, he continued the ascent, trying not to think about it. And he didn’t look down.

  An Argus ship screamed through the sky above. It flew toward the plateau, but then circled back when it saw the line of frigates hovering over the base.

  He climbed higher and higher. The wind howled. His suit was covered in sweat.

  He took off the suit jacket and threw it. It flapped like a scared bird as the wind carried it far, far away.

  He didn’t look down, but he guessed he was at least thirty feet in the air.

  If he fell, it would be over.

  If a tram came, it would be over.

  So far, quiet.

  He kept working, using the bars below him as leverage as he climbed ever upward. His biceps burned.

  The top of the track was near.

  “Keep going, man,” Grayson said. “Keep it going.”

  The track was divided in two; he climbed into the bottom of it and pulled himself through the divide, then lay on the platform, sighing.

  Then the track began to rattle.

  The metal bars hummed.

  A horn sounded in the distance.

  His eyes widened. A tram sped toward the platform.

  Grayson jumped into a run, dashing as fast as he could.

  Honk! Honk!

  The tram driver saw him.

  Honk! Honk!

  He leaped, grabbing the edge of the pedestrian platform. His arms burned so much he couldn’t pull himself up right away.

  He yelled.

  Then with all his might, he climbed over the lip and rolled away. A few seconds later, the system intercom chimed and a voice said “Tram approaching.”

  The tram sped into the platform and slowed to a stop. The doors opened and dozens of men in Guard uniforms hurried out, running past Grayson, who lay on the ground, panting.

  “Hey!” a voice cried.

  A police officer stood over him with his gun drawn. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Grayson put his hands up. “I’m a Guard member. I didn’t have my uniform.”

  The officer lowered his gun. “Grayson?”

  He helped Grayson up.

  “Jesus, man. You got a death wish?”

  Grayson doubled over and put his hands on his knees. “I do lately.” Then he stood upright and patted the officer on the back. “Sorry. I had to get up here at all costs.”

  “I’ll have to let your Commander know about this.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. He turned to the base. The huge, noncombustible building lay protected by a row of tall, barbed wire fences. The frigates hovered above, bigger in person than they looked from afar.

  “Gotta go,” he said, running.

  ***

  Armed guards let Grayson into the base.

  He ran toward his station, where officers were closing the mechanical garage doors on all the rescue ship bays.

  He rolled under a door just as it clanged shut. His Galactic Cruiser rested in the bay. Will and Beauregard stood near the airlock, talking. Will saw Grayson and waved.

  “What are you doing here?” Will asked.

  “Can’t keep me away,” Grayson said, panting. “What is all of this?”

  Beau shrugged. “Beats us. We’ve been on standby for the last hour. Apparently the Captain is on his way.”

  Grayson rubbed his head.

  Will tugged at Grayson’s white Oxford. “You’re a little overdressed for this place, man.”

  “Funeral clothes,” Grayson said.

  Will’s jaw dropped open. “Who?”

  “My dad.”

  “Jesus, man. When?”

  “A few days ago.”

  Beau put his hand on Grayson’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Wait a minute,” Will said. “He didn’t die while we were—”

  Grayson nodded.

  “What the hell,” Will said, throwing up his arms. “Why are you here and not with your mom? That’s bullshit, Grayson, and you know it.”

  “I’m not officially off duty yet,” Grayson said. “Besides, if a battle starts, they’re going to need all the officers they can get.”

  “So far, it has been quiet,” Beau said. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  The door to the office wing opened and Gregg and Ponty rushed out. All across the bay, everyone saluted.

  Grayson, Will and Beau saluted as the two commanders stopped in front of them.

  Gregg shook her head as she saw Grayson. “Couldn’t just sit home on the couch, could you?” she asked.

  “Never, ma’am. Not in a time of crisis like this.”

  “Well, we’re going to need you. Suit up.”

  “May I ask what is happening, ma’am?” Beau asked.

  “The pigs are all kinds of pissed,” Ponty said. “They’re asking to speak with the Guard.”

  “Why the Guard?” Grayson asked. “Shouldn’t the army be the ones to address them?”

  “I proposed that,” Ponty said. “But they’re not leaving until they speak with us.”

  Chapter 24

  The
Galactic Army wouldn’t let the Arguses land, so the ships hovered just outside the base.

  Grayson laced up his boots and zipped up his flight suit. It felt good to be back in action.

  He grabbed a handcoil off the wall and tucked it on his belt.

  “What do you think they want?” Will asked as they walked into the office sector. The cool air of the base gave way to the air-conditioned cubicles. Gregg and Ponty stood outside an office, waiting for them.

  “No idea,” Grayson said. “Maybe they’re declaring war for blowing up their ships.”

  “Declare war? Against the Guard? I thought that would be an army or air force thing.”

  Grayson shrugged.

  “I don’t know why Gregg wants us in an office. You’d think we’d be in the skies by now.”

  Gregg was nervous when they arrived.

  “Grayson, Will,” she said. “What we are about to do and say is confidential.”

  They nodded.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Grayson said. “But why us? I thought you wanted us on rescue duty.”

  “The pigs called a conference,” she said. “But they would hardly speak to me or Ponty.” She opened the door. “They asked to speak with you two.”

  Grayson and Will looked at each other.

  They entered the conference room. A television with a camera was mounted on the wall; a logo of the Galactic Guard, an Earthlike planet with two golden rings around it, showed on the screen.

  Ponty and a woman in uniform waited for them.

  “Gentlemen, this is our translator,” Ponty said. “She speaks Argosian.”

  Grayson nodded to her, but the woman just stared at him.

  “I’m going to ask that she translate everything, but I’m going to answer and interject whenever necessary. Senior command hates this, but right now it’s the only way we’re going to get answers. Let’s keep the conversation to a minimum and focus on asking what they want.”

  “Yes, sir,” Grayson said.