Starship Valor (The Galactic Wars Book 5)

by Tripp Ellis

  It wasn't a bad idea. His skin was itching and burning, and it would likely get worse if he didn't do anything about it.

  Tyler pulled off his respirator and marched down the corridor toward the locker rooms.

  Inside, there were rows of lockers and benches. There had been a long running mirror above the sinks, but it had shattered into pieces. Shards of sharp glass lined the counter tops and the floor. The ceiling was slightly buckled, but the compartment was still structurally sound.

  Tyler crunched across the broken glass to the shower stalls. He set his rifle down in the corner and took off his pack, tactical vest, and armor. He hung them from a soap rack, slung over a shower nozzle. He reached over to the next stall and twisted the faucet. To his surprise, water streamed down.

  He didn't bother to strip off his fatigues. They had been soaked in the harsh chemical. Putting them back on after a shower might still cause irritation, he thought.

  Once they were thoroughly saturated, he peeled them off and tossed them on the ground. He poured soap over them and let the suds bubble up. The oily residue from the DETMT filtered out of the fabric and swirled down the drain.

  Tyler’s skin was beyond irritated. He looked like he had spent a few days at the beach without sunscreen. The mere act of slathering on soap electrified the nerve endings in his skin.

  He stood there for a few moments, letting the cool water flow over his searing flesh. He didn't ever want to get out of the shower. He must have stayed in there for 15 minutes. He finally picked up his fatigues and rung them out, then hung them on a rack to dry. Then he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower stall.

  Dr. Noble was waiting for him. Her eyes couldn’t help but fall over his sculpted body, his scalloped abs, his… Her face flushed red with embarrassment. She tossed him a towel. “I found the ointment. It should soothe the chemical burn. It has a regenerative compound in it,” she said, now trying to avert her gaze.

  Tyler toweled off, then wrapped the cloth around his waist. He took the lotion and slathered it on his skin. It felt like ice. Just what he needed. He spread it everywhere he could reach, but he was having a hard time with the middle of his back.

  “Here, let me give you a hand with that.” She took the tube of lotion and squeezed a dab into her hands. Then she coated his mid back with the cooling ointment.

  “Thanks.” Tyler turned to face her.

  Her big blue eyes stared up at him through her broken glasses. She glanced away and screwed the lid back on the tube of ointment. “Well, I should let you finish getting dressed." Dr. Noble was completely flustered.

  “Hang on.” Tyler strolled back to his gear and pulled out his pistol. He press-checked the weapon and made sure the safety was on. He handed the pistol to Holly.

  She took it awkwardly. “What’s this for?”

  “Protection. Just in case.”

  “I’ve never shot one of these things before.”

  “It’s easy,” Tyler said. “Just flick the safety off, point it at what you want to kill, then squeeze the trigger.”

  “I don’t want to kill anything.”

  “Sometimes you don’t have a choice.”

  Holly looked over the pistol. “Is this ready to go.”

  Tyler grinned. “Yes. It’s ready to go. So, be careful.”

  “Okay.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll try not to shoot myself.”

  “Don’t do that. It would be a shame.”

  Holly blushed, then scurried out of the locker room.

  Tyler chuckled to himself. He hung his towel up and grabbed his fatigues from the rack. The advanced wicking material repelled moisture. They were already dry.

  He got dressed, strapped on his tactical vest and armor, and grabbed his RK 909 from the corner. Across the room, there were several miners uniforms, boots, and safety helmets hanging on racks. Tyler grabbed a pair of work gloves and strolled back into the main lounge area.

  Elliott was sitting on the couch.

  "I see you're still alive," Tyler said.

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  "The day’s not over yet." Tyler flashed a thin smile. He headed back toward the entrance and pulled on the work gloves. Then he began heaving some of the smaller boulders out of the way to broaden the passage.

  Elliott sat on the couch and watched. He yelled down the hallway. “I’d offer to give you a hand, but I'm a little incapacitated at the moment." His tone was insincere.

  Tyler scowled back at him and continued to clear a passage. Then he climbed out through the narrow opening.

  Boulders and small rocks littered the main passageway. There was a massive cave-in blocking the tunnel about 50 yards from the command center. The drill rig had taken a beating, but it was still accessible.

  Tyler noticed a shaft of light piercing down near the cave-in. It seemed impossible since they were 2.9 miles underground. At least, that's how far underground they used to be.

  Tyler jogged to the wall of rocks blocking the passageway. He climbed up to the shaft of light. It was an opening about the size of a manhole cover. He poked his head through, and the morning sunlight shined on his face. His eyes scanned the perimeter. He was at the base of a massive crater. One that was several miles long, and 2.9 miles deep. Elliott wasn't joking when he said the explosion would be big enough to take out the state of Arivada.

  Tyler climbed out of the cavern. He couldn't help but smile. They had survived the un-survivable. The detonation had incinerated every single one of those vile creatures, or so it seemed.

  The crater was charred and barren. At the distant rim of the crater were the scorched remains of the once lush jungle. It looked like an entirely different planet.

  Tyler scanned the crater. He didn't see anything moving. He waited for a moment, expecting hundreds of creatures to emerge from the remaining passageways. But nothing came.

  Tyler marched through the rocky terrain, trying to get a safe distance from the opening of the mine. He continued several paces to a large boulder. Then he reached into his pack and pulled out the specimen jar.

  The hideous larvae were still squirming about. His contemplative eyes fixed on the writhing creatures. He wasn't about to let a catastrophe like this happen on New Earth. He didn't care how important the technology was, or what kind of military advantage it could give the Federation. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing. At best, they might kick him out of the military. At worst, he'd spend the rest of his life in a supermax prison. But the threat these creatures posed to humanity was too great.

  Tyler coated the container with a moldable plastic explosive—C15.

  Composition 15 was made up of an explosive nitroamine UDX (United Defense Compound X), a plasticizer, polyisobutylene as a binder, and a process oil. It was more powerful, and even more stable than the old C-4. It was more than enough to incinerate the specimen jar and ensure that these insects would never propagate throughout the galaxy.

  Tyler inserted a blasting cap into the putty. He could trigger it remotely with a detonator. He set the specimen jar down behind a large boulder, then he started to head back toward the mine shaft. But he didn't get very far.

  Weston Elliott was waiting for him. He had taken Faulkner’s M640 and was aiming it at Tyler. The big black barrel stared him in the face.

  Tyler clenched his jaw. The veins in his neck bulged. He was furious with himself for letting this little sleaze-ball get the jump on him.

  47

  Walker

  Walker activated his mag boots and staggered to the back ramp. But since the ship was so embedded in the mega-structure’s hull, there was no way to exit the vehicle. The ramp’s mechanism just wouldn’t function.

  Walker grabbed a plasma torch and began cutting through the hatch. There was no going back. He was going to be stuck on this mega-structure.

  Sparks showered, and molten metal bubbled. Air whistled out of the cabin. Soon there was no oxygen left in the compartment. Walker blazed through the metal, cut
ting out a large rectangle. He kicked the plate away, and it tumbled end over end into space.

  Walker grabbed his pack and strapped it on, then stepped out of the Specter, onto the hull of the mega-structure. He could see the chaos of the battle ensuing in the distance. A twirling spiraling mass of fighters that looked like angry hornets. Cannon fire peppered the star field. Nukes streaked through space. Warships circled the Revenant like angry sharks.

  Walker stomped across the hull toward the maintenance hatch. His mag boots clanked and clamored. He knelt down and opened a fairing to access the control panel. He pressed a button and opened the hatch. It was a simple mechanism. There weren't any codes or biometric scanners. The synthetics hadn’t anticipated the need for security measures on the maintenance hatches.

  Air rushed out into space as the hatch slid open. Walker crawled into the airlock, sealed the hatch, and re-pressurized the small chamber. It was a narrow tunnel, maybe 4 feet across. It filled with atmosphere within a few minutes. Then Walker opened the inner airlock hatch and crawled down the rungs. They led to a corridor below, but Walker stopped about mid-way down. On the other side of the bulkhead were the heat exchangers—giant coils of liquid that dissipated the massive amounts of thermal energy produced by the reactors. Even through the War-Tek T 6000, Walker could feel the heat radiating through the bulkhead.

  He slung his backpack from his shoulders and pulled out a warhead. It was a small conical device, about half the size of a football. It had a magnetic base and an input screen. Walker affixed it to the bulkhead. He set the timer for five minutes, then armed the device.

  He climbed up the shaft and sealed himself in the airlock. He opened the outer hatch, then climbed out. He had five minutes to get a safe distance away. And that wasn't looking very likely.

  In the CIC of the Revenant, alarms were sounding. The LRADDS display was aglow with hostile targets. Another impact rocked the ship. The old frame creaked and groaned. The ship quaked uncontrollably. The crew were tossed about. Sparks showered from control panels and smoke wafted into the air. Slade hung onto the command terminal for dear life.

  The Revenant wasn't going to last much longer. Multiple sections of the external hull had been breached. Things weren’t going as planned. Slade was in no position to demand the unconditional surrender of the synthetics.

  “Sir, we may want to consider jumping away,” Zoey said.

  “Our entire air group is out there, not to mention…” Slade’s thoughts drifted to Walker.

  Another nuke impacted the ship, knocking Slade to the deck. Klaxons sounded. The ship rumbled.

  “Sir, we’ve lost the number 2 port engine,” Zoey yelled.

  Slade grasped the edge of the command console and pulled herself to her feet. She winced with pain, the wound in her shoulder throbbing. She was devastated. The fate of mankind, and the lives of 1500 crew, were in her hands. Maybe this was a foolish endeavor? She should have never trusted the Decluvians. She had gambled the last best hope for mankind and lost. And she knew she might lose the man she loved. “Bring the Stingray’s back. Plot jump coordinates.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Suddenly, she felt a quantum distortion ripple through the CIC. Then another. And another. They kept coming. 27 of them in total. The Decluvian warships had arrived.

  The robots broke off from their assault of the Revenant and assumed a defensive posture. The Decluvians pummeled them with nukes and cannon fire. A slew of fighters launched from the alien warships to aid the much beleaguered squadron of Stingrays.

  The star field was pure chaos. Fighters on all sides were blasted into bits. Debris tumbled into space. Nukes and fighters and cannon fire and warships crisscrossed in space. A swirling mass of destruction.

  For the pilots, death lurked at every turn. Pampers had one of the robotic drones on his tail, and he couldn’t shake him. Once these things locked on, they were almost impossible to get rid of. But Pampers was a damn good pilot. He was holding his own.

  “Can I get a little assistance here?" he said, spiraling his Stingray through space. He twirled and weaved through the obstacle course of fighters and debris and bullets. Pampers had earned his call sign during a particularly harry combat mission when he experienced a “thruster malfunction” in his pants. He was never going to live it down.

  Cameron angled in, targeting the drone. “I got your back.” He squeezed the trigger and rattled off a blistering flurry of rounds, shredding the robotic fighter. The fuselage blasted into pieces. Chunks of the craft spiraled in all directions. Cameron pulled hard on the stick, swerving to avoid the debris.

  Pampers breathed a sigh of relief. "Not bad, CT. Keep shooting like that—“

  Stray cannon fire blasted through Pamper’s cockpit. The fuselage erupted in a ball of flame. It was a stroke of bad luck. He never saw it coming. It was just another one of the dangers of this type of engagement.

  Cameron’s face tightened as he watched the Stingray disintegrate and scatter into space. But there was no time to dwell on it. He had picked up an attacker himself.

  A drone was close on his tail.

  48

  Tyler

  “Can’t let you do that,” Weston said. “Set the detonator down.” He struggled to hold the heavy weapon up. It was 27.6 pounds, which, after about a minute in the firing position, seemed to weigh a ton. Weston rested the end of the barrel atop his cast. It wasn't going to lend itself to much accuracy. But at this distance, he didn't need to be very accurate.

  Tyler scowled. He knelt and set the detonator on the rocky ground. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “Set the weapon down too.”

  Tyler set his RK 909 on the ground alongside the detonator.

  “How do you think the UIA is going to feel about your failure to accomplish the objective, Ensign? You are in no position to be making policy decisions.”

  Tyler’s hand was close to his holster. For a second, he thought about snatching his pistol and taking his chances. But then he remembered he had given it to Holly. He suddenly felt naked.

  Tyler slowly stood up. “It’s an illegal bio-weapon. I’m sure the Federation Security Council would love to hear about it. Perhaps the Congressional Intelligence Committee?”

  “They aren’t going to hear about anything.” Weston's eyes were cold. Tyler had seen the look in men's eyes before. Focused and detached, with no trace of humanity. A killer’s eyes.

  “Weston, what are you doing?" Holly shouted. She had emerged from the mine shaft.

  "Stay out of this, Holly."

  She raised Tyler’s pistol and took aim at Weston. “Put the weapon down, Weston. I'm not going to let you shoot him.”

  Elliott's eyes narrowed and shifted between Tyler and Holly. His face tensed with frustration. "Holly, I know you're not going to shoot me. So just put the weapon down."

  "I don't think you know me as well as you think you do."

  "Go ahead,” Weston said. “Shoot me. I dare you.”

  Holly pursed her lips. She blasted a round near his feet. The bullet ricocheted away. A plume of dust rose into the air.

  Elliott’s finger wrapped around the trigger. He was possessed by a singular thought—greed.

  “Don’t make me do this, Holly.”

  “I’m not making you do anything. Put the weapon down.”

  Elliott clenched his jaw, then spun the barrel toward Holly and squeezed the trigger. Muzzle flash erupted from the barrel of the assault rifle.

  Dr. Noble blasted several rounds back at Elliott. Gun smoke filled the air. Only one of them was left standing after the smoke cleared.

  It seemed Holly was a much better shot than Weston.

  Elliott crumpled to his knees, then face-planted against the rocky dirt. He gurgled and gasped for breath. His lungs filled with fluid. His body was painted red with blood. The crimson river oozed onto the rocks. He twitched for a moment then exhaled his last breath.

  Holly's eyes filled. She stood there trembling, staring at
Weston's body in disbelief. She had never shot a weapon before, much less killed anyone.

  Tyler rushed to her. "Are you okay?" He scanned her body, checking for gunshot wounds. It wasn't unusual for people who were shot not to feel it for the first few minutes, until the adrenaline wore off.

  It took Holly a moment to respond." Yeah, I'm fine,” she stammered.

  Tyler moved to Weston and kicked the rifle away. He knelt down and checked Elliott’s pulse. He was dead—no doubt about it.

  Tyler moved back to the detonator and scooped it from the ground, along with his rifle. He trotted back to Holly. He took her by the arm and pulled her a safe distance away. They hunkered down behind a large boulder.

  “Cover your ears."

  Holly nodded and did as he said.

  Tyler pressed the button on the remote and detonated the C-15. A massive amber explosion incinerated the specimen container. Black smoke billowed high into the air. Bits of rock and debris rained down.

  Hopefully that was the last anyone would ever see of those creatures.

  Holly was still in shock. She broke down in tears. A million different thoughts and emotions ran through her mind. Her chest heaved in sobs.

  Tyler put his arm around her, and did his best to comfort her.

  Rivulets of tears streamed down her cheeks. Her nose and eyes were red and puffy. She let it all out for a few minutes, then pulled herself together. She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to regain her composure.

  Tyler heard a rumble in the sky. He craned his neck toward the clouds to see what was causing the ruckus. He squinted as he looked up past the blinding sun. A shape emerged from the clouds, descending from the heavens like an angel.

  Backlit by the morning sun, the shadowy shape came into view. The freighter gently descended into the crater. The air beneath the ship rippled and distorted from the landing thrusters. Tyler watched in amazement as the craft touched down. He stood up and stepped toward the vehicle.