by GARY DARBY
“With as much pushing and shoving as we’ve been doing lately, it would make life easier.”
“Sure,” Dason answered lightly, “let me know how you make out with the general on that one.”
He paused and then asked, “Scoutmaster, are we aligned?”
“Stand by,” Tarracas replied. He made a complete circuit of the asteroid, stopping at certain points to gauge each Zephyr’s position with respect to the asteroid.
“Zephyr One and Two,” Tarracas reported, “you both appear to be in the proper configuration. You may continue.”
“Shanon,” Dason spoke in a low voice, “here we go. Remember, we need to be in synch on each push. We don’t want to send this thing spinning on its axis.”
“Ready, sir,” Shanon answered in a formal air, the lightheartedness in her previous voice now replaced with a crisp, serious tone.
Dason nodded to himself in satisfaction. Good girl, he thought, all business and entirely focused on the job at hand.
“By the numbers,” he instructed, “and on my count to three we push for two seconds.”
He took a breath and then called out, “One. Two. Three!”
He gave his thruster control a light touch and felt a tiny jolt as his side and rear thrusters engaged for the two seconds. He glanced at his velocity sensor. Nothing. They hadn’t moved it a bit.
“Okay, we need to give it a bit more punch,” he confirmed. “It didn’t budge. Let’s double the thrust time. Four seconds.”
He waited a few seconds for Shanon to get ready. “Here we go, on one, on two, on three!”
He held his finger down, counted off the four seconds, and then jerked his finger up. He glanced over at the velocity sensor. It still read all zeroes.
Just to make sure he asked Shanon, “What does your velocity readout say?”
“Zero. No movement,” she replied.
“Me too,” he answered. He licked his lips, tasting salt from the sweat on his upper lip. “Let’s go for ten seconds,” he ordered.
“Ten seconds?” Shanon questioned. “Are you sure, LT?”
Dason hesitated as he considered Shanon’s objections, but only for a moment. “Ten seconds,” he stated.
“We’ve got to get this brute moving. If we overdo it, we’ll just have to apply more thrust to slow it down on the other end.”
“Okay,” Shanon replied, the tenor of her voice suggesting that she wasn’t convinced that he was making the right decision.
“Once more, on three. One . . . two . . . three!”
Both Zephyrs applied full thrust against the monstrous rock. Dason kept his hand on the control, even as he watched the velocity readout. At the six-second mark, the asteroid started moving, much faster than he had anticipated.
“Shut down! Shut down!” he shouted to Shanon, but it was too late, the rock pushed forward, gaining speed.
Without hesitating, Dason rolled his Zephyr away from the asteroid and shot toward the hangar opening.
There was no doubt that he had overshot their velocity mark, and now the rock was headed straight into the hangar at a far greater speed than they intended.
Dason knew that the bridge wouldn’t have time to fire up their engines to get out of the rock’s way. If the mass hit the ship’s inside at its current velocity, the kinetic energy piled up in the asteroid would send it deep into the ship.
Deep enough to deliver a mortal blow.
In seconds, he had his Zephyr in front and facing the oncoming asteroid. He applied thrust and eased his ship’s nose against the massive rock until he felt a solid jolt as the two made contact.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bay doors begin to slide past. The asteroid was entering the hangar bay and making for the far bulkhead.
Time was running out.
He hit the control for his rear thrusters, ratcheting them up to full power. He glanced over at his velocity sensor.
No change.
The rock was still rumbling forward, not slowing one bit, pushing his Zephyr ever closer to the wall, where its mass would crush the Zephyr and him inside.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Star date: 2443.115
Aboard the SlipSter
Darting to on one side, Shanon’s Zephyr slid over the asteroid’s front. Her vessel pirouetted in midair before placing its blunt nose in a perfect pinpoint contact against the asteroid.
At another time and place, Dason would have marveled at her superb flying, but now he just bawled, “Shanon, get out of here, this thing isn’t slowing!”
“Not with just you pushing, it’s not!” she snapped back.
Her rear thrusters flared into full bore, driving her ship into the massive rock. For long seconds, the two Zephyrs shoved against the asteroid with all the power they could muster between them.
For just an instant, Dason considered ordering Shanon to use her nucleonic engine instead of her much less powerful thrusters to push against the rock but quickly discarded the thought.
At this distance from the oncoming bulkhead, the superheat from the engine would burn a hole right through the metal and into the SlipShip’s innards.
Glancing at the velocity sensor, Dason gritted his teeth. They were slowing, but not enough.
They were almost to the bulkhead, and the rock just wasn’t stopping. As if it had an intelligent and malevolent mind of its own, the asteroid seemed bent on crushing both Zephyrs against the plas-steel wall.
Dason shot a look at Shanon, and she met his eyes. He knew from her bleak expression that she too knew that they weren’t going to make it.
A thought flashed through Dason’s mind and he jerked his head straight up. With an animal-like snarl, he yelled over the transmitter, “Shanon, hit your belly thrusters!
“Bridge! Turn on the gravity!” he shouted. “Turn on the gravity, now!”
Dason engaged his own underbelly thrusters and a second later; the asteroid dropped quite literally like a rock to the hangar floor.
Its momentum carried it forward, ripping apart floor plating, and snapping the underlying supporting plas-beams.
Pieces of metal broke apart, sending fragments flying into the air, peppering the Zephyrs as if someone had fired off a giant shotgun.
Dason and Shanon kept their Zephyrs headed against the oncoming asteroid until it slowed and came to a full stop.
His hand shaking just a bit, Dason reached out and turned off his forward thrusters and let the Zephyr’s belly thrusters keep the ship aloft.
He turned his head and gave Shanon a weak smile. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, her eyes big and round. “But you might want to look behind you.”
Dason swiveled in his chair and glanced toward the ship’s stern. Its boxy aft section rested mere centimeters from the rear bulkhead.
If the behemoth rock had continued crunching forward for even a second more, the asteroid would have crushed both Zephyrs along with Dason and Shanon.
Dason turned away, swallowed, and said to Shanon, “I’ve had enough fun for one day. What say we land?”
“Best suggestion I’ve had today,” she replied with a little sigh.
Dason motioned downward. “After you, ladies first.”
Minutes later, with the hangar sealed and pressurized the group of scouts and Teng Rhee stood inspecting the torn and ripped flooring.
Sami draped an arm over Dason’s and Shanon’s shoulders and muttered in a conspiratorial whisper, “I sure hope you two have got good driver’s insurance, ‘cause that’s gonna cost plenty to repair.”
“Hey, lay off,” Shanon protested. “It couldn’t be helped, we were about to get flattened, you know.”
Teng took a step forward, surveying the damage. “Well, the good news is that we got it inside and out of the Faction’s hands. The bad news is how are we ever going to get it out again?”
No one had an immediate answer for him, so he turned and gestured toward the hatch. “Never mind, back to the bridge
. I left Nase on watch, but I’m a little nervous that he might want to start pushing buttons just to see how the SlipShip works.”
With the others trailing Teng up to the control room, Dason glanced over at Tarracas. “Guess I applied a little too much oomph, Scoutmaster.”
Tarracas patted him on the shoulder. “Sometimes, we all use a bit too much ‘oomph,’ as you call it, lieutenant. The important thing, as Mr. Rhee indicated, is that we have it under our control and not the Faction. Let’s get to the bridge, I’m anxious to see how our scouts on the surface are faring.”
A minute later, Dason and the Scoutmaster entered the bridge just in time to hear Teng say to the holographic image of Rosberg, “Yes, general, we’ve got it aboard and at this moment our space is clear, no Faction anywhere near us.”
“Great work,” Rosberg replied gratefully. “That takes a big load off my mind.”
Tarracas stepped closer Rosberg’s image. “General, how goes the rescue mission?”
A worried expression crossed Rosberg’s face. “Not as well or as fast as I’d hoped,” he replied. “We’ve managed to load five transports but with Cait Stannick’s ships being tied up fighting off the Faction, I haven’t let them boost off-planet without escorts.
“I’m afraid that they’d be easy prey if the Faction suddenly showed up. So, we’ll continue with the boarding operation and hope that we get a reprieve long enough that Stannick’s ships can escort them outbound and into hyperspace.”
He grimaced at his next words. “But I might have to change my mind on that if she’s not able to break loose any ships for escort duty.
“What we didn’t realize was how many injured we had down here. It’s taking us a lot longer to load them than we anticipated.”
“What about the Faction fleet?” Tarracas asked.
Rosberg nodded and let a smile play across his lips. “That’s one area of good news for the home team. Stannick’s flotilla ambushed that first wave, did a number on them, and they’ve retreated.
“That second bunch that you lured in didn’t fare much better, either. It appears that they’ve withdrawn from the immediate area.”
He paused to run a hand over his grimy forehead. “However, this might be the calm before the storm. Admiral Stannick is convinced that they only withdrew to regroup, and more importantly, wait for heavier reinforcements.
“I’m afraid that she may well be right. When they hit us again, it’ll be with the full brunt of their fleet and it’s doubtful that Stannick’s little taskforce will be able to withstand such an onslaught. And if they break through, well . . .”
Rosberg’s voice trailed off midsentence as if he didn’t want to contemplate what could happen, but for Dason it wasn’t hard to complete Rosberg’s unspoken thought.
Complete annihilation of those left on the planet’s surface.
“What can we do to help, general?” Teng asked.
Rosberg shook his head at them. “One unarmed ship? Thanks for the offer, but you know as well as I that you’re no match for the Faction fleet.
“Besides, I don’t want you to get anywhere near the Faction with that nova machine. The farther you are from them, the happier I’ll be.”
Rosberg’s eyes got a faraway look as if he listened to someone speaking in his earpiece before he turned back to address them. “I’ve got to go. Again, superb work on securing that device.
“You’ve saved a great many lives today, and we are all grateful to you. Rosberg, out.”
The general’s image faded and then disappeared. “There’s got to be something we can do to help,” TJ muttered. “I don’t like the idea of just sitting here doing nothing.”
“You heard the man,” Sami replied, “we’re unarmed. What can we do against a fleet of warships with lasers and ion cannons? Nothing, unless you’re into committing hairy, uh, hairy—”
“Hara-kiri, Sami,” TJ replied. “It means ritual suicide.”
“That’s the one,” Sami returned. “And which, by the way, I’m not interested in doing whatsoever.”
“And neither are we, scout,” the Scoutmaster answered firmly. “Besides, the general was quite clear that our mission now is to ensure that the nova weapon doesn’t fall into the Faction’s hands.”
He drew in a breath, and his face became set. “And, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Dason, who had listened quietly to the discussion, straightened and turned to his team. “I agree, Scoutmaster. But, it only takes two to drive this ship, you and Mr. Rhee.”
He glanced at his comrades. “What do you say? We still have one serviceable Zephyr down in the hangar. We might scrape a little paint off in getting it out, but I think we can squeeze by.”
“Count me in,” TJ replied in a strong voice.
“Me too,” Alena affirmed. “We might not be able to fight off any of those Faction ships, but we can certainly lend a hand down on the planet.”
Shanon and Nase chimed in that they were all for going. Sami stood shaking his head before muttering, “Oh, sure. Those Faction ships won’t even have to fire a laser to knock us out of the sky. One big fly-swatter will do the trick.”
Dason strode over, wrapped an arm across Sami’s shoulders, and gave him a playful shake. “C’mon Sami, since your insurance is still good, I’ll even let you drive.”
“Well, since you put it that way,” Sami answered with a sheepish grin, “let’s go.”
With a quick wave to Tarracas and Teng Rhee, the team started to troop out of the control room, except for Dason. He held back before turning to Tarracas. “Scoutmaster, I—”
Tarracas held up a hand to stop Dason and then dug into his torso vest to produce his handheld compu. He held it out to Dason. “Take this, I have the feeling that you might need it.”
Dason stared at the little machine with a puzzled expression before he took it from the Scoutmaster.
“While we were waiting for our comrades to figure out how to get the nova device aboard,” Tarracas explained, “I managed to decipher most of the remaining Mongan symbols and their correlation to the device’s operating systems.”
He gestured at the small device. “It’s all there, except for how to bring up the protective shield around the asteroid. That one I wasn’t able to decipher.”
Dason shook his head at the Scoutmaster. “But won’t you need this to—”
“No,” Tarracas answered hurriedly and tapped on his skull. “If I ever need it, it’s all up here.”
He drew in a deep breath, motioned toward the hatchway. “Now, it’s time for you to go, we both have things to do.”
In a halting voice, Dason stammered, “Scoutmaster, I just wanted to let you know that . . .”
“There’s no need to say anything,” Tarracas replied.
He reached out and gripped Dason’s shoulder in a firm hold. “You’ve grown, Dason,” he said in a warm but strong voice.
“You’re no longer a Stripling Warrior being led by a captain. You’ve become that courageous leader leading your own band of Stripling Warriors.
“And more importantly, you’ve come to exemplify the oath that you swore to uphold not only in words, but in deeds, and in your heart, and in your life.
“I couldn’t have asked for more. You’ve made an old man proud to have been a part of that.”
Tarracas reached, brought his arms around Dason in a strong hug. Whispering, he said, “Between scouts there are no goodbyes, just good hunting and good trails until we meet again.”
Dason held onto the Scoutmaster fiercely, burying his head into Tarracas’s shoulder before he pulled back. “No goodbyes, Scoutmaster,” he murmured. “Good hunting and good trails to you.
“Scouts Out, Dason Thorne,” Tarracas murmured, his proud eyes meeting Dason’s. “Until we meet again.”
Dason’s voice choked and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He squeezed the Scoutmaster’s shoulders and his eyes glistened. “Until we meet again, Scoutmaster.”
He
gave one last firm clasp before he turned to make his way to the Zephyr.
Just past the hatchway, his footsteps faltered, and he put out a hand to steady himself against the bulkhead.
His eyes grew moist; a lost and lonely feeling swept over him. In his heart, he knew that he and his beloved Scoutmaster hadn’t said goodbye for the moment, they had bidden their last farewell.
He straightened, brushed his eyes with the back of a hand, and with firm and purposeful steps strode away.
A few minutes later, Dason stood in the doorway to the pilot’s pod and to Sami and Shanon ordered, “Take us out, pilots, we’ve got work to do and scout mates to save.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Star date: 2443.116
Aboard the Inbound Zephyr
“Coming up on the outermost screening ships,” Sami called out an hour later. “I suggest we let someone know we’re the good guys. I’d hate to think we’d made it this far only to be shot out of the sky by our very own chums.”
“Good idea,” Dason replied from the copilot’s chair. “I’ll ask them to please not use their fly-swatters on us.”
“I was just using a metamorphous phrase,” Sami answered.
“Sami, you’re a little confused,” Shanon chuckled from the pod’s doorway. “You mean you used a metaphorical phrase.”
“Well, whatever it is,” Sami said to Dason, “make sure you don’t confuse our friends up ahead, and they start taking potshots at us.”
“I’ll do my best, Sami,” Dason replied and tapped on the comm's button. “This is Star Scout Team Thorne,” he intoned, “aboard Zephyr One.”
There was silence for a moment before a deep bass voice came back in answer. “Go ahead Zephyr, state your mission.”
“Inbound to Sarpens Two,” Dason answered. “Request that you check with General Rosberg for our clearance.”
“Stand by, Zephyr,” the stern voice answered.
Sami’s nervous fingers played over the pilot controls as the Zephyr coasted ever closer to the nearby battle-scarred warships.
