How Far the Stars (The Star Scout Saga Book 5)

by GARY DARBY

  He glanced up at Alena. “Sometimes, tranquility, serenity, even beauty can disguise or mask very real danger.”

  No one spoke for several moments, each deep in their thoughts of what might happen if they didn’t succeed.

  Dason broke the silence by calling over his shoulder to Alena, “Would you ask the others to come forward? It’s time I let them in on the plan.”

  Scant seconds later, Dason had the rapt attention of five faces. “As you can imagine,” Dason began, “whatever we try is going to carry enormous risks, so I’m not going to pretty this up.”

  In a rapid, clipped voice, he explained their perilous assignment.

  When he finished, Sami nudged TJ with an elbow and proudly noted, “My idea, you know.”

  Glancing over at Sami, Alena muttered, “With ideas like that, who needs bad guys shooting at you? You’ll do yourself in.”

  She whistled low and made a sweeping gesture toward the thick strands of gas. “You think they can pull that off with the whole Mongan fleet between them and the planet?” she asked Dason.

  Dason didn’t speak for several seconds before he answered, “Honestly? I think an ice comet has a better chance of surviving a run through the sun’s corona than we do.

  “But do we have a choice?”

  He drew in a deep breath, exhaled and said, “Yes, in a way, I guess we do. We could leave the Mongans to their work and go off and find some nice quiet planet where the shock wave won’t hit for another million years or so.

  “We could live out our lives doing essentially whatever we wanted knowing that we won’t have to look up someday and see death sweeping through our skies.”

  Pausing, he let his eyes go from face to face. “Maybe I should have asked you sooner, but knowing you, as I think I do, I don’t believe that it’s in your nature to let innocent unborn lives die when you had a chance to prevent their death.”

  He glanced around. “Am I wrong in saying that?”

  The five glanced at each other before Sami muttered, “Well, amigo, when you put it like that, a lovely, tropical planet where the eats are good sounds mighty good about now and if we still have a choice, I say—”

  TJ’s sharp elbow in the stomach stopped him midsentence. “Oomph!” he moaned and then said, holding his belly, “I say, that on second thought, my stomach isn’t feeling so hot. Forget about the eats and let’s get this done.”

  “And then,” TJ growled, “we go to that beautiful tropical planet. Right?”

  “Right,” Sami muttered in agreement.

  Dason glanced at Nase and Alena with questioning eyes. “I’m with you, TL,” Nase said. “I don’t want anyone dying on my account just because I didn’t stand up and do the right thing.”

  “Nase said it as well as I could,” Alena returned. “Let’s do this and then, I’m with TJ. After this, we go find a tropical beach with beautiful sunsets and night stars that are the grandest in the known universe and do nothing but listen to the waves.”

  “Shanon?” Dason asked.

  “You already know my answer, Dason,” Shanon replied. “You’re right, I could never live with myself, even on the most beautiful planet anywhere, knowing that I turned away from doing what is right.”

  “Thanks,” Dason said and let out a big puff of air. “What we’re about to do, well, it feels even better and more right than before.”

  He shook himself and became businesslike. “So, remember if our part works, we’ll draw enough ships that they won’t have to fight the entire Mongan fleet.”

  Glancing up at his team with an impish smile, he said, “Then, we’ll follow them in—at a safe distance, of course, mop up what’s left and off we go to find that perfect planet.”

  “Lieutenant Dason Thorne,” TJ muttered, her mouth skewered to one side. “Sir, they may have made you an officer, but you’re still the worst liar on the team.”

  For long minutes, the Zephyr floated among the nebulous clouds, the scouts keeping a watchful eye on the orb, and an even sharper lookout for any prowling Mongan warcraft.

  Dason had been tense before, but now, as the minutes dragged on, he felt the tension and pressure build.

  “Should it be taking so long?” Shanon asked in a whisper. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

  Dason reminded himself that, as the team’s leader, he not only had to show outward calm, he needed to display inward calm as well.

  “No,” he answered. “Remember, some of the other Zephyrs had farther to go than we did. Plus, they might have to hunt and peck before they find their targets.”

  More minutes dragged by, and Dason had to remind himself to stay steady. To take his mind off his worries, he asked Shanon, “Anything on the scope?”

  She nodded toward the orb. “Nothing but that thing.”

  “Cannon charged?”

  “Fully charged,” she replied.

  He heard the rustle of clothing behind him and then Alena’s voice, “It’s been a while since we reported in, maybe we should contact the general, get a status update?”

  Dason considered her suggestion and admitted to himself that her proposal wasn’t unreasonable. It had been a long time since they slid into position.

  What was going on out there? Had their plan gone terribly wrong? Had the Mongans shattered their bold strategy by a preemptive strike?

  Alena wasn’t the only one who wanted to know. Dason felt his hand move toward the comm's panel, as if it had a mind of its own.

  With a conscious effort, he drew it back and shook his head. “No. The less chatter we have between the Zephyrs, the less chance the Mongans have of detecting our presence.”

  He turned to her. “If we lose the element of surprise, then there is no hope of success. For now, we stay silent.”

  Within a few minutes, to everyone’s relief, Rosberg’s voice came over the ship’s communicator, “All Zephyrs, this is Rosberg. Begin your attack runs. I repeat, start your attack. Acknowledge.”

  Dason waited until his turn before speaking rapidly over the comms, “Zephyr Four, attacking.”

  Glancing over his shoulder at Alena, he ordered, “Get’em secured tight back there.”

  He turned to Shanon, “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Then let’s do this,” Dason commanded, his face and voice becoming hard and focused.

  He engaged his main engine, whipped the Zephyr around to put distance between the ship and the orb, before swinging it around again.

  “Remember,” he muttered to Shanon, “fire at the farthermost point you can. All we want to do is to tickle it and get their attention.”

  “Got it,” Shanon crisply replied. She leaned over her firing sensors, intently watching as the distance closed, one finger poised over the fire button.

  “Stand by,” she called out, “firing point coming up.”

  She raised her finger slightly, then jabbed it down hard on the button. “Fire!”

  A stream of hot plasma sliced through the clouds, vaporizing molecules in a sizzling burst. Dason pulled the Zephyr into a one-eighty turn away from the orb and headed the ship directly away from the ball.

  A second later, the enveloping clouds lighted up in a fiery display of laser light as the sphere began spewing blistering laser bolts in all directions.

  Dason gunned the Zephyr, racing away from the globe in a frantic effort to evade the searing beams.

  Scarlet and orange rays flashed by the Zephyr on all sides. Just as one zipped by on the port side, Dason yanked the Zephyr in that direction, reasoning that the compu that controlled the firing program in the orb wouldn’t fire twice in the same place.

  Dason didn’t know if the detonator globe had a tracking device or not, but the idea of diving into a pitch-black bank of clouds made him feel better, if only for a second.

  Seconds later, the blazing exchange died down to nothing. Dason glanced over at Shanon, who returned his look with wide eyes.

  Dason realized that he had been holding his b
reath and let it out slowly. “Good shooting, I think you gave it a good tickling.”

  Shanon licked her lips before giving Dason a nod. “I think so, too,” she replied.

  Peering at him, she implored, “Please don’t tell me we have to do that again.”

  Dason smiled slightly in answer. “No, one ball apiece, eight Zephyrs to get someone to thinking about sending the security detail out to investigate.”

  “Good,” Shanon replied with a little sigh. “What’s next?”

  “We go hide and wait, see if anyone comes to investigate. Our little game of tag was only a sideshow; the main event is still to come.”

  “Oh, great,” she returned, “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.”

  “Well, now you know,” Dason answered in a not-so-convincing lighthearted reply. “And now you don’t have to be afraid, do you?”

  “Sorry,” Shanon countered, “but that didn’t help at all.”

  “Stay sharp on the scope,” Dason ordered. “Soon as you see something, let me know.”

  Shanon fixed her eyes on her sensor board, and it wasn’t long before she gave a little gasp. “As they say, I think we stirred up a hornet’s nest.”

  “What do you see?” Dason anxiously asked.

  “Oh,” Shanon casually replied, “nothing more than about a dozen Mongan cruisers headed toward the sphere. And they’re not making it a leisurely stroll, either.”

  “With good reason,” Dason replied, “I suspect that they need every one of those orbs to detonate at the right moment and the right spot. The loss of one or in this case, eight, or so, would upset their plans.”

  Dason reached out to his control panel. “Time to go.”

  He rolled the Zephyr into a tight turn to port, accelerated, and then reached over to open a comm's channel. “Zephyr Four to command.”

  “Go ahead, four,” Rosberg answered.

  “A dozen buzzards inbound,” Dason reported, “we’re heading to the rondy point.”

  “Good job, four, Command out.”

  Dason glanced over at Shanon. “We make for the inner rim now, and wait for orders.”

  “Do you think the other ships had the same result, getting that many Mongan ships to react?” Shanon asked.

  “I don’t know, but if they did, we might have cut down the odds by a considerable amount,” Dason replied in a hopeful voice. “And that, as they say, would be a very good thing indeed.”

  A half hour later, Shanon observed, “The gas is dissipating, coming up on the edge. Recommend you begin to slow.”

  “Roger,” Dason replied.

  He reached out to his control panel and began to decelerate the little craft. He placed it in a slow glide and asked Shanon quietly, “Do you have any other Zephyrs on scope?”

  “One to our right, one to our left,” she replied in the same quiet voice. “Approximately ten kilometers distant on each side.”

  The clouds began to dissipate noticeably, and Dason slowed the Zephyr even more. He had to be careful; he didn’t want his ship poking out of the nebula in full sight of any Mongan ships that might be sneaking around.

  Bent over her sensors, Shanon intoned, “I recommend you come to dead slow, we’re getting real close to clear space.”

  Dason nodded and entered the proper orders into his navigation console. “Dead slow it is.”

  The clouds thinned even more, and it became apparent that they were about to break out into the clear. Dason brought the ship to a complete stop. “Close enough.”

  Keeping her eyes fixed on her sensors, Shanon murmured, “More Zephyrs coming up from behind and on each side.”

  She did a quick count and stated, “Seven total.”

  “Missing one,” Dason grunted.

  He and Shanon exchanged quick glances, telltale worry lines evident on both faces.

  The missing ship might not have been as lucky as they, and somewhere in the nebula floated the remains of a torn and ripped Zephyr, dead, along with her crew.

  After several minutes, Rosberg’s voice broke the tension-filled silence. “All Zephyrs, Stannick reports that she and the SlipShip are in position.

  “We’re missing one of ours but we can’t wait. Make ready to move forward and engage; remember, our primary mission is to protect the SlipSter. That is all.”

  Dason glanced over at Shanon and noticed that she was biting down hard on her lower lip, a sure sign of nervous tension. “Hey,” Dason spoke softly, “ease up. Just concentrate on your job, and we’ll be okay.”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “Want to hear something funny? I’m not afraid of dying, but I’m terrified I’m going to let you and everyone else down.

  “We’re not doing a simple Search, Locate and Catalog mission, you know. One mistake and we could be dooming billions of people to death.”

  “Shanon,” Dason replied in a gentle, confident voice, “you have never, ever, let anyone down. Especially those around you and I believe with all my heart that you never will.”

  He smiled at her in return. “Heck, if anyone has to be afraid of making a mistake, it’s me. So, you had best keep your eyeballs peeled, and that super smart brain of yours concentrated not only on your job, but on me too, making sure I don’t goof things up.”

  She smiled wide at him and leaned back. “Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll keep one eye and half of my super smart brain on you, the other eye, and half a brain on my job.”

  Dason started to smile back when his eye caught swift movement dozens of kilometers away. His eyes widened before he pointed. “Look.”

  Shanon swiveled her chair to peer outward. Dozens of sleek warships belched out of the dark, gray clouds. Stannick’s fleet was in battle formation, the Dauntless spearheading the small, but brave flotilla.

  Shanon scanned the massed formation before she turned back to her sensors. “I don’t see the SlipSter,” she remarked in a concerned voice.

  “And you won’t,” Dason explained. “She’s holding back. Remember, she’s hurt, so she’s hiding in the nebula until Admiral Stannick commits her to the battle.”

  Abruptly, the transmitter crackled, and Dason whispered, “Here we go.”

  “Zephyrs,” Rosberg firmly spoke, “move forward and engage, Scouts Out!”

  Dason punched the acceleration controls and the little Zephyr leaped out of the clouds, a gleaming metallic lightning bolt that sped straight at the Mongan armada that lay waiting in a steel ring around the planet.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Star date: 2443.116

  In the Helix Nebula

  Deklon and Jadar coughed in the thick smoke, as the smell of burning wires and metal wafted through the pilot pod. “Sorry, Deklon,” Jadar hacked as he waved a hand to try to clear the air. “Guess I zigged when I shoulda zagged.”

  “Forget it,” Deklon replied as he worked his control panel to try to right the Zephyr on an even keel. “See if you can get the filtration system to suck out some of this bad air. If not, we’re going to have to climb into our P-suits.”

  The Zephyr floated through the nebula cloud; its outer skin bore blackened stripes from several laser hits.

  Moreover, in trying to turn the ship away from the orb’s barrage of laser bolts, two powerful beams had sliced into the vessel’s engine compartment, ripping through critical nano-wiring and power packs.

  Deklon and Jadar had managed to quell the raging fires that had broken out in the stern, but for now, the ship floated powerless, coasting along on pure momentum through the enveloping clouds.

  Fortunately, their course took them away from the battle orb, and they were in no danger of being on the receiving end of more deadly laser blasts.

  Though that danger had passed, there was still a very real possibility that Mongan cruisers would spot them when the enemy vessels appeared to investigate who had attacked their detonator orb.

  While Jadar worked on clearing the air, Deklon began running a series of diagnostics, trying to ascertain the Ze
phyr’s damage.

  Their overriding concern was whether they would be able to get her functioning in time to join their comrades in the attack on the Mongan fleet.

  After a minute, the haze and smoke lessened to where Deklon could take a breath without coughing. “Thanks,” he muttered to his brother, “I didn’t relish the thought of putting on a P-suit over these bum ribs.”

  “You shouldn’t even be here as bad hurt as you are,” Jadar admonished him mildly.

  “You should be lying in a sick bay, somewhere. One with gorgeous female nurses who love to tend to wounded Star Scouts. But no, here you are, riding herd on me. Like your son said, you ain’t exactly Superman.”

  Deklon held up a hand in protest. “I promise you, after this is all over, I’ll take your advice and find the nearest med facility that has the prettiest nurses in the Imperium. Doctors, too. But for now, we’ve got work to do.”

  Jadar glanced over the control board. “What do we have left?”

  “To start with, the weapons control is totally shot,” Deklon answered. “That last laser beam must have caught us more forward than I initially thought.

  “Most of our sensors are out, we have no star drive, and life support is barely operational.”

  He tapped on the console and pointed at the navigational controls. “We have some thrusters and one working power pack on the nucleonic engine. The other one’s down, but containment’s holding and no radiation leaks.

  “We can move, but not fast, and if we need to jump through hoops, it’s not going to happen because we have virtually zero maneuvering ability.”

  “Is that all?” Jadar asked. “For a minute there I thought you were going to tell me that she was really hurt. Compared to where I just spent the last nineteen or so years, we’re still in good shape.”

  Deklon turned away from the control board to give his brother a disbelieving look. After staring at each other for several seconds, they both sputtered in laughter.

  “Ouch,” Deklon replied and placed a hand against his ribs. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Not much else you can do in the situation, don’t you think?” Jadar asked.