War Without Honor

by J. R. Geoghan

  “I have studied the footage transmitted from Creal’s ship of the Prax vessel. It is certainly a new style of hull for their fleet, based on my research into human Fleet databases.” Myg smirked at Creal; everyone knew that Myg could crack any code. “The close-up zooms revealed at least one airlock with an external entry board.” Most ships had an access panel located near an entry point, for use by crew working outside the hull.

  “And you can crack it?” Harper was looking at his fingernails.

  Myg shrugged. “I shall.”

  Creal strongly suspected Myg could do it, despite the Prax warship security. In fact, he had planned to reach out to Myg covertly and offer him a cut of his poached prize in exchange for getting him access to the ship’s interior.

  “Good to hear.” Harper glanced between Myg and Creal before returning his gaze to the bridge monitor.

  The men watched the asteroid pair approach on the viewscreen. Creal leaned against a railing and tried to breathe normally, half-expecting a plasma bolt to the face at any moment. He didn’t look at Barstow much but the one time he did, the man wore an extra-thin smile. Nerves? Or something else?

  “It is a nice hiding spot, Creal,” Harper nodded as the nose of the Prax ship came into sight between the asteroids. “From a distance, the rock would shield most of the prize from sensors and the rest would be written off as backscatter.” He smiled at Creal from his seat. “Of course, I did know about this location.”

  Creal looked up at Myg, but the other avoided his stare. Or was Creal imagining things?

  Harper whistled as the ship came around the asteroid and the full extent of the alien vessel revealed itself. “She’s even more beautiful in person than on video. Batazar, give ship’s control to Mygdarian so he can find the airlock of his choosing.”

  “Yes, boss.” The navigator sounded smug to Creal.

  Harper jumped up, startling him. The boss shook his significant girth, causing his bangles to clink together. He adjusted a hoop earring he was wearing on his left side this month and grinned at Creal. “Let’s go see what the Creal dragged in.” As he passed he called, “Barstow too.” Creal saw Erus following them from the bridge.

  Back along the corridors to the airlock. Harper began pacing in the compartment, hands on hips. His bangles clanged every now and then. Erus stood by, having picked up a long gun along the way somewhere. He cradled it across his huge biceps, which were covered with tattoos and piercings. Creal himself was painted from shoulder to fingers on one arm, but he had never gone in for much piercing. Other than his earrings, he avoided them.

  “Myg, progress?” Harper kept pacing as he called out to the ship’s comm system.

  “We are a few meters from docking ring extension. I am scanning the codes.”

  Harper stopped in front of Creal. “Halt here,” he called out.

  “Hovering, boss,” came Batazar’s voice through the speaker.

  Harper’s face was serious as he studied Creal from a foot away, encroached on his personal space. “I think we should give Barstow the honors he deserves. Don’t you?”

  Creal wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t good. For Creal.

  Without waiting for an answer, Harper motioned Barstow toward the airlock. “You first. After all, you earned it.”

  What was Harper talking about? Creal’s brow creased as he tried to understand.

  Hesitantly, Barstow glanced from Erus to Creal before easing forward into the now-opened inner airlock. He met Creal’s look and shrugged, a smirk spreading across his face. Three steps and he was in the lock, the door closing behind him.

  Harper stepped beside Creal and placed his arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “You and I have known each other, well, your whole Hauler life. Why would you have done it?” The boss was speaking softly, directly into Creal’s ear.

  Creal hung his head. “Boss, I—”

  “Shh. I understand. We all make mistakes. But I am here, as your adopted father, of a sort…to say ‘let’s correct things.’ You know that Myg loves you as a brother. I think it was he who was arguing most passionately for your redemption.”

  Barstow’s face was pressed up against the airlock viewport. Creal noticed the look of concern in the man’s eyes.

  Harper waved at the airlock. “A momentary lapse of reason, that’s what I call it. It can happen to any Hauler. Too much space time, not enough women in their life? Who knows… Myg, release control to me here.”

  Myg’s voice came through. “Control is yours.”

  Harper had gently eased Creal forward as he talked, his beefy hand place on the small of his back. Now they were close to the airlock and Creal could see the sudden fright in Barstow’s eyes behind the viewport. Something was wrong.

  “Here, now.” Creal felt Harper’s other hand guiding his, and forced himself to look down at the control on which he placed his finger. The outer door release.

  With a look of shock he turned to the boss, but Harper held him firmly with the hand behind his back. “It’s for the best, you know. A bad decision, bringing him aboard your ship. He contacted me to rat on your, ah, lapse of reason, of loyalty. Thought he would play the game with me against you… I blame him, don’t you, Creal? Let’s put it behind us.”

  Creal suddenly remembered that they hadn’t yet docked. But…

  “Push it, Creal. Or my own lapse of memory will be short-lived, I fear. And Myg’s own loyalty may fall into scrutiny?” He felt the slight laugh of bad breath slap his nose as Harper giggled.

  Creal pushed the release and watched as Barstow’s wild eyes and pounding fists were soundlessly sucked out of sight.

  Several long moments later Harper pulled him back and spun Creal gently to face him. Without taking his eyes off him Harper called out in his normal, gruff voice, “Myg, close the lock and re-engage the docking process with the prize ship. Get me on board, son.”

  To Creal he smiled broadly and said, “I’m glad my trust in you was confirmed. After all, you’re one of my favorite Haulers.” He smacked Creal on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll look out for you! You,” he poked Creal in the chest, “look out for your boss, y’hear?”

  Creal could only nod dumbly, aware of how close he’d just come.

  Chapter 36

  The moment the ship arrived within shuttle distance from Mars Command, Tarsa was on his way. By the time his ferry docked at the terminal, the rest of the flotilla had limped into high orbit. Or more accurately, he thought, the remains of the flotilla.

  Admiral Kendall met him at the gangway and shook his hand grimly. No words were exchanged until they reached a secure briefing room. Kendall waved him to a seat. “It’s good to see you back, Tarsa. Rough business.”

  Tarsa stood by the chair. “They got through.” He’d kept that particular news out of his immediate after-action report, preferring instead to tell the Admiral in person.

  Kendall slumped against the paneled wall. “Thank the stars. It was worth it.” He looked up expectantly. “You have them?” Kendall glanced at the closed door as if expecting to see the group march in.

  “Worth it?” Tarsa rubbed his temples. “We lost twelve ships—eight hundred sixteen crew, at last count. Some ships have inaccessible sections yet. Not that we’re holding out hope.”

  “But the Prax defector…”

  “They got through. I myself tried to hail them before they punched out of the inner system. After that, we had our hands full getting out alive ourselves.” He looked at his hands, seeing them shaking slightly.

  Kendall leaned forward. “Their heading?”

  “There wasn’t time. Our bridge got hit right then.”

  “That’s right. I’m sorry.”

  Tarsa lifted tired eyes to his boss. “Mila.”

  Kendall nodded heavily. “I know.”

  “I hope it was worth it, Kendall. We came so close. I could even make out details on the surface this time.”

  Kendall sighed and walked over
to his old friend, laying a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get there. I have faith.”

  “We should detach a unit or three after that transport.”

  Kendall nodded. “Consider it done.”

  Tarsa stepped away, walking around the table and laying a hand on the seat backs as he did. He stopped across from Kendall. “This needs to be said.”

  Kendall leaned forward, placing his closed fists on the tabletop. “Go on.”

  “The Sol Flotilla is in bad shape. We are at our lowest strength in years. I question our ability to thwart a determined counterattack at this point. It’s long past due for them to make a move outward through the system—it’s what they do, after all.”

  “Mars can defend itself.” Kendall referred to the array of heavy plasma cannons and energy weapons installed along the planet’s axis, concentrated around the Mars Command facility. Even with a smallish ship’s force above, the planetary defenses were deemed more than sufficient to fight off an attack from space.

  “The system has never been tested, Kendall, and you know it. On paper it looks impregnable, but history has taught us repeatedly to question such confidence.”

  Kendall straightened up. “Tarsa, you’re tired, and for good reason. My order is that you take a rest period, then get back to your flotilla to oversee repairs.”

  Realizing that he’d said his piece, Tarsa nodded and paused at the door, one hand on the frame. “Keep me in the loop on this transport, will you? Let’s say I’m an interested party now.”

  “Absolutely, Tarsa.”

  In the hall, Tarsa suddenly realized how tired he actually was.

  Above the Sol System Plane - Near Vesta Asteroid

  “Captain, sensor grid reports a positive contact. ID’d as the transport in question. Decommissioned military class.”

  Captain Heres sat up in his bridge chair, looking across to the tech. “Location?”

  “Neptune sensor array pings it on an unorthodox vector to Pluto. ETA at that location unknown but likely less than three hours, sir.”

  Heres smacked the arm of his chair. “Pull out of the belt and make full speed for Pluto. And report the sighting to Admiral Kendall’s staff.” He’d brought his ship in close to Vesta, figuring to catch the antiquated transport unaware as it came into their tactical range and demand they stand for boarding. The pilot had obviously opted to power out to the limits of the system and take his or her chances. He settled back into his relaxed position, this time keeping one eye on the navigator to his opposite side as she spun the cruiser around and set a best course to exit the asteroid belt that inhibited full speed. His ship, the Valor, was a modern well-armed Fleet vessel crewed by seventy-five and used for Sol System picket duty. That meant long weeks and months of nothing, traveling above and below the elliptical plane and occasionally chasing smugglers or suspected Prax incursions. Heres was bored and itching for action.

  The priority message from that old goat Kendall hadn’t been entirely unwelcome, Heres thought with a slight grin. And now it seemed likely that he was dealing with at least a more wiley-than-average smuggler. Running an obsolete military vessel, for that matter. Could be fun.

  The Sol system—any star system, for that matter—was a massive place where ships could travel and hide with relative ease if they knew how to avoid the sensors and pickets placed in their path. Long-range, planetary sensors might pick up a blip out near Jupiter or Neptune, but by the time a ship such as the Valor arrived, space would be as empty as it always seemed to be. While it was rare for a Prax multi-ship supply convoy to slip through into the inner system, Heres and the other picket captains knew that the smarter alien skippers had found the holes in the human network long ago. Having grown up on the research station on Callisto, Heres had never been to Earth and occasionally wondered why the Fleet expended so much effort to reclaim it. For all he knew, everyone on the planet may have already been eliminated by the occupiers. But in the end he’d remind himself that if the Prax were allowed to expand their bubble of influence, Mars would go quickly and then the whole system along with it.

  So the message from Kendall made his life in the outer reaches that much more interesting this week. He’d take it.

  “Sir, we’re clear of the belt,” the navigator announced.

  Heres nodded. “Best speed to Pluto.” He turned to the sensor tech. “Did that transport class have jump capability?”

  “Negative, sir.” He consulted his tablet. “Gopher class. Covert insertion transport, in-system capabilities only. Sending you the details now.”

  “Covert insertion?” Even more interesting. Heres found himself smiling as the Valor began its high-velocity acceleration, his body pressed slightly into the seatback. He loved that sensation.

  The navigator, his Second Officer Renno, half-turned. “Sir, what’s a ‘Gopher?’”

  Heres shook his head. “No idea. Perhaps an ancient deity? They used to like naming them after them.”

  “Aye, sir.” She turned back to her station. “Full acceleration in thirty seconds. ETA to Pluto, three hours and twenty-one minutes.” She looked back. “They have a nice lead on us, sir.”

  Heres got up. “Call me in my cabin when we’re entering into deceleration. Or if anything else unusual happens in the meantime.” Nap time.

  Below the Sol System Plane

  “The engine signature points to the outer edge of the system, Lord.”

  Calxen leaned into the tight cockpit. “Can you be more specific?”

  “Most likely destination is Pluto. At first the computer named a location within the asteroid belt.”

  That would have been better, Calxen thought. The belt provided numerous places to run and hide from human interference. Pluto, on the other hand, was out by itself, the dwarf planet’s orbit taking it significantly above and below the elliptical plan. Of course, that made it one of the best places to place a spaceport for inter-system departures. The Prax databases named a station there, on a large moon called Charon. “Can we get there in stealth?”

  Kalyx looked up from his seat and nodded. “Course is already entered. On your command.”

  Moving through Sol System was tedious, even for experienced Prax captains well-versed in eluding the human defenses. The threat of discovery and triangulation loomed over any ship, and jumping out of the system on short notice was equally dangerous to ships and crews. The Xu ship was specifically designed to move stealthily through guarded areas of space, however. “Very well. Execute. Time to destination?”

  “Two point six kelvars.”

  “We’ve made good time from Earth,” Calxen observed.

  Kalyx nodded again. “We anticipated your decision, Lord.”

  “Excellent. Have the team ready to insert the moment we are there. No doubt our arrival will cause a panic reaction among the human command.”

  “Glorious, by the seven suns, Lord.”

  Calxen nodded gravely. “Glorious.”

  Prax Homeworld - 16.8 LY from Sol System

  It had been so real. The sounds, the warmth, the closeness…and the pain.

  “Lord, what is the matter? Do you require assistance?”

  Sar’yana tried to re-orient her mind to her present. The sleeping chamber. The cool of the night air from the open slats. The comfort of her rest cell. The lights on—dimly—roused by her rising suddenly.

  “Lord?” The voice was that of her guard, on duty as always.

  She found her voice. “I am well…” She faltered. “A dream.”

  “The Sight?”

  She focused on the speaker alongside the cell where the voice was emanating from. “No. A dream.” She lied.

  “Very well, Lord.”

  Sar’yana laid back on her cell and closed her eyes. In response, the chamber lights auto-dimmed once again, leaving her to sort through the images that tumbled through her memory. It had been a dream. Not hers, but another’s.

  A newborn human. A female mother…Cindy. A human name? Others surrounding her
.

  But the pain is what she felt, like a sharp dagger in her chest. Pain of loss, suppressed rage, tremendous strength of will.

  A name. Thomas.

  Sar’yana tossed in a cold sweat, her hot Praxxan blood chilled by visions of vengeance and anger that emanated from a human a galaxy away.

  Part Six - The Edge

  Chapter 37

  Outer Sol System

  Deceleration was an interesting phenomenon to Halloran. Of course, everything in his life at the moment was one of those. The fact that a speeding ship would have to spin around and fire its engines in the opposite direction made perfect sense in the vacuum of space. When he pointed it out to Antonov, who was sitting in the copilot’s seat, the Russian merely shrugged.

  “It’s like reversing your props to back into the quay.”

  “True. I guess.”

  Antonov looked up. “Your boat was what, twenty thousand metric tons?”

  Halloran nodded. “Twenty-one.”

  “Submerged.”

  “Yep.”

  Antonov grinned. “Borei class is twenty-four.”

  Djembe looked up from his controls. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Wondering who’s boat was bigger.”

  The pilot stared for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Remember, we have an arrangement. When we get to Charon we contact Fleet and Deacon talks to his contact. They get their deserter, you get a ride to wherever and Deacon and I get paid.”

  “Sounds fine to me. Any sign of military activity?”

  “Our scanners work better to the forward, not as effective during decel.”

  “Meaning?”

  Djembe checked a readout. “We’ll be coming out in two minutes.”

  “This whole space travel thing doesn’t seem so rough,” Halloran commented.