Search for Honor (The Tarvaax War Book 2)

by Tripp Ellis

  Vuul freeze-framed on a close-up of Zack's face. He burned the image into his memory. "I want this human brought before me. He must die by my own hands."

  "Yes, my Lord,” Grava said.

  "It would be an honor to avenge my brother’s death,” Aarnok said.

  The Emperor's eyes shifted to his only remaining son. "I will not risk your life. You are as foolish as your brother, and do not possess the necessary skills for battle."

  "I can assure you, Father, I am more than capable."

  “You suffer from the same problem as Xorgon. His arrogance was his undoing.”

  Aarnok's face tensed. "I can assure you, I will use caution and good judgment. Let me find this human, and bring him to you."

  The Emperor was silent for a long moment. "You are the last remaining heir to the throne. And I am too old to start over."

  "Nothing is going to happen to me." Aarnok assured him. "Consult with the oracles."

  "Believe me. I intend to."

  4

  Vuul

  "I am beginning to doubt your ability," the Emperor said. He occupied the oracle’s chamber like a dark cloud. It didn't take a fortuneteller to see a storm was brewing behind his eyes. His furious thunder was going to rain down on her if she didn't tread cautiously.

  "I have given counsel to your father, and your father's father. And his father before him. In all that time, my ability has never been questioned."

  The oracle was well over 300 years old. She was a pureblood Asarian, and didn't show any signs of aging beyond that of a mature adult. There was no telling how long she would live, especially given Vuul's temper, but the natural course of her life could take her well beyond 8000 years.

  "You made no mention of Xorgon’s death. In all the times I came to you for guidance, you never said a word. Yet, my son is no more. Killed by a feeble human, no less.”

  The oracle paused for a moment, thinking of the proper way to handle the situation. “The threat to you was imminent. I focused all of my energy and power on seeing matters that pertained to you."

  "I would say that my son’s destiny pertains to me."

  "Matters of your safety,” the oracle clarified. She proceeded in a cautious tone. ”However, I take full responsibility. I should have seen the danger faced by your son. I should have seen the failure on Crylos 9.”

  Vuul said nothing.

  She humbled herself before him. "I will accept whatever punishment you choose to inflict. Including death." She knew how to play the Emperor. Instead of making excuses, it was better to accept responsibility. Vuul tended to respect those willing to suffer the consequences of their actions.

  "What do you see now?" He asked.

  The oracle breathed a slight sigh of relief. "You are still in danger." She was going to say that whether he was or not. Like all soothsayers, she knew how to hook a client—tell them something bad might happen, then get them to depend on you to tell them how to avoid it. But this time, she was telling the truth. "The visions are just that—visions. They are not immutable. The one who destroyed your son is the one who seeks to destroy you. He is the one from the prophecy. He must not fulfill his destiny."

  "And how can he be stopped?"

  The oracle took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She cleared her mind and let visions of the future flood in. "Right now I see two possible futures. One where you rule the galaxy, and another…" She stopped herself, not wanting to give too dire of a prediction. Vuul tended to be extremely superstitious. “Let's just say outcome two is highly undesirable."

  There was a long pause.

  "If I send my son to dispatch the threat, will he return?"

  The oracle took a deep breath again and closed her eyes. She strained to see the future. “There is no need to look for this human. Be patient, and he will come to you.”

  5

  Zack

  It was like a raucous frat party. They had transported in kegs of beer. There was a fully stocked bar with the finest liquor from all across the galaxy—Antarian whiskey, Veluzian gin, Ravnarian vodka. There was a band playing live music. Marines were hooting and hollering and guzzling down beverages as fast as they could swallow them. Barbecue grills were smoking brisket, ribs, chicken—you name it. The sweet smell wafted through the forward operating base. It was a victory celebration, and everyone was cutting loose.

  It was well-deserved, and Colonel McLean pulled out all the stops. The war was far from over, but for the moment, victory belonged to the UPDF.

  Matt, Zack, and Diesel clinked glasses and tossed back a shot of tequila.

  "I'm standing in the presence of greatness," Matt said. "You guys are heroes."

  Zack shrugged the complement off. "I don't know about that."

  Diesel feigned modesty. “Well, I’m perfectly fine with the title."

  Zack had a sullen look on his face.

  "Cheer up," Matt said. "We pushed the scumbags out and took back our planet. That's worth celebrating."

  "I know."

  "Then act like it."

  "But—“

  “But nothing. You've got to take these moments when they come. You know we're going to be back in the thick of it before too long."

  "Look around, man. Almost everyone we knew and loved is gone. This place is never going to be the same. I don't see how you can be so chipper at this particular moment."

  "You think it doesn't tear me up? I lost just as much as you did. But I can't do anything to change it. Today's a good day. I'm alive. I’ve got all my fingers and toes. I'm with my best friend. I'm enjoying a fine beverage, and am about to have a delectable meal. In the infantry, we call that a reason to celebrate. You need to start looking on the bright side of things."

  "Matt is right," Diesel said. "It's way too depressing otherwise."

  Zack forced a smile. "All right. Fun. We’ll have fun tonight."

  Matt grinned. "That's more like it." He ordered another shot from the makeshift bar, and the three of them slugged the tequila down. It burned as it slid down Zack's throat and heated Zack's belly.

  "I don't know about you, but I'm getting some brisket," Matt said. “It's not every day we get real barbecue."

  They stepped out of the tent and marched toward the pits. There was a sizable line. It took about half an hour to make their way through, and just as they were about to dish up, Sergeant Tindall called out to them. "Lance Corporal Salvator… Corporal Dawson…”

  "Yes, Sergeant?"

  Colonel McLean wants to see you."

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Zack said. "Mind if we finish eating?"

  "Make it snappy."

  Usually when the colonel wanted to see you, it meant ASAP. But on a night like this, everything seemed less formal.

  Zack got a plate full of brisket with beans and coleslaw. He sat at a table and scarfed the meal down like he hadn't eaten in a month. He couldn't remember the last time he had real barbecued brisket, and it tasted like the best thing ever.

  Afterward, they made their way to the colonel's tent.

  "Lance Corporal Salvator and Corporal Dawson reporting as ordered, sir." Zack and Diesel stood at attention.

  "At ease." Colonel McLean was sitting at his desk. There was an open bottle of whiskey that was halfway through the label. "Can I offer you two a drink?"

  Zack hesitated for a moment.

  "Now you're not going to deny me the privilege of having a drink with two outstanding Marines, are you?"

  "No, sir," Zack said.

  "Good." He poured two glasses and handed them to Zack and Diesel. "It’s Antarian. The finest in the galaxy," he said with a grin.

  "Thank you, sir," Zack and Diesel said in unison.

  "It's my understanding that you two are responsible for bringing down the shield generator. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, sir," Diesel said. "With the help of Major Malone."

  The sparkle faded from the colonel's eyes. "Major Malone was a fine Marine. She will be sorely missed." He paused for a moment, a
s if to honor Major Malone, then proceeded. "I'm putting you two in for a commendation. Today's victory is solely your responsibility."

  "Thank you, sir," they replied.

  "I know you've got better things to do this evening than hang out with the old man, but I just wanted to congratulate you personally. I'll have you assigned to a new platoon shortly. In the meantime, have some fun... You earned it."

  Zack grinned. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir." Zack hesitated, then asked, “What about the POWs, sir?"

  McLean frowned. "I'm sure we’ll launch a rescue mission once we have proper intel." The colonel could see that Zack wasn't satisfied with his answer. "I wish I could tell you more. Currently I cannot allocate any resources toward search and rescue. We are in a very tenuous position. The Tarvaax could return at any moment, with greater numbers. I'm sure the UIA is working diligently to gather as much intel as possible. Let them do their job, and when the time is right, we can do ours."

  "Yes, sir," Zack said.

  The two filed out of the colonel's tent, and rejoined the festivities. The next morning came entirely too soon. A sergeant was hovering over Zack's rack, screaming at him. "Rise and shine, Lance Corporal!"

  Zack's head was throbbing. He peeled his eyes open. It was like they were glued shut. His mouth felt like a desert, devoid of any saliva. He had lost count of how many tequila shots he had the night before.

  "Looks like you two idiots are going to meet the president. Your transport leaves in 15 minutes."

  It took a moment to comprehend what the sergeant had said. "Why are we going to meet the president?"

  The sergeant shook his head at Zack’s apparent stupidity. "Why do you think?"

  Zack shrugged and glanced over at Diesel who was pulling herself out of her rack.

  6

  Zack

  The USS Intrepid was the most technologically advanced warship in the fleet. It was twice the size of the largest super-carrier and had the latest composite armor and shield technology. It was a fortress in space. And like a ghost ship, it never appeared in the same place twice. It was, in essence, The Federation. It housed every major branch of government, including the executive branch. It was the strategic headquarters for the Joint Planetary Operations Command, the United Intelligence Agency, and the Defense Department.

  The port and starboard sides of the ship were lined with 16 inch, Mark 60 plasma cannons. There were an array of tactical nuclear weapons. And the six flight decks could launch thousands of fighters into space within moments.

  It was a fearsome piece of equipment.

  The location of the Intrepid was classified. Any unauthorized vehicles entering into the restricted space around the warship were immediately destroyed—shoot first, ask questions later. It was protocol for approaching ships to emerge from quantum space outside the restricted zone, then establish contact and provide a security clearance code. Even though all Federation ships had IFF (identify friend or foe) transponders, without a proper authorization code even friendly vessels would be shot down.

  After the assassination of President Sutherland by radicals within the Federation, security had been stepped up a few notches.

  Zack and Diesel emerged from slide-space just outside the restricted zone. They were strapped into their seats in the cargo hold of an SB 120 Raptor. It was a state-of-the-art dropship, and the preferred method of troop deployment for the Space Corps. It was fast and lethal, but it wasn't built for comfort. Six hours in a seat affixed to the bulkhead that didn't recline wasn't exactly doing wonders for Zack's lower back.

  The pilot made contact with the Intrepid and provided the authorization code.

  A voice crackled back over the comm line. “Raptor 227, this is Federation One, you are cleared to land on flight deck C."

  "Roger that." The pilot proceeded slowly.

  A squadron of fighters patrolled the space around the Intrepid. The Raptor was quickly met with an escort which guided them to the flight deck.

  The Raptor pilot nosed the vehicle around and made his approach toward the middle bay on the port side of the Intrepid.

  A landing signal operator crackled over the comm line. “Raptor 227, this is Eagle Eye, I have you on approach. Call the ball."

  Eagle Eye, Raptor 227… 3.7, Viper 65, ball." It was common procedure to give the LSO the amount of remaining fuel, and squadron identification when calling the ball.

  "Roger that. You're on glide."

  The fighter escort broke off as the Raptor approached the flight deck. The pilot was in the groove for a perfect landing.

  There was a fine art to a space carrier landing. Managing the transition from Zero G to full gravity could trip up even the most seasoned pilots. It required initiating vertical thrust at the precise moment the vehicle crossed the threshold of the flight deck. Lieutenant Welling handled the landing with aplomb. He set the wrapper down like he was landing on a marshmallow. There wasn't so much as a jolt. The guy was good.

  Zack unbuckled his safety harness, stood up, and grabbed his gear. The hydraulics whirred as the back ramp lowered. Zack grabbed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. He and Diesel marched down to the flight deck. As they stepped to the quarterdeck, they were greeted by the officer of the deck.

  "Lance Corporal Zack Salvator and Corporal Dawson, reporting as ordered, sir.” Zack realized he didn't even know Diesel’s first name. "Permission to come aboard, sir?”

  The OOD looked over his roster. His eyes glimmered with recognition when he realized who they were. "Permission granted. It's an honor to meet you both. Welcome aboard the Intrepid."

  "Thank you, sir,” they responded in unison.

  "If you'll follow me, I'll be happy to show you to your quarters." He led them through a maze of passageways.

  The ship was enormous. Crews scurried about, and the drone of the engines rumbled. But the OOD didn't lead them to the standard crew quarters. Instead, they had been given staterooms.

  Zack and Diesel tried to contain their glee at the discovery of their posh accommodations.

  "If you need anything else while you're aboard the Intrepid, please don't hesitate to ask."

  "Thank you, sir,” the two Marines said.

  The OOD spun around and marched down the corridor.

  Zack and Diesel pushed into their respective staterooms. As far as accommodations went on Navy ships, the staterooms were luxurious. Each one had a double bed, a small living area, a galley, and a private head, complete with shower.

  It was insane. You just didn't get these kinds of accommodations aboard a Navy warship. There was even a fully stocked minibar with snacks, sodas, and liquor.

  Zack was still getting over the indulgences of the previous evening. Part of him thought a shot of whiskey might even things out. The other part of him never wanted to touch the stuff again.

  He threw his duffel bag on the bed and flopped onto his back. It felt like heaven. He let out an audible sigh of pleasure. He lay there for a few moments, basking in his newfound luxury. But he was soon interrupted by a knock on the hatch

  “Come in."

  The hatch slid open, and Lieutenant Commander Garrick appeared in the doorway. "Lance Corporal Salvator?"

  Zack snapped to attention.

  "At ease, son,” the commander said. "I trust you had a good flight?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And the accommodations meet with your approval?"

  Zack thought the question was ludicrous. Of course they met with his approval. "It's a little small, but I think I could get used to it."

  Garrick chuckled. "Enjoy yourself, Lance Corporal. The president will see you in 20 minutes. If there's anything I can get you in the meantime, please let me know. Welcome aboard."

  Garrick spun around and left the compartment.

  Zack wasn't used to this kind of preferential treatment. It felt odd. But he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Zack put on his dress blues and prepared to meet with the Commander-in-Chief. He
was a little nervous. And he hoped he wouldn't say something stupid.

  He looked at himself in the mirror as he adjusted his uniform. He looked sharp. The uniform was tailored to perfection. The anti-wrinkle fabric didn't have a crease anywhere. He looked just like the Marine recruitment poster that he had seen as a child. He wore the uniform with pride.

  Zack stepped across the hall and knocked on the hatch to Diesel’s state room.

  "I'll be right there," she said, her muffled voice filtering through the hatch.

  A few moments later she appeared, looking stunning. Her eyes glimmered as she took in Zack in his uniform. "Wow! You clean up well."

  Zack grinned. "So do you."

  Diesel rolled her eyes, feigning modesty. "Yeah, except for this rash on my face." Her cheek was still red and raw from the plasma burn. "I really wish I could've gotten skin resurfacing before I met with the president. It's not every day a girl gets to do that kind of thing."

  "You look fine."

  She arched an eyebrow at him. "I'd like to look more than fine."

  "It's a figure of speech. You look amazing."

  "Much better." Diesel basked in the compliment.

  Commander Garrick returned. “Are you ready to meet with the president?"

  "I guess I can spare a few minutes," Zack said, jovially.

  7

  Zack

  "How does it feel to be famous?” President Parnell asked. He looked shorter in person than he did on TV. He was young—not yet 40. He was well dressed and wore custom tailored Zangari suits. They were made of the finest fabric, and hand-sewn. Each one costs about 100,000 credits. He had hundreds of them. He had amassed his fortune in the tech industry before moving into public service.

  Zack shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think I'm famous at all."

  The president smiled. "You're about to be."

  Zack and Diesel exchanged a curious glance.