STAR'S HONOR (THE STAR SCOUT SAGA Book 3)

by GARY DARBY

  Mo’sar and El’am hefted the hound between them and carried it toward the supposed entrance. They lifted it toward the dark oval and with the merest whisper of sound, the door spun open, revealing a darkened tunnellike portal that led into the ship’s bowels.

  Tor’al thrust a finger toward A’kan and Mo’sar while saying in a low voice, “We three will enter the ship. El’am, you will stand guard here with the dog. If it rouses, stun it again.

  “If we cannot take the ship and must retreat, we will come back to this place and rap on the metal two times; lift the dog to open the aperture. Can you do that?”

  El’am nodded vigorously and said, “But, elder—”

  “There is no ‘but’ youngster,” Tor’al snapped. “You may be our only hope of escape, and if other dogs return, you must fight them alone. Yours may well be the deed that holds the key to our success here, do you understand?”

  “I understand,” El’am replied in a soft, but disappointed voice.

  Tor’al gave the young warrior a sharp nod, turned, and followed A’kan and Mo’sar into the black maw knowing that the darksome tunnel could lead them straight into a death trap.

  Chapter Four

  Star date: 2443.065

  The Alpha Prime Planet, the Helix Nebula

  Bending in a crouched, awkward position, the three Sha’anay warriors shuffled forward in the narrow, dark passageway. Hearts raced as they edged along the metal tube like affair, fearful that a pack of the vicious wolflike dogs would catch them in these cramped quarters.

  Their breathing seemed to bounce off the walls, sounding thick and raspy in their ears. Besides the scraping of their boots, it was the only sound that they heard which in itself was good thing though it did little to ease their anxiety.

  At a gesture from Tor’al, A’kan snapped a wrist light on to illuminate the darkness. Tor’al sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “Blood scent!” he whispered.

  They crept along until A’kan brought them to a halt and pointed ahead. Just ahead was another oval set in the bulkhead similar to the one that had let them into the ship. However, unlike the outer portal, this one was open.

  With a slight wave of his hand, Tor’al motioned for them to continue.

  Going slowly, A’kan stuck his head and shoulders through the aperture. For several seconds, he didn’t move and then motioned for Mo’sar and Tor’al to follow.

  Tor’al slid through the entryway and found himself in a large room lined on three sides with numerous small stalls. A felt like material covered walls and floor.

  Breathing deep through flared nostrils, Tor’al rumbled low in his throat. The heavy aroma of blood wafted throughout the compartment.

  “The devil’s den,” Mo’sar spat out and showed his teeth in a slight snarl.

  “Yes,” Tor’al returned. “And fortune is with us that we find it empty.” He made a quick gesture with one hand. “Let us go, and quickly, for this is a place of death.”

  A’kan made his way across the room. “A hatch,” he called over his shoulder as Tor’al and Mo’sar joined him.

  Pointing with a finger, A’kan directed their attention to three small depressions set in the wall next to the door. “I see no way to open it, except perhaps to press on one of these.”

  “Yes,” Mo’sar agreed, “but in what order?”

  He turned to Tor’al with a questioning expression. Considering his question for a moment, Tor’al shrugged while saying, “There are always three Mongans together, perhaps they do something like this the same.”

  To his companions Tor’al ordered, “You and Mo’sar stand with your weapons ready. I will press the buttons. It may open the door; then again, it may set off an alarm. Worse, it may lead to a lair filled with the evil fanged ones.”

  He caught their eyes. “Either way, be ready.”

  A’kan and Mo’sar drew their weapons and stood to each side. Tor’al reached out and pressed on the indentations simultaneously with three fingers. In an instant, the doorway split lengthwise and recessed into the bulkhead frame.

  In a low crouch, A’kan and Mo’sar took several careful steps out into the passageway, making sweeping gestures with their ta-guns in anticipation of an attack. A dim and diffused light showed that the corridor was empty.

  Tor’al moved up behind the two. He whispered, “I do not favor splitting up. We will go to the right.”

  The narrow corridor and low ceiling were built for much smaller Mongan bodies, and the three found that they could only walk two abreast, slightly hunched over, with the tops of their heads scraping the ceiling.

  Soft, violet waves pulsated through the passageway’s light gray walls, and they could hear a muted humming in the background. Tor’al stopped as a thought struck him.

  He directed A’kan, “Try your communicator, see if you can contact El’am.”

  “El’am,” A’kan muttered into his wrist communicator, “this is A’kan. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes!” Came El’am’s excited reply. “I hear you.”

  Tor’al reached out to stop A’kan from answering and whispered, “The dampening effect must start a short distance outside the ship and I do not know if the evil ones can listen in on our frequencies.

  “Have him try and contact the A’Gesi, otherwise, use the communicators sparingly.”

  Nodding A’kan said through his communicator, “What is your status?”

  “It is quiet, no sign of Mongans or dogs,” El’am replied.

  “Good,” A’kan answered. “We’re in the ship, continue to try and raise the A’Gesi, otherwise do not use the communicator to speak with us unless absolutely necessary. Understood?”

  “Understood.” El’am quickly replied.

  At that, Tor’al motioned for them to move ahead. They came to a T-junction but what interested Tor’al more was what lay embedded in the bulkhead wall. Curved glass walls enclosed a cylinder-like booth.

  His eyes narrowed while he inspected the device. He turned and asked, “Does this not look similar to our vertivators?”

  “Much smaller, but yes,” Mo’sar returned.

  “And are not ship’s bridges usually on the highest deck?” Tor’al said and pressed the now familiar three indentations on one side of the enclosed cubicle.

  With a whisk, the glass walls pushed aside, and the three warriors crammed themselves into the booth.

  A’kan pressed the topmost indentation; the glass walls closed, and the cramped compartment zipped upward before coming to a rapid stop. The three spilled out with weapons outstretched.

  They again found themselves facing metal corridors not only running to their right and to their left but to their front as well. They peered in all directions but neither heard nor saw movement.

  Tor’al sighed and said, “We have no choice now but to go separate ways. Each will take a passage. Remember, our goal is to capture the bridge. If we can take that, then we may well hold the entire ship.”

  Mo’sar made for the hallway straight across, while A’kan went to the right. Tor’al watched them go before turning to his left, his blade hand gripping his short sword a little tighter.

  He crept down the metal walkway, passing several cross-corridors. He had just passed by one when a noise from behind caused him to spin with his sword outstretched.

  Voices!

  Mongan voices. Their chirps and clicks he would recognize anywhere. He hesitated, debating whether he had time to hide or should attack now with surprise on his side.

  Not wishing to engage in a fight that would give away the fact that the three Sha’anay were aboard the craft, Tor’al stopped to intently listen. Abruptly another sound caught his attention, but this came from the corridor to his front.

  He was trapped between two groups of the soulless ones!

  In desperation, he looked around for a way to escape when his eye caught the telltale sign of a recessed doorway just ahead.

  With two giant strides, he stood at the door’s front and searched
for the depressions that marked the way to open the door. He slid one hand along the right side until his fingers found the little dimples.

  With the Mongans coming closer, he pressed on the door opener. The door dilated, and he stepped into a large room whose lighting was dim, casting shadows into the corners.

  His eyes made out what appeared to be instruments of some kind that lay on various metallic counters that jutted out from the walls.

  Stepping away from the door, Tor’al searched for a place to hide, not wanting to be caught standing in the doorway’s light should it open. To his left, several large, containers cast a deep shadow into one corner of the room.

  He slipped behind the oversized, rectangular shapes, and hunched down, fearful that the Mongans might have heard him in the passageway or noticed the sound of the door opening.

  Fitting himself into the corner, he listened for anything that might warn him that the Mongans knew of his presence.

  The small door whooshed open, and three Mongans entered the room. Speaking in their tongue, they walked over to a rounded bench that held a large, triangular device of a deep gray, almost black color.

  On top of the apparatus sat a small curved disc held in place by a metal cradle. A Mongan set a silvery-blue ball in the disc’s depression and rapidly touched the device on one side.

  Instantly, a fountain of light erupted upward from the apparatus and formed a transparent bubble that shimmered with the faintest of cobalt coloring mere meters above the table.

  If it had not been for years of training, Tor’al might have revealed his presence with a sharp grunt at what floated within the iridescent bubble. In disbelief, he stared at the figure that seemed to turn in slow motion within the sphere.

  A human! Similar in dress and appearance to the human Dason but the longer hair, and apparent differences in body features caused Tor’al to surmise that this might be the female of the human species.

  She had her eyes closed as if in sleep, and her arms and legs seemed to drift without purpose. Tor’al had no doubt she was alive but unaware of her surroundings, or at least it seemed so to him.

  Tor’al’s heart thudded in his chest while he watched with great fascination. The device had to be the long-rumored teleportation device, except that this was no rumor; this was the real thing.

  The three Mongans spoke among themselves and gestured at the floating human. Tor’al’s mind raced with wild thoughts. Should he leap from his perch and catch the Mongans by surprise? If he attacked, would that result in harm to the human? Should he wait or should he—

  His racing thoughts came to a skidding halt when a shrill wail sounded in the room.

  For an instant, Tor’al feared that the Mongans had detected his presence. Instead, with quick flicks of the hand, a Mongan touched the device, causing the human and the light to disappear. Then, all three Mongans scurried from the room.

  The door closed behind the three, and Tor’al sprang from his hideaway. He raced to the triangular device, knowing just what the keening sound represented.

  The Mongans had found either A’kan or Mo’sar. In one swift motion, he grabbed the transporter device under one arm and stuffed the orb inside his tunic.

  He rushed from the room with drawn sword. To his left he heard the sound of a ta-gun firing as well as the hissing of Mongan laser weapons.

  Uttering a snarl, he sped toward the shouts of his companions who obviously were in a fight with the Mongans and their devil dogs.

  Tor’al rounded a corner and his eyes widened. A triad of Mongans, holding tubelike devices spewed streams of laser beams toward a half-closed hatch.

  Held back by the heat of the lasers, were half a dozen of the fiendish hounds, their snouts and mouths foaming in enraged frenzy as they milled about, just waiting for a chance to lunge at the barricaded Sha’anay.

  A’kan whipped his ta-gun through the doorway and let loose a blistering hot scarlet bolt at his attackers. Shrieks of pain marked where his shot landed in the middle of the pack.

  With the pack in sudden confusion by A’kan’s blistering fire, Tor’al charged into the mass, swinging his sword at the Mongans who scattered at his wild thrusts.

  A savage slash caught a canine at the neck, slicing through thick muscle and spine. Not stopping, Tor’al flung himself through the door and crashed to the deck.

  With a broad grin, A’kan turned and exclaimed, “Tor’al! Welcome. We feared you dead.”

  “Not yet, not yet,” Tor’al grimaced while he gasped for breath. “But if I keep landing like that on this old body, it won’t be long.”

  He looked around and asked, “What is this place?”

  “If we have judged correctly,” A’kan replied, “it is the bridge. And since Mo’sar has some piloting experience, he was trying to decipher their controls.”

  “Excellent,” Tor’al exulted. “And have you learned anything of use to us?” he asked Mo’sar.

  “No,” Mo’sar replied without turning his head to Tor’al. “I had barely begun when the Mongans attacked.”

  Tor’al motioned toward the opening and said to A’kan, “Can we not close that door?”

  A’kan shook his head while getting off another laser shot. “I have tried, but unfortunately, it seems to be jammed open.”

  Grim-faced, Tor’al asked, “Then can you hold for a short time while Mo’sar and I test their controls?”

  “If they do not attack with more than they have, then yes,” A’kan replied. He gestured toward the metallic box that Tor’al carried and asked, “What it is that you carry?”

  Without hesitation, Tor’al explained. “If we can get this back to our scientists, it may be that they can learn its secrets and bring back those whom the Mongans enslave.”

  A noise from the passageway caused A’kan to poke his head around the doorway. He turned around to say in hard tones, “It would be wise if you two make haste, they return, and in more numbers.”

  Tor’al nodded and ordered, “Mo’sar, you take that side while I take this panel.”

  From the hatchway, A’kan fired his weapon only to have a torrent of return fire from the Mongan energy weapons turn the half-closed portal a ruby red. The intense heat drove the warrior back several steps.

  He twisted and growled, “They have brought heavier weapons, Tor’al. I do not think we can hold this for long.”

  Mo’sar called over in great excitement, “Tor’al, I believe I have it. This board contains their master controls for planetary and interstellar flight.”

  Tor’al bounded over to Mo’sar. “Good, do you think you can fly the ship?”

  Mo’sar let his fingers play over the controls before he said, “There is much here that does not look familiar, but I think, that these,” he pointed at a series of rounded knobs, “and this control the thrust, course, and ship’s stabilization.”

  He glanced up at Tor’al, “Lifting us from the ground, yes, I believe that I can do.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Landing may prove to be a different matter altogether.”

  Tor’al went to stand to one side of A’kan, who was firing only when one of the Mongans poked its head out and presented a target, if but for a fleeting second.

  Acrid smoke from the hot, blistered hatch wafted through the air, burning at Tor’al’s eyes and nose.

  He glanced over at A’kan who lifted his weapon to show how low it was on charge. A’kan called over and said, “Mo’sar’s weapon also has no more than this.”

  Tor’al nodded and went back to Mo’sar. “Well?” he asked in an urgent tone.

  The young warrior shook his head with lips drawn back in frustration. “I see how the ship lifts, but I do not understand their landing sequence. I need more time!”

  A’kan called out, “Time is not ours! They bring reinforcements, and I have drained my weapon.” He held it up to show that it was spent of charge. Tor’al reached down, grabbed Mo’sar’s gun and flipped it to A’kan.

  Tor’al turned back to Mo’sar. “
You are sure that you can raise the ship?”

  “Yes, elder,” Mo’sar replied. “But to actually fly it and land . . . That is something beyond me. I am sorry.”

  Tor’al patted the warrior on the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. He brought the two of them to stand next to A’kan.

  Coughing in the grayish, billowing smoke, he explained his plan to the two warriors. Finished, he asked, “Are we agreed?”

  A’kan and Mo’sar exchanged quick glances before both answered, “Agreed.”

  “Then let us begin, my brothers,” Tor’al replied in a firm voice. “And may the Death Shadow take many of our enemies, and may it wait on us until we have finished our work this day.”

  Mo’sar returned to his pilot’s position while A’kan handed his communicator to Tor’al. “El’am,” Tor’al said into the communicator.

  “Elder!” El’am exclaimed.

  “Listen, we do not have much time. Get as far away from the ship as you can. Make your way back to Ki’mi Som’al and report what you have seen.”

  He paused before saying, “Stay true to the Sha’anay way and remember all that I have said to you.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Mo’sar and nodded.

  Mo’sar played his fingers across the control board. In seconds, there came a deep rumbling from the great ship’s depths. The bulkheads began to vibrate from the giant engines powering up.

  With the Mongans now aware of what was happening, their chitterings became louder and more pronounced with each second. The fire from their weapons became a blistering volley that drove A’kan and Tor’al back from the door.

  Tor’al reached for the hilt of his two swords. The soft hissing of his short swords as he pulled them from his chest scabbard were as sweet music to his ears.

  The Mongans stopped firing and from the passageway came the angry snarling and growling of a host of devil dogs.

  Tor’al strode forward, swinging his swords in great arcs as if he were parting the very air in front of him. A torrent of fire from the Mongans ripped the hatchway apart and like the opening of a floodgate, the howling hounds poured into the room.