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

by GARY DARBY

  “Even now, your Star Scouts roam freely to work their mischief. I demand that those responsible for releasing the Mongans face Sha’anay justice according to our laws.

  “I also demand that all other Star Scouts be brought back to within what you define as your civilization’s boundaries and that for now, they not be allowed to venture any farther outward.

  “The Sha’anay have no desire to encounter such as these among the galactic space that we call home. They are without honor and do not know the difference between friend and foe.

  “If we do meet any of them again, I say to you that there will be no peace between us. We will meet such with drawn weapon and sword.”

  Councilor Krause swallowed and licked at her lips. “Is there more?”

  “Yes,” Tor’al replied. “Because of the treachery that we have encountered, we will only speak through one among you. He has become a friend and ally to the Sha’anay.

  “He saved me from the humans who kidnapped and held me captive. Indeed, he risked his own life to rescue me from a group of your Star Scouts who attempted to murder me.

  “This man I hold in esteem and honor, and now count as not only friend, but one of my clansmen.”

  He turned to the robed individual, who reached up and in a slow and deliberate manner, pulled his hood down. A slow smile lifted his thin lips, and he gave a curt bow of the head.

  Councilor Krause leaned heavily on the table. She stared as if in disbelief, her body rigid and hard.

  Her mouth sagged, and in a stammering voice she asked, “Adiak Peller, is that you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Star date: 2443.087

  Interstellar Space

  Immediate anger and disbelief broke out in the room as the scouts turned to each other and spoke in heated tones and increasing loudness at what they had just witnessed. “Somebody’s gonna pay for all them lies!” Sami snapped to no one in particular.

  “At ease!” Brant called out, eliciting an instant silence from the scouts.

  Rosberg took a step forward, his face grim, his eyes flashing blue fire. “Well, there you have it,” he growled.

  “And before you ask,” he muttered, “no, I have no idea how all this transpired, how Elder Tor’al got to Earth or his appearance before the council yesterday. But I can tell you this vid was authentic or I wouldn’t have shown it to you.”

  He shook his head, saying, “To put it mildly, this is a game changer. What I had hoped to accomplish with the Sha’anay council is for obvious reasons no longer valid.”

  His face darkened and his eyes narrowed. “What I do know is two things, first, that Elder Tor’al has made no attempt to contact his people at this point and apparently they do not know that he is alive and well.

  “Nor do they know that he is negotiating with our High Council and speaking on behalf of the entire Sha’anay nation which strikes me as more than very odd from what I understand of their customs regarding authority and governing.

  “The other thing I know is that the claims he made against us are absolutely, completely, and utterly false. Without merit and without foundation.

  “Because of that,” Rosberg said, “Scoutmaster Tarracas and I will return to Earth immediately.”

  He motioned toward the vu-screen, saying, “We’ll sort this out with the High Council and most importantly, meet with Elder Tor’al. I’m not exactly sure what we’re going to find, so Lieutenant Renn, until then, you have your orders. Understood?”

  “Yes, general,” Brant replied, “understood.”

  “Good,” Rosberg replied and turned to one side. “Scoutmaster, would you like to say anything?”

  Tarracas took a step forward, stood silent for a moment before his eyes centered on Dason and his teammates.

  As if he spoke just to them, he said, “Just this, the Stripling Warriors faced as daunting odds as you do and not only survived, but became more than they thought possible because they stayed true to themselves, to each other, and the noble cause that their oath embodied.

  “Hold tight and fast to the same and I know that we will see this through together.”

  Rosberg nodded as Tarracas finished and said, “There’s nothing more than I can add to that, except good hunting to you all. Scouts Out!” With that, he and Tarracas strode from the room.

  “Scouts out, sir,” Brant replied as the two marched off. He turned to the assembled scouts and said, “You have your craft assignments. Prepare for boost-out in ten minutes.”

  With quick precision, the scouts moved from the IntrepidX to their respective Zephyrs. Less than ten minutes later, Dason sat next to Brant in the pilot seat completing his last-minute checks of the controls.

  Brant reached over to open a comm's channel to the other Zephyrs. “Zephyr two, three, and four. Status check.”

  All replied that they were ready to launch. “Then,” Brant responded, “it’s time. You have the coordinates for our rendezvous. I’ll lead, each of you follow at one-minute staggered intervals. See you on the flip side.”

  Brant then said, “Intrepid bridge, we are ready for boost-out.”

  “This is the Intrepid,” came the reply. “You are clear for launch.”

  He turned to Dason. “The order is given, pilot. Take us out and go to hyperspeed once we’re clear.”

  “Roger, sir,” Dason answered.

  Moments later, the little craft was in free space and away from the IntrepidX. Dason ran his fingers over the controls to engage the hyperdrive. A second later, the little Zephyr jumped into the darkness of n-space.

  Once Dason had set the ship’s control to auto, the rest of the scouts came forward to crowd into the pilot pod. Turning to them, Brant said, “Now that we’re underway, I can let you in on where we’re headed and what the plan is.”

  He reached over and brought up a holographic image. “Recognize that?”

  “Ugh,” Sami grunted. “Please tell me we’re not going back there.”

  “Yes, Sami,” Brant replied, “we are. General Rosberg feels that we can’t do anything more with the Sha’anay, but we might be able to do a little damage to the Mongans.”

  His mouth curled in a tight, crooked smile. “Besides, since it would appear that we’re on everybody’s number-one wanted list, the last place anyone would want to look for us is in the same vicinity as the Mongans.”

  “And,” Alena asked in a tart voice, “what exactly are we going to do there? Four little itty-bitty Zephyrs going up against what the Mongans have doesn’t seem to lean toward rational thought.”

  Brant laughed in a light manner. “Whoever said that this crazy team of scouts ever does anything rational?”

  He motioned toward the hologram and said, “No, we’re going to become no-see-ums.”

  “Wait, what?!” Sami responded. “What did you call these whateeums, again?”

  “No-see-ums, Sami,” Shanon explained. “A no-see-um is any minuscule flying insect that lights on your skin and bites but you usually don’t or can’t see what bites you. Thus, no-see-ums.”

  “Exactly,” Brant said. “Our little Zephyr fleet will become little no-see-ums to the Mongans.”

  “Well, pardon my asking, lieutenant,” Sami asked, motioning at the pilot controls, “just how are they not going to see us, sir? Last time I looked we didn’t have a cloaking device attached to this rig.”

  “Oh, but we do have a cloaking device, Sami,” Brant replied. “In fact, we have one gigantic cloaking device.”

  “Huh?” Sami replied and whipped his head around, looking everywhere for Brant’s mysterious cloaking device. “I don’t see—”

  “It’s right in front of you,” Nase stated.

  “Where?” Sami answered. “I still don’t see it.”

  Nase reached out and pointed at the hologram. “Right there.”

  Brant nodded in satisfaction toward Nase. “That’s right. The Helix plays havoc with sensors, and apparently, from what Dason experienced, the Mongans don’t like to g
o into the nebula any more than we do.

  “So, we’re going to learn how to use the Helix to our advantage. Learn its subtleties of particle flows and densities. Hide in the stuff. Let the gravity lines push us along without using our engines so that the Mongans don’t see our power signatures.

  “We’ll use the sensor blackout spots like prairie dog holes to duck into if the Mongans get too close. We’ll creep through the stuff and strike at the Mongans when we can achieve tactical surprise.”

  “Guerilla warfare, deep-space style,” Alena observed.

  “That’s right,” Brant replied in a hard voice. “They hurt us, now we hurt them.”

  “What about the Imperium Navy?” Shanon asked. “Shouldn’t we coordinate this with them?”

  “We can’t,” Brant answered firmly.

  “Before we left the Intrepid, Captain Federov laid it on the line. There’s a good chance that the High Council is going to do what Tor’al demanded, namely, to pull all Star Scouts back into Imperium space.

  “His feeling was that the Navy and the space marines may be dispatched to, uh, ‘ensure’ that there aren’t any stragglers left behind, and more to our situation, haul us desperados back to face ‘justice’ for our alleged crimes.”

  Brant nodded to himself and said, “Captain Federov is a good man, more so, he’s a thinking man. Like us, he isn’t buying that what happened in the High Council chambers was on the up and up.”

  He smiled as if some joke had crossed his mind. “In fact, he said that it smelled worse than a piece of poka-meat left spoiling in the sun for three days, and then fermented in the raw guts of a Ladorian sewer slug, and afterward slathered with the guano of a Ponger Bat.”

  “That is sheer poetry,” Sami said in an awed tone.

  “Thought you’d like that, Sami,” Brant observed.

  He took a breath and continued. “Captain Federov risked his career, and possibly more, to let us go.

  “He has his ship on a course for Epsilon Four to drop off the general and the Scoutmaster so that they can hitch a ride Earthside.

  “He also promised that if he gets orders to do anything else with the general or the Scoutmaster, the Intrepid will suddenly have severe communication issues and the message will only be decoded once the two are headed to Terra with a good head start.

  “Naturally, General Rosberg didn’t let him know where we would be headed, nor did he ask.”

  “But,” Alena asked, “isn’t the Nav already conducting some operations in and around the Helix now?”

  “Yep,” Brant replied, “but, it’s all reconnaissance, keeping an eye on the Mongan activity, how many ships they have, movement of those craft, trying to spot any suspicious activity on the planet, that sort of thing.

  “In fact, they’ve got several squadrons of Prowlers outside the Helix. Every so often, one of them will do a run through the nebula, pop out into the inner core just long enough to take a quick peek at the Mongans and the AP planet, and zip back through the cloud.

  “So far, the tactic has worked pretty well and it’s what gave General Rosberg the idea of doing something similar.”

  “But if the Nav can get in and get out,” TJ said, “why don’t they bring in the big stuff and hit the Mongans where it hurts?”

  “Because the Marauders and Vanguards are pretty slow and not particularly maneuverable,” Brant explained.

  “That’s why they got beat up so bad when the Mongans attacked. The Nav is trying to mass enough heavy stuff that when they go back in, they’ll have both the firepower and the speed to match up with the Mongans.

  “Or at least that’s what they’re hoping. In the meantime, those Prowlers are doing their best to monitor the Mongans while not getting themselves blown apart. Their runs are primarily to get in, get out, and report.”

  He nodded toward the nebula hologram and said, “In fact, it was from one of those recon missions that Admiral Stannick passed on some fascinating and potentially useful information.

  “A few days ago, a Prowler picked up a planetary Star Scout Search and Save distress call coming from the planet.”

  Dason jerked his head up at that. “Star Scouts still alive on the planet? Did they get the coordinates?”

  “Yes, I have the coordinates, but whether anyone is alive, well, I don’t know,” Brant responded.

  “The message could be on automatic, set when the Mongans attacked. However, there is another interesting bit of intelligence that the Nav shared before we bugged out.

  “Another Prowler managed to get a cluster of drone spy-eyes into the nebula’s inner core and pretty close to the AP planet before the Mongans destroyed them all.

  “Before it got zapped, one drone recorded and transmitted back to Epsilon an IR video of what appeared to be a good-sized explosion on the planet.”

  “Of what?” Alena asked.

  “Three Mongan ships and what looked like a small base. Navy Intel doesn’t think it was an accidental explosion.”

  “Not an accidental explosion,” Nase mused. “As in someone set it off?”

  “A distinct possibility according to the Nav,” Brant replied.

  “So,” Shanon murmured, “someone could be on the planet and hitting back at the Mongans.”

  “Could be,” Brant admitted. “Right after the detonation, the Mongans threw an interdiction net around the planet with a dozen ships in tight low orbits and at least that many in high orbit.

  “Almost like a swarm of angry bees looking for their missing queen. The Navy doesn’t think they would do that if it were an accidental or natural explosion.”

  “Survivors on the planet,” Shanon nodded, “but with no way to communicate.”

  In answer, Brant nodded back.

  “Are we going to try and rescue them?” Dason asked, his voice echoing the hope that he still held, faint as it might be, that his Uncle Jadar had somehow survived the Mongan onslaught.

  Brant hesitated as if considering his words carefully. “I admit, General Rosberg and I discussed it. However, don’t get your hopes up; his instructions to me were quite clear.

  “I would only attempt such a mission if, in my judgment, it would give us a tactical advantage that warranted the risk, and that it wouldn’t endanger our primary mission.”

  “To be no-see-ums,” Sami said.

  “That’s right,” Brant remarked. “We’re to harass the Mongans, and if possible, do more than that.”

  “But—” Dason began before Brant cut him off by saying, “I know, scouts don’t leave scouts behind. But even you have to admit, our little four-ship fleet is a bit on the light side to go up against the armada the Mongans have amassed inside the nebula.”

  Dason bit down on his lip, his hope sinking as he had to admit to himself that Brant was right. To attack the Mongans with what they had for weapons would be suicide by lunacy.

  And, if there were scouts still down there, knowing the score, they wouldn’t want their fellow scouts to waste their lives on a fruitless mission.

  No one spoke for several seconds before Nase remarked, “To get inside a tight interdiction screen like you described won’t be easy.”

  “No, it won’t,” Brant answered and glanced at Dason. “Still, we won’t rule anything out completely. Not just yet, anyway.”

  Scratching at his head, Brant muttered, “Like my Scoutmaster once said, ‘keep all your options open, and don’t close any until you absolutely have to’.”

  He leaned toward Dason, knowing full well why the young man had asked the question about rescuing survivors. “Will that do for now, scout?”

  Dason nodded slowly. “Yes sir, and I do understand.”

  “Good,” Brant replied with a slight smile.

  “But sir,” Dason added, “there is something I would like to add to the discussion.”

  “Certainly,” Brant replied. “What’s on your mind?”

  Dason shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with what had been nagging at his mind every since he s
aw and heard Tor’al on the vid.

  He let out a deep sigh and began, “Sir, back on the AP planet, Captain Ruz took a chance and trusted me when I said that the XTs were just ahead in the forest, even though I had no actual proof that they were.”

  “Yes, go on,” Brant replied in a quizzical tone, “I remember.”

  “Captain Ruz also trusted TJ, when TJ said that the voice over the comms wasn’t Doctor Stinneli.”

  “Scout, what are you driving at?”

  “I need for you to trust me, just as Captain Ruz did, and it’s crucial that you do.”

  Brant met Dason’s earnest eyes and said, “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Can you still get a message to General Rosberg?”

  “For a little while longer, yes. But the general did warn me that after he drops out of hyperspace, close to Earth, there is just a chance that he will be held incommunicado.

  “If that happens, then obviously no, I wouldn’t be able to get anything to him.”

  “Then,” Dason said, “you need to get a message off to him right away.”

  “And just what am I going to say?” Brant asked.

  Dason took a deep breath. “That it wasn’t Tor’al,” he stated.

  Brant sat motionless, his face first showing puzzlement, then concern. “What do you mean it wasn’t Tor’al?”

  “That wasn’t Elder Tor’al in the High Council chambers,” Dason stated firmly. “The council is being duped into believing that they were hearing and seeing Tor’al but they weren’t.”

  Dason went on in a hurried voice, “I know for sure that it wasn’t him.”

  “And just how do you know that?” Brant prompted.

  Dason didn’t reply but sat in his chair with just a hint of a defiant expression on his face.

  Brant stared at Dason for several long seconds before nodding and saying, “Oh. Instincts and trust again?”

  Dason shrugged. “Yes sir. All I know is that I would wager my life that that Sha’anay, or whatever it was in that room, was not Tor’al. And the sooner General Rosberg knows, the better.”

  Brant looked into Dason’s eyes, scratched at his square chin, and then said, “Obviously, if you’re right, it would change everything. The question is, how would the general go about proving your, uh, supposition?”