FALLEN STARS: DARKEST DAYS (THE STAR SCOUT SAGA Book 2)

by GARY DARBY

  Moreover, if Tor’al was right, the knowledge of this unbelievable threat to humankind rested with him and the surviving Star Scouts.

  Dason let his eyes meet the big alien’s dark eyes. “Thank you, Tor’al,” he said, “for helping me and my kind. If I get back, I will tell them of your people’s courage and generosity. I am but one human, but I will speak for you if you allow me.”

  Tor’al rumbled low in his chest while saying, “Let us consider it a pact between us then. We will speak of this to our people, yours and mine, and we will pray that they listen.

  “And may they both remember that the old teach the young and from the young, the old learn, and from both is wisdom gained.”

  Tor’al raised one large hand and laid it on Dason’s shoulder. “You and I have fought as Sha-warriors, faced the devil dogs together. Our blood has joined. You are always welcome in the House of Tor’al.

  “If you meet any of my brethren, say to them, ‘I am the human Dason, friend of Tor’al of the Seventh Sword. Our blades have sung the victory song; we have fought together.”

  Tor’al paused and leaned forward as if he were studying Dason. He peered into Dason’s eyes as if he trying to fathom Dason’s mind and soul. Then, he nodded as if he liked what he found there and a small, satisfied smile played across his friendly countenance.

  “And say this to them as well,” he growled firmly. “Henceforth, until the stars grow cold, he is under my House, to him give the choicest cut of the Kor’ar meat, may his cup never be empty of the Mir’al berry, and may his pallet be the softest and closest to the clan fire.”

  Dason took a deep breath and said, “Thank you, Tor’al, for that great honor.”

  Tor’al squeezed Dason’s shoulder in a fatherly manner while saying, “The honor is mine. Now kinsman, let us rise and draw our blades. For you see, my human friend Dason Thorne, the devil hounds return, and they have brought many to do their evil work.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Star Date: 2443.064

  Unnamed planet in the Helix Nebula

  Springing to his feet, Dason spun on the balls of his feet to stare at glowing, evil eyes that gleamed in the fading sunlight and drew closer with silent pacing.

  With slow, deliberate steps, the demon dogs advanced in a semicircle, their lips drawn back, revealing long, cruel fangs.

  Guttural, menacing growls came from their throats. Their heads hung low while they weaved back and forth, looking for an opening to attack.

  Tor’al rose with his own low snarl coming from bared teeth. He pulled his twin swords, each making a soft metallic hiss as they slid from their scabbards.

  He twirled them several times, making an intricate pattern in the air before taking a fighting stance with legs spread wide and swords outstretched.

  Dason drew his long knife from its casing and stood to one side of the towering alien. He had only to take one look at the encircling dogs to know the fight’s outcome. The ring of wolflike canines grew tighter and tighter around him and Tor’al.

  With a grim but determined stance, Dason planted his feet in the dark soil. Next to him, the big alien shifted his fighting position, balancing on one foot and then on the other.

  Dason was surprised that the beasts hadn’t charged. It was almost as if they were waiting.

  There was a snapping and snarling almost at Dason’s head. Dason whirled and jumped aside. Somehow, the hounds had gotten behind them, climbed to the top of the granite rock.

  More than a dozen fearsome beasts stood on the boulder’s uneven top. Between their snarling bodies and the advancing pack, they had Dason and Tor’al trapped, ready to spring in a ferocious, deadly assault.

  Tor’al took a step toward the closing pack. The sun’s light caught the warrior’s lifted swords, like pinnacles of power and death. He brought them down until they pointed outward toward the growling canines. He turned to gaze at Dason over his shoulder. Dason returned the look and saw something in the big alien’s eyes . . .

  With a great roar, Tor’al charged into the mass of snarling fiends, his short swords flashing like emerald crystals in the sun’s soft light. Dason started to go to his friend’s aid, but a sudden surge by the pack cut him off from the fighting alien.

  Tor’al turned toward Dason and spoke in a ferocious voice, “Go! Now! Remember Tor’al of the Sha’anay and forget not what I have said, human Dason Thorne, my new friend.”

  With a shock, Dason realized what the brave Sha’anay warrior was doing. He had engaged the greater number of animals, to allow Dason a chance to escape. Dason hesitated, not wanting to leave Tor’al to a certain death.

  Then a peaceful calm settled on him when he realized Tor’al’s greater purpose in sacrificing himself. He had given Dason a chance to warn humankind, to prepare—perhaps even to stop the invading Mongans.

  Tor’al raised his sword in a farewell salute and turned to attack the snarling pack. Dason raised his own long knife in acknowledgment to the brave warrior.

  With a leap, he plunged through the brambles of a nearby thicket of yellowish bushes. Behind him, the wolflike dogs gave chase, their yapping rising to a feverish pitch.

  Dason burst through the bushes and headed for a small stand of trees, remembering Tor’al’s advice. From one side loomed several beasts sprinting between him and the trees, their long, lean legs propelling them in ground-eating strides that Dason knew he couldn’t match for long.

  He pivoted to his left, leaving the wolf creatures abruptly surprised at his sudden change in direction. It took them but an instant to make up what little ground Dason had gained in the unexpected move.

  The young scout was in a race for his life, his only hope a grove of trees in the near distance. His boots pounded on the dirt, kicking up small clumps of dirt, his breath coming in hard, labored gasps.

  He knew he couldn’t keep up this pace for long, he was too weak, too physically drained by the exertions of the last several days.

  In grim determination, Dason stared straight ahead; willing his legs to greater speed, but the grove was too far. His mind finally convinced him what his heart didn’t want to believe, that he wouldn’t be able to outrun his canine adversaries.

  He wasn’t going to make the safety of the woods.

  Desperately, he jerked his head to the left and to the right, looking for a place to make his last stand against the devil hounds. A single, jagged boulder split the earth a few meters away.

  It was less than halfway to the trees, but it might as well have been at the center of the galaxy with what little strength he had left.

  With one last concerted effort, he pushed himself, and darted toward the gray-green rock. He vaulted to its rounded crown and with a face hardened with purpose, turned to confront his fiendish foes.

  The creatures hurled themselves up the rock, their claws scrabbling over the stone surface. Their jaws snapped in a frenzied grinding of teeth that sent whitish specks of foam flying in every direction. Their red eyes, full of rage, never left Dason.

  Dason cut and stabbed, his blade gleaming in the setting sun. Where he struck there were yelps and almost humanlike shrieks of pain and hurt. Still, the beasts attacked, the rock running crimson red with their blood.

  He whirled at the sounds of snarls behind him, but he was too late. Two devil dogs leaped onto his back, sending him tumbling from the boulder and into the pack.

  Pinned on the ground, the things snapped and bit at Dason’s head and hands. He slashed at the things, trying to clear a space around him so that he could scramble back to his feet.

  A wolf creature seized his knife hand, crushing the flesh between its sharp incisors. Dason tried to ward off the others with his free hand and legs, but it was no use.

  They were too strong and too many. Dason ripped his knife hand from the beast’s jaws and slashed downward, stabbing the devil dog in the neck. With a yelp, the animal leaped backward into its pack mates, scattering them as it landed on its bloody side.

 
Dason felt blood running into his eyes and wiped at the red liquid with his free hand so that he could see the next target of his knife. He swung his knife in a slicing circle around him, scattering the brutes for just a second.

  He pulled himself to his feet and stood with his blade outstretched. The alien hounds wheeled around him like moths around a candle flame. Then as one, they charged again, bowling Dason over and knocking him to the ground.

  Dason tried to cover his head with his forearm, to protect it while his knife hand slashed and cut at the raging canines. One beast worried at his leg, its incisors cutting and tearing into flesh. Several more tried to get to his head, but his continuous thrusts kept them at bay.

  His wild swings became fewer and weaker while he sucked in great gulps of air. The pack closed in for the kill, their bloodstained muzzles coming ever closer to their victim. Dason lunged one last time, his knife sinking deep into a muscled shoulder.

  The canine shrieked in pain and stumbled back. Dason pulled his knife back, ready to lunge again when suddenly, one of the canines dropped in its tracks, then another and another.

  From far off, Dason heard the priiing-priing-priing of an L-gun discharging in quick-fire succession.

  With high-pitched yelps of pain, two more beasts went down.

  As one, the vicious canines turned and fled their invisible attacker, leaving Dason trying to stand on rubbery legs. Using his long knife, he pushed himself upright to stare almost in disbelief as the wolflike creatures sped through the tall grass and disappeared from view.

  Dason began to wobble as exhaustion and shock overcame him. He swayed back and forth several times to keep his balance, but his attempt failed, and he started to fall.

  A strong arm grabbed him around the waist and eased him to the ground. His unseen savior rolled him over.

  Dason blinked hard to focus, his eyes taking in the Star Scout uniform. At first, he thought it was Romerand who had rescued him, but then his gaze fell on the scout’s nametag.

  Marrel, it read.

  Dason took one look at the man’s face. He forced one limp arm up to the man’s chest, clutching at his vest, “Dad, you came back,” he whispered. “You came back . . .”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Star Date: 2443.066

  Star Scout Command, Cheyenne Mountain, Terra

  General Rosberg, the commanding officer of Star Scout Command, hands clasped behind his broad back, stared at the flowing hologram that covered one wall of his spacious office.

  Like a shimmering cascade, an image would appear near where wall met ceiling and then slowly stream to the bottom, before another took its place.

  The seven silver moons of Simron, each orb a metallic marble set against the blackness of space, danced their way downward, to melt into the floor, only to be followed by a full view of Jupiter with all three gigantic Red Spots visible.

  Rosberg had his head bowed, his shoulders hunched over. It was evident that his eyes may have been turned to the flowing holograms, but he wasn’t actually seeing them as his mind was caught up in greater, more terrifying things than serene, celestial vistas.

  Jadar and Shar sat silent, but their eyes never left Rosberg. His pain and distress were evident in every line of his body.

  It had been a tumultuous seventy-two hours since their return to Cheyenne Mountain. Upon hearing their report, as well as Dason’s, Rosberg had immediately notified Admiral Stannick, his counterpart in the Imperium’s Star Navy and Chief Scientist Ming of SciCorps of the very real possibility of First Contact.

  Stunned and hesitant at first, both had agreed to begin preparations to go into the Helix Nebula in force pending High Council approval.

  Meanwhile, the council, spread over the Imperium in so-called fact-finding ventures, were being hurriedly recalled to Terra to discuss Rosberg’s claim.

  But first, there were other matters that needed resolution.

  Shaking himself to break out of his reverie, Rosberg asked in a soft voice over his shoulder, “Have we notified the missing scouts’ families?”

  “Yes sir,” Shar replied. “We’ve sent honor officers to each family of the Star Scout training team.”

  He took a small breath before saying, “Scoutmaster Tarracas and Instructor Scout Grolson are meeting personally with the families of Scouts Hsu, and Alvaro. And as I understand it, sir, you will call upon the parents of Scouts Utlander and Wek.”

  “Yes,” Rosberg replied in a somber tone. He pulled himself erect. “In their cases it would be better for me to personally deliver the news.”

  He paused before saying, “Which I will do once we’re finished here and before I meet with the High Council. They’ve notified me that a full quorum will be in session at 1300 hours and I am to make my full report to them at that time.”

  Rosberg turned from the cinema-hologram and returned to his desk. “Gentlemen,” he said to Jadar and Shar, “I appreciate your efforts in this matter. For your information, and yours alone for the moment, I will inform the council that effective immediately upon my return, Star Scout Command will operate under First Contact Alpha Prime protocols.”

  He ran a hand over his mouth, pursed his lips. “The evidence is not as strong as I would like, and I admit, I feel like I’m stretching my neck further out than a Denebian Sand Ostrich, but under the circumstances, I believe it is the right thing to do.”

  Shar was quick to ask, “The Imperium Navy and SciCorps?”

  “Stannick and Ming,” he answered, “have agreed to join me before the council. They’ve already started some preliminary actions to set sail for the nebula.”

  “What if the council says no?” Shar asked. “Will they still go in?”

  Rosberg shrugged and said, “I can’t answer for them, of course, but we’ll keep slogging forward. After all, that’s our mission.”

  Lifting one corner of his mouth in a wan smile, he said, “Even if the council tells Stannick and Ming to hold off, I have the feeling that they’ll do an end-run.”

  His smile grew a bit wider. “They won’t let the chance to be in on the action if it’s the real thing pass by.”

  “And they know,” Jadar pointedly asked, “that they could be facing serious hostilities, battle elements as powerful, maybe even more so than our own?”

  “Absolutely,” Rosberg affirmed. “SciCorps won’t go in without Nav protection anyway but I suspect that in the end what the council will order is a joint task force between all three of us.”

  He frowned while saying, “I’ve never sounded the horn on this before and the council knows I wouldn’t do so unless I were convinced that there’s enough there to warrant a major effort on all fronts.”

  Pressing a small, rounded pad on his compu desk, he brought up a hologram of the Helix Nebula. “The Nav,” he began while motioning to the glowing green-gray coils of the giant gas cloud, “already had a Saturn class Vanguard cruiser, the Ticonderoga, in the area.

  “Stannick’s given her orders to conduct a quick fly-by recon to assess the situation but she’ll will not remain on station due to the potential threat.”

  His face turned grim. “Her skipper has also been tasked to keep an eye out for our people just in case they’ve found a way to send out a distress call.

  “In the meantime, Admiral Stannick is putting together a major task force of heavy stuff, Marauders, Predators and the like. If the council authorizes the operation, they’ll use the Ti’s report before cracking the nebula’s envelope and heading inbound.”

  Pointing to the nebula’s mid quadrant, he went on. “Ming has two deep-space survey ships en route. They’ll link up with Stannick’s heavies and go in with them.”

  He tapped on the hologram where a cluster of stars shown brightly. “I’m pulling Bartley’s battalion out of his ops and having him join Stannick’s task force at the designated rendezvous point outside the Helix.

  “If these aliens have the high-powered weaponry you say they do, I don’t want him going in alone. Once
Bartley makes his initial report on what they find, I’ll decide whether to send in more scouts or not.

  “In the meantime, I’ve alerted Jon Armand’s brigade to prepare for a complete stand down order from their current ops and to move en mass to the nebula.

  “They’re the closest in that sector and could have a least a battalion with boots on the ground in less than a week.” With a wave of his hand over his console, the image disappeared and he sat down.

  He drummed his fingers on his desk, his lips turning down in a slight frown. “Once I go up before the council, I’m quite sure that most of the questions and debate will be directed at me since I’m the run who’s run this up the flagpole.

  “I suspect that there will be a certain, ah, ‘element’ that will question my decision based on what appears to be circumstantial proof.”

  He eyed them both before saying, “But I’m confident that we have more than enough to justify what we’re doing, and after some internal squabbling amongst themselves, I’m sure that they will sustain my decisions and approve Stannick’s and Ming’s initiatives.”

  Grunting, he waved a hand. “If not, well, there’s an excellent trout stream in the Montana Protectorate that I’ve had my eye on for some time. It’ll make for a nice retirement spot.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he directed, “In the meantime, the council will have a host of questions, so let’s make sure I have at least the main facts straight.”

  He turned to Jadar. “More than likely, the council will want to speak with Scout Thorne in person. How’s the lad doing? Is he up for it?”

  Jadar gave a small nod while answering, “Recovering, sir. He took quite a beating, with the worst of it coming from those wolf creatures, a slew of nasty bites, and slashes, but thankfully nothing life-threatening.”

  “Any ill effects from his contact with the XTs?” Rosberg asked.

  “Luna Quarantine put us through the wringer,” Jadar replied. “They ran a complete workup on all of us, full body scan, blood chemistry, tissue samples, and some tests I’ve never even heard of before. Everything came back normal. The three of us are clean.”