by GARY DARBY
Jadar nodded in an emphatic manner. “All of that. But right now, I’m more concerned with the danger. If Romerand had a connection to the Faction, it’s just possible that he told them about Dason, linked him to my brother and that missing Kolomite.
“Maybe even to—”
Rosberg held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain to me. I understand, and if that’s what you want, you know I’ll back your play.”
Rosberg looked into Jadar’s eyes, seeing the disappointment and the pain from the price the man was paying for his decision. “You realize how hard this is going to be on you?”
Jadar let out a breath and ran a hand over his brow. “I already know. So many times I’ve wanted to wrap my arms around him and . . .” He stopped, his mouth working but the words wouldn’t come out.
Rosberg leaned forward to say, “You can be proud of him. He’s a good scout already. What he did, what he went through on that planet . . .”
He smiled. “I guess there is something to this gene business after all.”
Nodding his thanks, Jadar said, “I know, and I am proud of him, very proud.”
Jadar rose as Rosberg came around the desk to clasp him by the shoulder. “Colonel, all I ask is that you keep your head level and don't cut your thrusters even one bit, we’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Jadar replied. “You can count on me.”
“I know I can,” Rosberg returned.
He met Jadar’s eyes and said, “In the end, we’ll win this thing. I know we will and not just because of who we are and what we stand for but because we have youngsters like Scout Thorne and all the rest.”
His voice became firm and resolute. “The only time evil ever wins is when good people stand aside and do nothing. Scout Thorne and others like him are just the sort who will never stand aside.
“Not now, not ever.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Star Date: 2443.066
Geneva, Switzerland, the Terran Imperium Capital
Adiak Peller stared at the amber-colored drink in his hand. A mixture of several herbs from his homeland, it relaxed his mind, soothed and calmed his thoughts which were dark and roiled with hate.
The ornate room, his personal study, was shadowy and gloomy except for a crackling fire in the fireplace that caused sharp shadows to dance across the walls. The fire burned real wood, which was an illegal act on Terra.
Of course, Adiak Peller wasn’t concerned. Like most high-ranking bureaucrats and politicians, he didn’t believe such minor legalities applied to him.
Like them, he believed that such rules applied to little people, not the high and mighty such as himself.
A severe scowl caused his mouth to turn down at both corners. His fierce anger at Romerand, his Double Star agent, still hadn’t abated even though he knew that it wasn’t the Marrels who were lost, just Romerand and his daughter.
The fool and the fool’s daughter had almost wrecked everything and even though they were dead, his fury still ran like fire through his veins.
He felt no sense of remorse or sadness concerning either. Romerand had only been a puny pawn and it wouldn’t take long before he raised another up to take his place on the chessboard. He had done so before—he would do so again and was already grooming suitable replacements.
As for the Marrels—they had finally surfaced. It infuriated Peller that they hadn’t been found sooner.
But, now that they knew where Dason Thorne was, son of Deklon Marrel, it was only a matter of time before he would lead them back to his father, and the father would return to Peller the Kolomite that he had stolen so long ago.
If not, there would be a grievous price to pay. The Marrels had cost him a son; it was only right that Marrel would lose his son, too. However, not until his long-lost Kolomite was in his hands.
His assassin had managed to return and report what had happened. The man’s cold fury had matched Peller’s own hot anger that he hadn’t been able to bring back either an extraterrestrial or any Marrel.
Peller smiled to himself. While the Imperium wasted time, his assassin was gathering and equipping another team and would head back into the Helix within hours.
The man couldn’t do anything about the Marrels for now, but there was just a chance that he could bag an extraterrestrial. And that, until he could finish what he had started with the Marrels, would be the best way he could redeem himself in the eyes of his master.
Peller’s mind turned from Romerand and fixed itself on a thought that damped his rage until a cruel smile lifted his lips.
There was a very real possibility that he could turn the matter of humankind’s supposed First Contact into a bonus for him and his Faction organization.
More so, it could actually accelerate his ultimate plan for his organization and much more importantly, for him.
The Imperium would pour enormous resources, energy, and time into a frenzied effort to reestablish contact with Alpha Prime. All of which drained assets and energy away from their fight against the Faction, which was just fine with him.
Because of that, he saw opportunities that hadn’t existed before, and one must always take advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves.
When the time was right, he would strike, hard and fast. He smirked as he thought that while the Imperium consumed themselves worrying about the Faction and Alpha Prime, he would sprint to the finish line and capture the grand prize.
For none of them, except he, knew what the real stakes were.
He took a sip of his drink and smiled to himself. The Imperium was in a great uproar about First Contact with Alpha Prime. He smirked and almost laughed aloud.
Well, they were several years too late. Peller looked down at the alien artifact that he held and rolled the ball repeatedly. The cold extraterrestrial metal pleased his touch.
He fingered the three tiny, round indentations that pockmarked the sphere. His instinct for self-preservation stopped him from pressing on the serrations, but he admitted to himself that the temptation to do so was almost overpowering at times.
Peller lifted the orb up to the light. It had been in his family for many years, passed from father to son, just waiting for the right time to bring it to light.
Studying it, a sudden thought came to him. The alien artifact had come to him from a planet that was in the same sector as Veni. He hadn’t thought of that before.
Coincidental of course, but flukes like that sometimes played an intertwining role in the universe’s grand fabric.
He returned the ball to its velvet casing and once again peered at the hologram video-image that floated above his redwood stand.
His SlipShip pilot had returned from the Helix Nebula with just this one thing of note. He hadn’t found the Marrels, but the holo-video and the knowledge that the SlipShip technology worked would suffice for now.
Peller gazed at the video and once again watched several giant alien spacecraft duel in an interstellar death battle. Two vessels fired at an oncoming ship, their energy weapons’ scarlet beams raking their attacker’s superstructure.
However, it wasn’t enough. The other alien craft returned a barrage of withering fire and one ship went dead and began to drift, aimless, in interstellar space. The surviving ship had fled, with its nemesis in hot pursuit.
Where they had gone, he didn’t know, nevertheless, the fact that one alien craft was left adrift brought a smile to Peller’s face.
With his personal assassin headed for the nebula, there was a grand opportunity unfolding in deep space. Peller’s orders to his subordinate were simple—intercept and board the alien derelict.
Failing that, make planetfall and attempt to capture both extraterrestrials and their equipment.
His smile turned up at the corners in a sickly sweet smile of satisfaction thinking of all that would be his if he gained even one of those prizes. His heartbeat quickened as he clenched and unclenched a hand in anticipation of what might be his.
The alien technology alone would be priceless but if there were extraterrestrials still alive for the capture, now that would be beyond a bonanza.
It was just a matter of beating the Imperium to the trophy, but he was more than confident that he would. And if he did, then he would be one step closer to the final mark, and all the dark plans, the lies, the schemes—the deaths would all be worth it.
He would have it all, become the master of inhabited space.
After all, that was his destiny.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Star Date: 2443.070
Star Scout Command, Cheyenne Mountain, Terra
Luna climbed high in the night sky, casting her soft light on the trio of Star Scouts who walked up the white marble steps that led to the Star Scout Hall of Honor.
Clothed in the maroon and silver of their dress uniforms, the three reached the top level and strode across the broad plaza.
To their front was the ever present Star Scout honor guard flanking the Everlasting Flame of Remembrance. The trio stopped, and as one, snapped a salute of respect to the fallen, and then passed through the columnar portal.
Their muffled steps barely broke the magnificent edifice’s solemn silence and stillness. They made their way to a particular wall and there, hanging large in a prominent position was the newest Visio-portrait addition to the hallowed hall.
Jadar Marrel and Scoutmaster Tarracas hung back, to allow Dason a few quiet moments with his friends.
Dason’s eyes burned while he gazed at the lifelike images of Shanon, TJ, Sami, and Nase. The profound sense of pride that he had been their teammate tempered his sense of intense sadness at their loss. He was pleased to see that the living portrait captured the very best of each.
Nase, his strong jaw set in determination, the intelligence evident in his eyes as if he were studiously resolving some profound problem.
TJ, her beaming countenance so full of sparkle and energy, ready to bounce up and tackle another day of life.
Sami, his cocky smile set at just the right angle. Dason couldn’t help but feel that the image was so natural that Sami seemed ready to leap from the wall and set out on another trail as Path Finder.
Shanon. For a long while, he stared at her striking features, taking in the radiant light in her eyes. He drank in her strength, her resolve, the proud but thoughtful expression that he loved.
His eyes misted as he thought of how he had wanted to share his feelings with her and didn’t. And now, he would never, ever be able to do that.
He once again let his eyes move from face to face, from friend to friend.
Friends. Now and forever.
A small commemorative plaque bore their names. Underneath was a simple inscription:
The sacrifice of the one—was the sacrifice for all.
He wiped at his eyes, and then turned to nod at the waiting men. Minutes later, they were outside on the plaza’s marble steps. Jadar turned and spoke, “Dason, I’ve got to get back to the command. I’ll see you there.”
He leaned his head a little closer to Dason and rested a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have done any better, remember that. I’m proud of you—we’re all proud of you.”
Dason nodded his thanks. Jadar gave Tarracas a firm handshake, a quick hug to Dason and then the lanky Star Scout was striding down the gray step stones.
A smile of gratitude lifted Dason’s mouth. The deep affection that he had developed for his uncle helped ease his feeling of loss and sorrow.
Watching his uncle pace away, Dason felt a closeness, a bond that buoyed him up and for the moment, dispelled the deep hurt of losing his friends. It was good to have a family.
Dason turned to his mentor, who peered at him. “So, Scout Thorne,” Tarracas began, “I once asked you a question that you struggled to answer. Perhaps now you can. What does the Scout Oath mean to you?”
Dason’s head rocked back a little, surprised at the question. It seemed so long ago that the Scoutmaster had posed that same query though, in actuality, it had been mere days.
Yes, he had struggled to answer. Had the last, painful time given him any more insight into the question than before?
He wasn’t sure.
He did notice that Tarracas called him “Scout Thorne.” It sounded wonderful to have his honored teacher acknowledge him as “Scout.” The trail had been long and arduous but to have his Scoutmaster recognize him as such made the deep-seated hurt a little more bearable.
“The Scout Oath,” he breathed out while he considered the Scoutmaster’s question.
Dason gazed up the pale orb glowing in the black sea of deep space. Luna’s majesty held him entranced before he said, “When we lost Nase at the falls, I felt it was somehow my fault—that I hadn’t done enough, hadn’t done the right thing, or made the right decision.
“When the lake creature got TJ, I felt like I was being punished, that I had done something horribly wrong and evil, and this was the consequence.”
He stopped as he struggled to control his voice. “But when Sami and Shanon went over the cliff, I became angry. I knew I had kept the oath, tried my best, and that I had obeyed—yet, these terrible things kept happening and I couldn’t stop any of it!”
Dason’s deep intakes of air punctuated the still night air. He turned toward the Hall of Honor, its columnar facade ablaze in shimmering white.
In a calmer and deeper tone he said, “What I think I’ve learned, Scoutmaster, is that anyone can make promises, can swear an oath, and give little thought to the seriousness of entering into a covenant. But, without action to back up the words, it’s meaningless.”
He stared at Tarracas while saying firmly, “An oath without action is like a leaf that falls from a tree. For a short while, it retains its color and form, but ultimately it dries, shrivels, breaks apart and then is blown to dust by the wind.
“The leaf needs the tree’s nourishment to survive, an oath needs the sustenance of living deeds for it to become alive in the heart and soul of the oath maker.”
He swallowed, and his voice quivered while he said, “My friends, you, and others have taught me that you must be willing to live your oath—every day, every moment.”
Pausing, he then said, “And if that requires sacrifice, then you must have the moral courage to be able to make that choice if you must.”
Dason stopped to take a breath, his eyes resting on a particular spot within the memorial building’s brilliant structure. “Then it becomes not a sacrifice but a victory.”
Tarracas stood motionless, his eyes on Dason before nodding approval. He then said, “You once asked a question of me that I never answered.”
Dason started as he remembered what Tarracas meant. “Yes, of course—the stripling warriors’ fate.”
Tarracas turned to gaze at the gleaming snow-white hall. It seemed to Dason that Tarracas took in the whole expanse, remembering his own fallen teammates and their sacrifices.
“The ancient script states that because the fathers honored their oath, their God protected and strengthened the two thousand striplings. Though all suffered wounds, some grievous, they fought a valiant battle and vanquished their foe’s vast legions.”
Meeting Dason’s eyes, he murmured, “All the stripling warriors survived.”
He offered his hand in the ancient scout handshake. Dason returned the Scoutmaster’s grip. “Well done, scout,” Tarracas said, “You have lived and learned well and returned with honor . . . Stripling Warrior.”
With that, he turned and started down the broad stairs, leaving Dason to watch his descent to the plaza. A lump formed in Dason’s throat, and he turned toward the building again.
“All the stripling warriors survived,” he whispered to himself. “Oh, Scoutmaster—if only . . .”
Once again, his eyes misted over before he turned to make his way down the steps. He stopped part way down to once again glance up at the full moon.
It had a slight blue tint in its lumin
escence, and he recalled hearing that the eruption of Mount Surinaka had sent enough ash high into the atmosphere that it would cause Luna to have a slight indigo hue.
Dason gazed at Luna for several minutes, realizing that he was witnessing a rare event where atmospheric processes produced an actual “blue moon.” He started to take a step when he stopped in midstride and stared heavenward again.
The blue tinge was unmistakable, but that wasn’t what was bothering him. The combination of color and orb together—he couldn’t shake the feeling he had seen something similar before and it was necessary that he remembered what and where.
For long seconds, he stared upward, his mind racing to find the answer that was just beyond his grasp. He knew he had seen that blue tint somewhere before.
Dason went rigid.
He had it!
What had Tor’al said—the Mongans had the ability to transport matter. The silver orbs they carried. Dason sucked in a breath. The blue light at the waterfall, then the lake, and finally, in the cave.
They were indeed transporting matter!
Dason turned toward the Hall of Honor; his mouth open in a jaw-splitting grin. “You were right, Scoutmaster!” he exclaimed. “They all did survive!”
With that, he sprinted down the stairs, taking them three at a time. He had to catch up to his uncle and the Scoutmaster. They didn’t have a second to spare because it was time to get . . .
SCOUTS OUT!
The End
The Story Continues in Book Three
Star’s Honor
Of the Star Scout Saga
Other books by Gary J. Darby
Science Fiction:
The Star Scout Saga
Book One: Star Rising
Book Two: Fallen Stars: Darkest Days
Book Three: Star’s Honor
Book Four: When Stars Fall
Book Five: How Far the Stars
Fantasy:
The Legend of Hooper’s Dragons
Book One: If a Dragon Cries
