War Without Honor (Halloran's War Series Book 1)

by J. R. Geoghan

  Kendall stopped her with a raised hand. “Captain, we lost three warships out there this morning. Three more that we cannot easily replace. Fleet Command is growing daily more concerned about the tactical situation in the Sol System. I have demands on my time…”

  Kendra tossed her head. “You ever just want to go home to mother?”

  Without missing a beat the older man nodded. “Every day, Kendra. Every day. But we’re here to do a job. And,” he pulled his chair up to the desk. “You are now officially suspended from space duty until an investigation can be convened into the circumstances surrounding the loss of the Carillion and your command actions surrounding it.” He pushed a data tablet to one side and looked up at her. “You’re confined to the Command base until transport can be arranged out-system for you.”

  “Out-system?”

  Kendall looked away. “Yes. I’ve prevailed upon Admiral Clywik to allow your hearing to be held on Coloran.”

  Kendra’s heart leapt. Coloran! She could visit home…

  “Kendra, your mother is not well. One of us needs to be at her side.”

  Kendra’s eyes widened at the news from of mother, then suddenly narrowed. “But, you’re effectively destroying my career in the Fleet.” She smelled a rat.

  “Kendra, you possess the needed training and experience to rate as a Captain. Your past actions have certainly earned you merit that none can deny. But after yesterday, I think it best that you take some time away to rethink your path.”

  The blood was rising in Kendra’s face. “You can’t banish me from the fight. I lost my ship yesterday! You of all people understand that.”

  Her father’s eyes softened. “I understand, Kendra. You will have time to mourn it and your other crew. You will need it.”

  Almost as if on cue, the door opened and Satra held it that way. “Captain Kendra, if you please.”

  Beaten, Kendra walked away from her father’s desk in a daze, overwhelmed with the turn of events. She didn’t look back as she left the office and instead of turning towards the lifts, she went the other way.

  Captain Mila was there, in the act of passing as Kendra barged out of the Admiral’s office. She adeptly side-stepped the other woman. “Kendra!”

  Immediately they were in an embrace, the only two female Captains in the Sol Fleet with ship command experience. After a few moments, Mila pulled back. “I’m so sorry, Kendra.”

  Kendra hung her head. “I’ve been relieved.”

  “What? By your father? I don’t believe it.”

  Kendra broke the loose embrace. “Believe it. He’s booked me passage back to Coloran. Leaving immediately.”

  “Kendra, we need you here.”

  “You’re on his staff now; you tell him.”

  Mila stepped back. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”

  Without another word, Kendra spun and marched away up the corridor.

  The Command was full of bustling people, many of whom Kendra knew, but at that moment she felt completely alienated from everyone. She managed to make it all the way to Control before a guard was brave enough to challenge her.

  “Captain Kendra, are you expected in Control?”

  She paused and looked the young man over imperiously. “I have Captain’s clearance, obviously.”

  “Captain, that’s not what I asked…respectfully.”

  “Let her in, Kurillo,” called a female voice from over the guard’s shoulder.

  Kurillo stood back and pulled his weapon in tightly to allow Kendra to pass.

  Kendra approached her sister. “Kaela, father is shipping me off to Coloran.”

  Kaela took her arm. “Not here.”

  Twenty seconds later they were inside a communications cubicle where—theoretically—they could talk privately. No one really knew if the cubicles were actually monitored, but it was the best that could be secured within an advance military base underneath an atmos dome.

  Kaela put down her folder and turned to Kendra. “I know.”

  After a brief hug, Kendra pushed away. “I don’t want to go…but mother.”

  Kaela nodded. “Father says she is fading.”

  “If I go it will be my career.”

  “You don’t know that. Once the investigation is concluded you’ll probably be re-assigned to the Coloran system for a year or so to keep your nose clean. After all,” Kaela tossed her golden hair, “you’re an admiral’s daughter.”

  Kendra pulled away and leaned against the tan-painted wall. “I’m a ship’s captain, not an admiral’s daughter.” The pout communicated clearly through her words. It was her only sister, after all; they were two years apart and had been nearly inseparable since primary education. Despite their parent’s admonishments they both had attended the Academy and graduated with honors. Yes, there was certainly a competitiveness between the two but it’d never come between them. Only when Kaela had chosen a career in staff alongside father and Kendra had instead opted for space duty that they’d begun to grow apart. It was inevitable, Kendra figured. Their paths would eventually diverge and one would rise above the other…she saw now that it must be Kaela who would carry on the legacy of their father.

  But she hated it. And Kaela had changed, too. There was a barrier between them now. Kendra felt it more strongly each time they spoke.

  “Look at me,” said Kaela softly. “I can tell you’re taking this hard—you lost good people today, and I can’t imagine what it must be like—”

  “No, you can’t.” Kaela had not seen the combat that Kendra had, and would even be considered soft by others in the Fleet. It was Kendra who had briefly upstaged her with her actions in battle.

  “—But I do know about survival. And you will survive this, Kendra.” Kaela spread her hands. “You haven’t been back on Coloran in, what, fifteen years? You’ll be the returning hero!” She was referring to Kendra’s actions on the bridge of the old Goliath at Struve Six during the Praxxan attack.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Kaela harrumphed. “Still fresh in the minds of your young, adoring male fans, I expect.”

  Kendra looked at her sister. Kaela stood several inches taller than her, and had a great aura of power about her. As a senior Fleet Commander, Kaela controlled a major group within the Command staff. Technically, despite the prestige of being a space Captain, Kendra knew that Kaela outranked her by two degrees. The result of languishing in engine rooms across the galaxy for a decade rather than building up a reputation with the leading officers in humanity. But, Kendra held little bitterness—mostly. It was the path that they had chosen. She would do it all again…but the unspoken barrier recently between them bothered her.

  “You should go. Get some rest.” Kaela had picked up the folder again. “I’ll try to see you before you ship out.” She tucked the folder in tight to her chest, almost protectively. “Mars is crazy right now; we’re losing ground to the Prax. Earth seems further away than ever.”

  “Um hmm. We’ve never even been to Earth, either of us.” It was true; both of them had grown up many light-years away, and the Praxxan invasion of Earth had happened over twenty years before they were born.

  “Don’t talk like that, Kendra. Your own crew died today so we could reclaim our homeworld.”

  Now Kaela was tipping over into the Command-speak. Earth, Earth…Kendra opened the door to the cubicle. “I do hope you come to see me.” The conversation was over.

  Chapter 7

  Occupied Earth - Rat City

  The beep-beeping of the handheld awoke Deacon instantly and he reached for the comm unit with a sense of dread. He had not been truly sleeping, though it was late in the night; tomorrow was the culmination of so many years, so many sacrifices—he would not sleep until Axxa was safely delivered off-world.

  “Deacon.”

  He blood ran cold. The Praxxan himself was calling. “What?” He imagined a unit of enforcers even now surrounding his building, ready to blow it sky-high with everyone in it.


  “We must meet.”

  “Not now…tomorrow. After my shift.”

  “Now, Deacon. I must share with you.”

  He always flinched at the Praxxan way of saying things in Standard. “Tell me now.”

  “We meet. At the location you referenced.”

  Deacon’s mind raced. Contingencies. Was it a trap? Of course it was a trap. “I can’t tonight.” Even to his ears it sounded lame.

  “In thirty of your minutes.” The line clicked off. Deacon glanced at the numbers indicating the channel used, and nodded to himself. At least the Prax was using a secure coding for his call; most humans wouldn’t know the difference but Deacon’s experience told him what the digits represented; at least the alien hadn’t wanted others of his race to overhear. Good enough… He quickly threw on his outer clothing and headed on foot towards the alley.

  Right at the requested time Deacon was lurking in the shadows, watching the stretch of dirty plastocrete paving for a sign of movement. At this late hour no one was about except the observer drones. Deacon had to hope that one wasn’t even now targeting him and honing in on his audio, recording everything. Suddenly nervous, he cautiously scanned upward along the high walls of the buildings, but nothing presented itself. The night was dark and cloudless. A fleet of observers could be up there and I wouldn’t know until they dropped an anti-personnel missile right down on my head, he thought grimly.

  A light scratching sound reached his ears and he risked another poke out with his eyes, checking the alley for movement.

  “You must learn to move quietly,” said a voice right at Deacon’s shoulder, nearly causing his heart to stop with the shock of it. He gasped lightly and reached out a hand to steady himself against the damp wall.

  “I must speak with you,” continued Axxa with what seemed like an edge of frustration in his deep, gravelly voice.

  “You gave me a shock, Axxa.” He was stalling for time and sized up the alien out of the corner of his eye as he feigned a recovery, hand still on the wall. The tall being was dressed out of uniform; that much was already highly unusual. He had a hood draped over his head and pulled low, but Deacon was sure it was him from the voice.

  “The Prime moves this morning with a new device. Even now they prepare it for operation.”

  “New device? A weapon?”

  “No, not designed for war. A device to move things through…time.”

  “What?” Deacon had recovered his air of practiced indifference and leaned against the wall, hands in pockets. If the drones were listening, Axxa was digging his own grave too. Deacon would play along. “A time machine?”

  “Science Advisor Elexxan has devised a…variation…of your jump-drive technology. He has succeeded in transporting both inanimate and living beings through time with it.”

  Deacon had heard of the head scientist, in fact would’ve loved to have gotten him to turn instead of this guy. But beggars can’t be choosy…especially smugglers looking for their biggest score ever. “What does the Prime plan to do with it?”

  Axxa leaned in, briefly intimidating Deacon. “He will locate an ancient human water-ship that was armed with powerful weapons and bring it to our time.”

  Deacon was dubious. “What weapons?” How could something ancient pose a threat today?

  “They are called ‘pure fusion’ explosives.”

  Time seemed to stand still inside of Deacon’s mind. The word meant something to him; it meant something to all humans on the planet.

  He turned over the words in his memory, remembering the legends of history. The days of war when nations turned upon nations with these horrible weapons, called “nuclear” and capable of destroying huge areas of land. And they had.

  Axxa had done some homework of his own. The Prax nodded, pulling back his hood. “These weapons were responsible for the great darkness recorded in your history, yes?”

  Deacon nodded. “Yes. According to the histories.”

  “The Prime wishes to possess these weapons and use them against your fleet.”

  Unlike most humans eking out their existence on Earth, Deacon knew of the Fleet and the ongoing war in space that no one on the surface could see. “What is this water-ship?”

  Axxa shook his head. “I know little of it but that it is crewed by humans and carries many of the powerful weapons. Elexxan intends to transport it this very day’s eve.”

  “You mean this morning? That’s only hours away.”

  “I fear that this weapon will bring destruction to all it comes in contact with.”

  Deacon mulled things over. He also registered the alien’s genuine concern. It was this soft spot for humans that had finally won him over to Deacon’s persuasions; he was truly a miracle. One that Deacon had no intention of losing, even with this new wrinkle. “What do you propose, Axxa?”

  “I must be at the Prime’s side for this glory; he would become suspicious immediately should I be absent. But, it seems unlikely that I will be unable to leave this coming night as you planned, Deacon.”

  The human scratched his chin, unwilling to throw away his long-awaited extraction arrangement. “Let’s plan on the next day. I’m going to send my alert to my contact with the time window. If you can, find out more about this water-ship and what the Prime’s plans are. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t already know…”

  “I am his Second Advisor. It is concerning to me as well that I was not consulted. There are other…initiatives…that I understand he is undertaking without my knowledge.”

  Deacon had a flash of concern. “He suspects you.”

  Axxa’s head shook quickly. “I do not believe so, Deacon. We would not be talking if that was true.”

  “Good point. So, we wait and you watch to see what becomes of Elexxan’s machine today. I will be on my shift as normal; you know how to find me.”

  “Very well.” And with that, the tall alien disappeared down the alley the way he’d come so stealthily before.

  Deacon breathed a sigh of relief that he was still free and alive. Whatever had brought Axxa out tonight was serious enough to force his hand despite the obvious risks of being exposed. And Deacon realized that the Praxxan was concerned enough to think that even he wouldn’t last long enough to make their rendezvous later tonight.

  “Good luck, Axxa. You’re going to need it today, I suspect.”

  Chapter 8

  Rat City - Outer Canal

  “All is in readiness, Lord.”

  The Prime waved a hand, taking his time to ensure that all assembled took notice. Not that he needed to be concerned on that front—Praxxan loyalty and discipline was unparalleled. Every Prime enjoyed total control over his dominion, be it a small remote planet or a massive star system. The officers and soldiers, fighting ship crew and servants, all obeyed immediately and without question. Even the scientist class that had been cultivated within the Praxxan warrior society to ensure their ultimate supremacy knew enough to defer to the Prime.

  He looked Elexxan over as the scientist stared intently over the shoulders of his underlings, watching their every move at the equipment as they supposedly made ready to engage this new device. Elexxan had been elevated by the Prime to his current position after the execution of the prior scientist’s entire crew—ordered by the Prime once he’d realized Elexxan’s potential in the role. This crew seemed to be the best yet and would likely be the source of much glory to come, if their promises could be believed. Elexxan had been instrumental in several advances in weaponry and torture devices that had helped to keep the native human population of this world in subjugation. And now he insisted that this new device, built out of curiosity and respect for the Prime’s wishes, would bring them to the precipice of final victory in the star system. And a final victory in the Sol System would be the seal on his father’s larger plans for power.

  The Prime sat back in his chair and contemplated the mass of water before him. The channel was an ancient tributary drawn off from a larger water source called Medse
a in the distance. Elexxan seemed confident that it would hold the human water-ship once it materialized. The liquid rippled slightly as the hot wind passed over its surface. It was early in the Earth day and Sol was barely at the horizon, rendering the air somewhat cool even in this warm climate zone. “Desert,” the humans called it.

  The Prime felt the wind on his face and shivered slightly; even at its hottest, Earth was still cooler than most locations on his homeworld. And water—that was a commodity not found on the surface of their homeworld but buried far below the baking surface. He was always amazed at the quantity of it just lying on the surface of the planet.

  He thought of the many varieties of water-ships he had found during his investigation into this planet’s past. Humans had used the water bodies extensively for travel, warfare and pleasure over the millennia they had existed on Earth. Unlike the Praxxan race whom were born into a culture of honor and service to the Conquest, the humans used warfare casually, rebelling against each other regularly and eventually employing weapons of mass destruction as their technology had advanced. The Prime and his First Advisor had pored over the histories recovered from human centers of knowledge for almost an entire cycle—what the humans would call an orbit of Earth around their star. A year? The Prime had always been a student of the histories of races the Praxxan had subjugated within their own star systems, before the jump-drive had finally enabled them to reach new systems for the glory of the Conquest. In the human homeworld’s records, they had eventually stumbled across the references to all-powerful water-ships that were repositories of the super weapons that had immediately enraptured the Prime’s imagination.

  Pure Fusion. Thermonuclear. The Prime savored the ancient words on his tongue, tasting it and finding it appetizing.

  “Your command, Lord?”

  The Prime shifted slightly in his seat, shaking his head. He’d inadvertently mumbled the word loudly enough to be heard. “No command. Elexxan,” he fixed the scientist with a glare. “I grow weary of the wait.”