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

by J. R. Geoghan

  “They were friends?”

  She looked at Petrey. “Yep. They went way back. Sucks, coming so soon after his family…”

  Perez tapped his leg splint to break the suddenly awkward silence. “I just hope I can stay ahead of them with this.”

  Whitney smiled. “You kept up pretty good back on Earth.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause you guys kept carrying me along.”

  “And the Chief, he helped.”

  Perez nodded. “Yeah, Reyes is okay.”

  Carruthers stuck her chin out. “Best Chief of the Boat in the Navy.”

  Petrey looked around the group. “I guess we’re lucky to have him.” But it sounded flat.

  Whitney sat back, exhaling loudly. “There ain’t no one lucky in this crew, not now.”

  Earth - Prax Sol Center

  The Prime was furious, and every member of his staff knew it. Underlings shied away from the stalking leader as he paced down the passageway to the hangar level, followed at an extra-respectful distance by his honor guard.

  His First Advisor walked just off his right elbow, silently willing himself to bear the eventual fury of his leader once he decided to lash out. When the comm unit on his forearm signaled an incoming message, the sound seemed deafening in the tense silence hanging over the procession. He read the text and cleared his throat.

  “Yes, what is it?” The Prime didn’t turn as he said it.

  “My Lord, they have calculated the enemy’s flight path.”

  “That’s something, at least.” The Prime did not want to let anything slip that would imply shame upon his son, but inside he was grinding with frustration and anger at the Xu failure to capture the ridiculous human band and the traitor Axxa. Now that the human transport had eluded the previously-thought-strong defenses, little remained but to avoid any lingering shame upon his family. Not now at the cusp of our moment of triumph.

  The entourage walked out of the narrow passage and into a vast hangar bay. A frigate-class ship filled much of the high space with its bulk, but the Prime marched straight underneath its hull and over to the small fighting ship settled on the gratings beyond it. The dome above was closed to the Earth sky and artificial light bathed the entire cavernous bay in its yellow-white glow.

  As they approached the Xu vessel, a ramp descended and Calxen made his way slowly to the floor, followed by his Second, Kalyx. The Prime knew that the two were all-but brothers, having been raised on Prax together in the warrior way. Kalyx would follow Calxen to the seven suns and back.

  The other Xu came down the ramp but hung back out of respect. Calxen and Kalyx stood closer and waited for the Prime to arrive.

  On this occasion there would be no pleasantries. “You let them escape.”

  Calxen bowed his head slightly. “It is true, Lord.”

  The Prime looked from his son to Kalyx. “The honor of the Xu is besmirched.”

  The younger Xu pounded his armor. “May it never be, my Lord!”

  The Prime exhaled loudly, frowning at Calxen with eyes filled with expression. Frustration. Anger.

  Calxen nodded in acknowledgment of his master’s emotions. “I will pursue them and destroy the traitor myself, bringing his head to you.”

  The Prime let a full minute pass, his eyes roaming between the two, before he spoke. “We have ascertained the final flight path of the transport.”

  “I will pursue them if it takes my life and honor, my Lord.”

  “You should. Word of this has not reached the Premier yet. Nor your grandfather.”

  Calxen searched his father’s eyes for the hidden meaning he sensed in the message. Terxan was the patriarch of their clan and would surely know soon enough. “We shall be successful and cause no dishonor to the Great City.”

  “See that you do not, Xu.” The Prime removed a small tablet from the folds of his ceremonial robe, handing it to his son. “This is my authority to pass through any Praxxan outposts and military units, and to requisition resources as you may have need. Remember, the traitor must not be allowed to live under any circumstances.”

  Calxen nodded. “It shall be done, my Lord.”

  With a last look at Kalyx, the Prime spun on his heel and stalked back the way he had come. Only after the entourage had left the bay did the normal sounds of work resume; many had held their places in utter silence during his appearance, fearing to be the one who made an inopportune noise or distraction to their Lord.

  Calxen watched his father march into the passageway, tucked the tablet into a pocket and nodded to Kalyx. Together they turned to their ship and waiting team.

  Aboard Imani - Sol System Asteroid Belt

  “Change of plan,” Djembe announced as he studied the scanners.

  “Meaning?” asked Halloran. He had been scratching at his bearded chin, about to ask about shaving in this place.

  “Meaning we can’t stop at Vesta and drop you, as I had hoped. All the way to Charon we go.” The pilot was clearly annoyed.

  “Why not?”

  “The Fleet has parked a cruiser alongside the asteroid.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  Djembe looked impassively at him. “You forget, this is my ship and I’m not giving it back to them—and they’re not taking it from me.”

  Halloran’s brow furrowed but he nodded all the same, shifting in the copilot seat as he considered the concern. They owed the pilot a lot. “Two questions.”

  The other watched him warily.

  Halloran proceeded. “One. Is this Charon a good alternative drop-point. Two…can we hail the Fleet leadership without tipping them off to your ship’s location?”

  Djembe leaned back in his seat, making the bolts creak a bit. Once his feet were propped up on the bulkhead to his left, he folded his hands across his chest in a thoughtful pose. “Our flight path takes us way out to the edge. Charon Station. It’s pretty remote, as stations go.”

  “Military?”

  “More like an ex-mil spaceport now. It’s the outermost relay point for the jump service to Coloran. There’s a semi-private security force.”

  “Coloran?”

  Djembe sighed and looked at Halloran with thinly-veiled frustration. “Coloran is the new human homeworld. In the Tau Ceti system.”

  The words struck Halloran like a hammer blow, rendering him speechless for several long moments. Finally, he found his voice. “There’s another habitable planet? Water? Where is this Tau Ceti?” He struggled to remember his basic astronomy.

  The pilot shrugged. “11.89 Light Years away, to be exact. And yes, Coloran is very close in ecology to Earth—at least, what I hear Earth used to be.”

  Halloran was stunned. “I had no idea. How do they travel from here to there?”

  “Jumpdrive.”

  “In this?”

  “No, Imani isn’t fitted with one. She’s a century old, anyway.” He patted the control stalk lovingly.

  “How long does it take?”

  Djembe sighed again. “For a civilian vessel? Could be two Sol weeks. Usually.”

  The distances and speeds make Halloran’s head spin—or maybe it was the lingering effects of his concussion. He tried not to think about that. “Tell me about Europe.”

  “Europa? What’s to tell?” Djembe fished a thin plastic tube from a pants pocket and bit the tip off, sucking on it.

  “Why was it destroyed? Nuclear war?”

  “Long before I was around. They say it was many hundreds of years ago. Didn’t I already tell you this?” He waved the plastic stick at Halloran. “Probably your time, sounds more like.” He squinted out the viewscreen, thinking. “Hard to believe time travel is possible like that.”

  “You’re telling me.” Halloran crossed his arms. “How do I get more intel on the war or whatever caused all the destruction on Earth?”

  Djembe thought some more, tapping the tube against his knee. “Fleet memory banks, or the capital city on Coloran. They moved a lot of the rescued archives there and other locations
along the way after the invasion.”

  “The Prax.”

  Djembe nodded.

  “Before your time as well, I imagine?”

  “I was born into the war. Still fighting it, I think.” He looked pointedly around at the military vessel that surrounded them.

  “What about my second question?”

  “About hailing the fleet? Any transmission will be pumped through the comms trunk relays based in orbit around each of the planets; most anywhere in the Sol System can be only a few moments delay. Bad news is they can pinpoint Imani’s location in about the same amount of time, once we light up the communications array on top.” He poked his tube towards the bulkhead above them.

  “What about from this ‘Charon Station’ place?”

  Djembe nodded thoughtfully. “There are hundreds of private caverns cut into Pluto; I could hide her in one—know a few unlock codes there—and we would take the shuttle over to the station. Or I could drop you first.”

  “Pluto?”

  “Yep, Charon’s a moon.”

  Halloran exhaled loudly. “Whew. Talk about surreal.”

  Djembe pulled his legs back into position and rechecked the scanners. “Resetting course for Pluto, accelerating to match.” He glanced at another readout. “ETA of six hours.”

  “We’re going to Pluto.” Halloran climbed out of his seat. “If only Tom Junior could see me now.” His son had loved astronomy as a kid; his room had been festooned with National Geographic maps of the planets and solar system.

  “Your son?” Djembe glanced up at him.

  Halloran nodded.

  “Guess he’s been dead for centuries.” The pilot turned back to his instruments, leaving Halloran with a strained look on his face. He was so tired.

  Cindy held Jillian up for Halloran to take. “She won’t break, Thomas.”

  Still, he held his new daughter gingerly. “It’s been a long time.”

  “It’s like riding a bike.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “My big, tough submarine captain.”

  “Was I that small?” Asked Laura as she patiently waited her turn to hold her newborn sister.

  “Smaller,” joked Mary Ellen, their midwife. She stood by as her nurse filled out the birth paperwork for the state.

  “She’s kidding,” Cindy countered. “You were a massive baby.”

  “Mom!”

  Halloran cradled Jillian, lost in thought. “That was a long night, as I remember.”

  “Almost eighteen years ago today,” observed the midwife, who had a good memory. Laura was visiting home from her first year of college for her birthday, and was lucky enough to be in the house when her mom went into labor.

  “Mary Ellen.”

  “Cindy, honey, I may have done a thousand home births but I remember each one like it was yesterday.”

  The nurse giggled quietly as she finished the paperwork.

  But Halloran’s eyes were only for his new miracle, so small in his arms. So fragile… So…

  “Why are you crying, Captain?”

  “What…what?” Halloran fought the forces peeling Jillian from his grasping fingers. “Stop!”

  “Sir. Snap out of it.”

  The frowning face of Abran Reyes swam into view.

  Halloran felt like he wanted to keep the tears going, just for another minute…wanting to ignore the Chief and hang on to a few more moments.

  Reyes shook him a bit harder. “Sir, if I may. No crying on a ship this small. People will hear.”

  Halloran felt his head constrict and he reached up to place his hands on either side, willing the pain to subside. Realizing with finality that his hands were empty. “Water.”

  “Ship’s got a moisture recycler. Get you a bottle, sir, be right back.” But Reyes hung there, watching.

  Halloran looked up from where he’d been huddled in a jump seat, strapped in while resting for safety. “You go, Chief. I’m alright now.”

  With a slow nod, the stocky man turned away and walked off.

  Halloran let his head thump back against the rest behind it. Ugh. The concussion seemed to have returned.

  The inaction was eating him up. His memories were lurking, waiting to pounce. He needed something to do. The fury lay beneath the memories, and it wanted out.

  Chapter 35

  Luyten Star System - 8.73 LY from Sol

  Creal knew he was getting himself into trouble. That wasn’t necessarily the problem; he’d had a knack of doing that since he was a kid bouncing from one orphanage to another. As soon as he had the opportunity, he’d joined a Hauler crew and spent decades carving out his own legend within the loose community of scavenger-pirates that crisscrossed the star systems available to their obsolete jump drives. Trouble was a constant companion to a hauler captain.

  This time, though, Creal had a bad feeling about playing the game. Especially with his boss, Harper. As tough and wily as Creal had a reputation for being, the Hauler leader in his home system was more so.

  Almost as though his ruminations had been a premonition, the comms signaled a transmission and Xin looked up as Creal turned in his bridge chair. “Harper.”

  Creal waved a hand to tell Xin to put it on speaker.

  “Master Creal.” The way the boss said ‘Master’ gave Creal a chill of fear.

  “Harper.”

  “I’m so glad to see that you had the forethought to safely stash my latest prize away from prying eyes.”

  Creal looked sharply at Xin, making a slashing motion across his throat. As soon as the mic was turned off he ordered, “Track that transmission. Where is he?”

  “Creal? Where did you go?” Harper queried over the speaker. “Are you muting me? So predictable…”

  “Boss, his ship is two hundred thousand klicks away and closing the distance.” Xin looked pale.

  Creal knew it had been too much to ask. He’d taken the gamble of parking the Prax ship in between two of his favorite asteroids on the far side of the system, hoping to play the game with Harper or whoever else would’ve been interested in bidding on the prize. “The game” was a reference in space to negotiation in general, but more specifically what the haulers called their way of life; selling prizes to the highest bidder. And winning was the name of the game. But Harper had obviously not trusted Creal and tracked his ship once they’d entered the system—Creal would have to look into how he’d done that—and was now about to punish him and his crew for their treachery. Not that treachery as such was uncommon; just that Harper didn’t brook treachery in his own operation.

  He motioned to unmute his mic. “Standing by, boss.”

  “Ah, there you are, my boy. Done commiserating?”

  “What, boss?”

  “Never mind, it’s a big word. I’ll be there shortly.” The line cut off.

  “Get Barstow out of his bunk and have him meet us at the module airlock,” Creal ordered. He stood and stretched to dissipate the stress, feeling the pains and aches of a hundred old wounds and millions of klicks of hauling through space. He felt old, which he was for a hauler. Although he didn’t know his birth year, he claimed himself an age of thirty-six. And he was worried if he’d get to see thirty-seven. Or tomorrow.

  Fifteen minutes later he stood tensely at the main airlock of the crew module, flanked by Barstow and Xin as the other ship completed its airlock mate and normalized the atmosphere. Xin had already coded Harper’s vessel access to the inner airlock door; Harper had access to all his Hauler’s ships.

  The airlock inner hatch rolled aside to reveal the man himself, hands on hips and a wide grin from ear to ear. He was flanked by two of his bodyguards, Erus and the giant Mygdarian. Creal and Myg had come up together. He caught Myg’s nod toward him as Harper stepped forward and collected Creal in a bear hug. “My boy, it’s good to see you home safe from your haul.” He pulled back, keeping his hands up in the familiar Hauler gesture. It communicated see, I didn’t stab you in the back when I could have—in fact, my hands are free of weapons. Someh
ow, Creal wasn’t overly reassured by it.

  He glanced at Myg again as he opened his own hands in response. “I am glad to be once more among friends.” The traditional response seemed flat that time. He’d attempted to cheat his boss. Creal felt the shame rising in his face.

  Harper lifted his hands still higher. “And what a haul it is, aya?” He looked at Barstow with a smile. “You and your crew here should be proud. I wonder, what will the Fleet pay us poor Haulers for access to this new tech?” He stepped aside and motioned toward the airlock. “Why don’t we go see what we’ve found?”

  To refuse the invite to Harper’s ship would be foolhardy.

  “You,” Harper pointed to Xin, “Stay with your ship. Barstow and Creal will accompany me.”

  Now it was Barstow’s turn to look nervous. “Surely—.”

  “Ah, but surely, Creal, your man Barstow would want to be in on the greatest find in Hauler annals?”

  Creal paused in the airlock, turning one shoulder to look. “Come on, Barstow.” Creal knew that everything depended on relying upon the boss’s largesse now.

  The airlock closed on Xin’s wide eyes and the group passed over to Harper’s system ship. It was medium-sized with a newer jump drive, no doubt bartered from the Fleet. To Creal’s knowledge, Harper hadn’t left the Luyten System in years, however. The drive was more a show of the man’s power. The ship was definitely fast in realspace, however.

  They marched through a short maze of green-painted passageways to the bridge. This bridge was much larger than Creal’s and housed several more crew members. The space was also green—Harper’s favorite color—and decorated with reminders of Harper’s better hauls bolted to the bulkheads. Creal’s eye fell on a white animal pelt that had to have come from something massive. It covered one entire bulkhead.

  Harper tapped his navigator on the shoulder. “To the prize ship.” He cocked his head at Creal with a wink. “Behind the nearest asteroid.”

  Creal cringed inside. How had he known?

  “Detaching. On our way, boss,” replied Harper’s navigator with a smug tone.