When Stars Fall (The Star Scout Saga Book 4)

by GARY DARBY

  Dason nodded and then gestured for the team to take up positions on each side of the entryway. He slid around the corner with Alena covering him from the other side.

  A short stairway led downward, and Dason eased down the steps, motioning for his team to follow. They emerged into a long rectangular corridor that seemed to have a series of smaller rooms that jutted off to each side.

  Sami whispered in Dason’s ear, “Kinda reminds me of the time I visited my Auntie Sal in jail.”

  Sami’s comment and soft humming in the air caused Dason to peer at the closest nearby room until it became evident that it had some sort of invisible sound or sonic curtain across the front.

  Dason gave the danger signal to his team and motioned at the cells. He swiped his hand in front of the small cubicle to indicate the danger’s location.

  He gestured for Sami, Alena, and Nase to go down one side, and he and the remainder would go down the other side. They passed several empty cells when Dason spotted movement in a cell to his left and further down.

  He brought two fingers up to his eyes and then pointed toward that particular cell.

  With cautious steps, Sami eased up to the small room with his weapon raised. He peeked around the corner, held still for a full second, and then lowered his L-gun.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said in a superior tone. “Scoutmaster, I always knew you’d wind up no good and behind bars, just like my Auntie Sal.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Star date: 2443.109

  Geneva, Switzerland, Earth, Capital of the Imperium

  Swiftly, the young scouts spread out and in less than a minute found the controls that lowered the sonic barrier and released General Rosberg and Scoutmaster Tarracas from their prison cells.

  In a rush, and after a quick introduction of El’am, Dason explained their mission. He ended it by saying, “And if we don’t find Elder Tor’al and get him back to his people, the Sha’anay warriors from his House are going to attack our scouts at the recall locations.”

  Listening to Dason, Rosberg’s eyes had become hard and angry. Gruffly, he asked, “And what of your other two teams, do you know what happened to them?”

  Dason shook his head and with a small catch in his voice reported, “No, sir. We lost all contact with them after they attacked the Planetary Guard craft. And by the time we got to the ground, the guard was jamming our sensors so much that we couldn’t get a lock on them.”

  He met Rosberg’s stare with grave eyes. “If they were able to deal with those two interceptors, they still had to get through the laser cannons, and we barely made it even with the element of surprise on our side.”

  Rosberg glanced over at Tarracas, who said to him, “We must face the fact that the Imperium that we swore an oath to is crumbling and being replaced by a madman who is pushing us toward dictatorial rule.”

  Gesturing toward the scout team, he said, “The young are showing us what must be done. They have my full faith and confidence.”

  Rosberg gazed at the small group and then grunted, “And mine as well.”

  Raising himself to his full stature, he gruffly said, “Well, then, let’s get on with it. Have you any extra weapons and equipment? The Scoutmaster and I can’t very well participate in this party unless we’re appropriately dressed, now can we?”

  Shanon and TJ handed over their spare L-guns and comm units to Rosberg and Tarracas. Just as the two finished wiring up, Alena came rushing down the stairway.

  “Big trouble,” she said rapidly to Dason. “There’s a heavy contingent of reinforcements coming down the hallway. They’re moving slowly, being cautious, but we need to get out of here, or we’ll get trapped.”

  “Let’s move,” Dason ordered.

  He started to turn away but stopped and turned back to Rosberg. “General, I know that what I’m about to say is completely insubordinate, and you would be well within your rights to court-martial me later, but it’s this way.”

  Dason gestured toward the scouts. “This is my team. It has been since we were novices and started our no-notice exam in the training preserve on Alistar. We know how to think, work, move, and fight together.”

  He took a deep breath. “And, if need be, we’ll die together. You and the Scoutmaster are more than welcome to tag along, but as far as this team is concerned, I give the orders . . . sir.”

  Rosberg leaned forward to peer at Dason. His brows came together in a narrow furrow. “Is that so?” He glanced over at Tarracas, who gazed at Dason with an approving expression.

  Rosberg wagged a finger at Tarracas. “Seems to me that the novices who come out of your program always have an attitude.”

  “And a good one, I think,” Tarracas replied.

  “Humph,” Rosberg replied. “A sentiment to which I agree. All right, youngster, lead on. The Scoutmaster and I will cover your six if that’s okay with you?”

  “You bet, sir,” Dason replied.

  Everyone raced up the stairs and stopped at the corridor intersection. The faint sound of muffled boots came from far down the passageway to their left. They had no choice but to turn right, away from the oncoming pack of guard troops.

  With Dason in the lead, and being as quiet as they could, they raced down the corridor. They hadn’t gone far when Dason pulled them to a halt close to another branch intersection.

  Easing up to the sharp corner, he poked his head out. The side tunnel in the opposite direction was empty and dark, but to Dason’s right, a short corridor ended in a thick reinforced security door, but without guards.

  Shanon whispered in Dason’s ear. “That’s the only reinforced door we’ve come across and it certainly makes me want to see what’s behind it.”

  “Me, too,” Dason agreed. “Sami,” Dason called out and jerked his thumb toward the door. “You got anything in that bag of tricks to handle this?”

  “Maybe,” Sami offered. “Depends on how thick that plating is and how solid it’s set in the frame. Either way, it’s gonna be one big bang and our game of hide n’ seek will be over.”

  Dason frowned to himself, knowing that Sami’s “big bang” would alert the guard to their presence and they would be in a fight within minutes.

  Shanon touched his arm. “You don’t reinforce an already heavy security door without a reason. Somebody doesn’t want what’s behind that door to be seen. Does that suggest anything to you?”

  “It sure does,” Dason muttered and turned to Sami. “Blow it open if you can.”

  “Right,” Sami replied. “One person to cover me. Get the rest back at least ten meters.”

  Dason gave rapid orders for the others to fall back. A few seconds later, Sami called over his shoulder, “It’s ready. Let’s get out of here unless you have a hankering to sing with the heavenly choir.”

  The two dashed around the corner, but before they could hit the deck, there was a thunderous explosion that sent both of them bowling and skidding along the floor as if they were human tumbleweeds.

  Dason picked himself up off the floor and helped Sami to his feet. Sami swayed just a bit, rubbing his ear. “Must’ve missed a step when I set the timer.”

  “You think?” Dason snorted.

  Motioning to the others to follow, he led them through the dust-filled corridor to the massive, gaping hole at the hall’s end. He sized up the elephant-sized cavity. “Sami, I think you missed more than one step with that thing.”

  He turned to the waiting group. “General, Scoutmaster, cover the corridors, the rest with me.”

  With his weapon drawn, and with El’am by his side, Dason stepped through the void, his boots crunching on the bits of metal, and plas-concrete that littered the floor.

  Moving in a low crouch, and with cautious steps, Dason made his way down a short corridor that led to a larger room. He stopped in the swirling cloud of dust, and motioned for the others to fan out behind him.

  One slow step at a time, he advanced through the thinning haze. On each side of him came the distinc
tive muted hum of compu stations.

  He swallowed at the bitter taste of plaster dust in his mouth and tried not to cough, afraid that it would give his position away. If there were shooters in this room and they had snoopers, the only thing that would save him was if he saw them first.

  Taking a step, he stumbled just a bit. He glanced down to see what had caused him to almost trip.

  A torn, bloodied human leg stuck out of a pile of broken and shattered plas-concrete.

  Dason’s eyes widened at his grisly discovery. It was clear that someone had stationed himself or herself too close to the door and the blast wave had caught him or her squarely.

  The sound of padded footsteps caused Dason to jerk his head toward the noise. A dark and large shadow began to materialize in the haze and gloom.

  Dason trained his weapon on the unseen figure, his finger pressing on the trigger, ready to fire. The silhouette grew larger, more ominous.

  He felt a presence at his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a weapon rise, its barrel directed at the looming figure.

  “Dason . . .” Shanon gurgled, “what are you waiting for?”

  “Hold your fire, Shanon,” he ordered.

  All of a sudden, El’am was by his side as well, crouching in a stance that made it seem as if he were about to leap at the shadowy figure. Dason reached out with one arm to hold him back.

  The haze cleared, and a broad smile spread across Dason’s face. His shoulders slumped as he relaxed the tight grip on his weapon, and he lowered it to his side.

  “Elder Tor’al,” he gushed in evident relief, “we found you.”

  From off to Dason’s right, Sami called over, “Uh, TL, if that’s Tor’al, then who’s this XT in here?”

  Dason turned toward Sami. Lying on the floor, held captive by electronic bars was another Sha’anay. “What . . .” Dason muttered and took several steps toward the small cell. A wild yell from behind caused him to spin around with his weapon held head high.

  The creature that Dason greeted as Elder Tor’al had charged at El’am and Shanon, bowling over the young Sha’anay.

  It spun Shanon around and grabbed her in a tight grip, its short sword menacing her head. “Make one move,” it said in a guttural tone, “and she dies.”

  El’am sprang to his feet; his ta-gun outstretched and aimed at the creature holding Shanon. “Hold your fire!” Dason shouted, his voice filled with both rage and apprehension.

  From the room’s rear, a door swung open, and three figures stepped out with wary footsteps. One was wearing a black body suit with tiny, flat ovals that patterned the suit from top to bottom.

  Dason recognized it as a copy of Doctor Stinneli’s SimLife virtual control unit.

  Bitter bile swelled in Dason’s throat as with dawning realization he realized what had happened. In his eagerness to find the Sha’anay Elder, he’d let down his guard and had accepted instead of questioning.

  He’d been duped by the Faction and now, because of him, the whole mission was in jeopardy, and Shanon’s life was at stake.

  The “Tor’al” that held Shanon was the SimLife; the real Tor’al lay in the cell. Dason gritted his teeth and clenched his fist so hard that he felt as if he would squeeze the life right out of his fingers.

  One of the men spoke harshly through the swirling haze, “We’re going to march out of here, and you’re not going to stop us. If you try anything . . .” he left the threat hanging in the air, leaving Dason to imagine the unimaginable if they didn’t obey.

  Dason raised a hand and in a tight voice replied, “I need to let my outer guard know you’re coming through.”

  “Then do it!”

  Dason tapped communicator. “General, Scoutmaster, we have a situation here. The SimLife Tor’al has a sword at Shanon’s throat. Let it and its party through, don’t try to stop them.”

  The SimLife lifted Shanon off the floor and trundled over to the outward-leading corridor. Dason and Shanon locked eyes, hers helpless and unbelieving, his fearful and angry.

  Using the SimLife as a shield, the renegade humans scurried into the passageway, followed by the fake Tor’al who held Shanon so firm that she could barely struggle against its grasp.

  After the SimLife entered the corridor, Dason whipped around and snapped to El’am and the others, “Get Elder Tor’al out of there, give him the antidote, and make it fast. I’m going after Shanon.”

  Dason sprinted through the debris that littered the floor and sprang into the corridor. From just past the shattered door came shouting and the sounds of fighting.

  Vaulting through the opening, he stopped in midstride just for a split second at the unfolding scene.

  In the corridor’s intersection, General Rosberg and the SimLife battled. The general had both hands on the SimLife’s sword, wrestling with all his might to get it and Shanon away from the monster.

  The Scoutmaster launched himself at the brute, struggling to help the outmatched Rosberg against the giant SimLife.

  Dason whirled around, trying to find the suit wearer, but he couldn’t see him, anywhere. In desperation, he took aim at the SimLife but it whipped around, putting the general and Shanon in his line of fire.

  Dason dashed forward with his weapon held outright, stopped to aim again but just as he did, a body broadsided him, slamming him against the wall. Dazed by the brutal blow, Dason was slow to react and his nemesis landed a sharp blow to his head.

  His attacker grabbed for Dason’s weapon and the two fought to control the L-gun, both of their hands wrapped around the handle. With a vicious twist, the man managed to jerk the weapon free of Dason’s grasp, sending it spinning through the air.

  The Gadion lunged for the gun, but Dason grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and delivered a sharp elbow to the man’s head, followed by a kick to a knee that caused the man to crash to the floor.

  His antagonist tried to rise, but Dason brought his curved hand down in a savage slashing chop to the man’s neck, and he fell forward, unconscious, to the ground.

  Dason whirled around, searching for his weapon. He spotted it and dove headfirst, grasping it with both hands as he rolled over to take aim.

  Just as he was about to fire at the creature, Tarracas wrenched Shanon from the thing’s grasp. The monstrous SimLife whipped around and delivered a crushing backhand to Shanon and the Scoutmaster, sending them crashing into the wall.

  As if he were in a nightmare where time came to a standstill, Dason watched in horror as the thing’s sword slashed down toward Shanon and Tarracas.

  Then, as if he came out of nowhere, Rosberg flew through the air between the two, taking the sword’s full blow on his unprotected body.

  The scream of “No!” that came from Dason’s throat was more bestial than human, a cry that seemed to fill the air with pure, unfettered rage.

  He thumbed his weapon to full disruptor and fired, only to watch in dismay as his shot went wide, and the SimLife dashed down the corridor, leaving Rosberg’s bloody body on the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Star date: 2443.109

  Geneva, Switzerland, Earth, Capital of the Imperium

  Stumbling, Dason rushed over to where Rosberg lay face down. With gentle hands and the Scoutmaster’s help, he rolled the general over to his back. Rosberg coughed up blood, the red spittle trailing down one side of his mouth.

  He gasped for breath, which told Dason that Rosberg was alive, but the dark ruby stain that spread across the general’s broad chest signaled that his wounds were grievous.

  Rosberg’s hand clutched at his rib cage and he moaned slightly. Moving in great haste, Dason and Tarracas staunched the blood flow with a liberal application of InstaHeal and tight compression bandages that molded themselves over the general’s body.

  Rosberg moaned, opened his eyes and gasped, “Help me get to my feet, it’s just a nick.”

  “A nick?” Tarracas grunted. “That’s like comparing the Grand Canyon to the Mississippi Riv
er Delta and I’ll let you guess which one describes the gash in your side.”

  Rosberg tried to raise himself from the floor. “Lie still,” Tarracas ordered in a no-nonsense tone. “We need to work on you or you’re going to die inside this rat’s nest. You’re just lucky that he hit you in the rib cage and not lower.”

  Rosberg sucked in a breath from the pain and stammered, “Leave me, get out of here while you still can.”

  Tarracas eyed Dason, who replied to the general, “No sir. Scouts don’t leave scouts behind. Besides, you’ll get all the glory in the after-action report, and Sami wouldn’t appreciate that at all. He’s part glory-hound you know.”

  Rosberg peered up at Tarracas. “Even if I pull rank, he’s not going to listen, is he?”

  Tarracas shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  “General,” Dason said, “we’ve got you bandaged pretty tight but lie still and let the InstaHeal seal while I see about the rest of my team.”

  Just as he rose and turned toward the blasted opening, footsteps crunched through the debris-littered corridor. Coming through the passageway were the others, with El’am aiding an unsteady Tor’al.

  “What happened out here?” Alena asked, her eyes set on General Rosberg.

  Dason gave a quick explanation and then gestured toward Tor’al who seemed to have trouble focusing his eyes. “You gave him the antidote?” Dason queried.

  “Both vials,” Sami replied. “It’s working, but slow, just as the doc said it would. He’s kinda wobbly on his feet.”

  Dason stood a little closer to the extraterrestrial. “Elder Tor’al,” he asked, “do you recognize me?”

  It took a second for the alien to center his eyes on Dason and then he rasped out, “My human friend, Dason. It is good to see you. These are your companions?”

  “Yes,” Dason replied, “these are my teammates.”

  He took a step closer and eyed the big Sha’anay. “Elder, this may sound strange, but when we first met, I accused you and your warriors of doing something. What was that?”