by GARY DARBY
Swaying on his feet, the Sha’anay answered slowly, “That we were hunting you down, as we would stalk a ka-deer in the forest.”
“That’s right,” Dason replied. “But in actuality what were you doing?”
Tor’al didn’t hesitate this time in answering. “Saving you from the Mongans.”
Dason let out a big sigh of relief and grinned wide. “Elder, it is indeed good to see you. We need your help. The ones holding you have tricked your Sha’anay warriors and they are now on their way to attack my clan.
“We need to get you out of here so that you can stop them. It’s only a matter of time until more of your captors show up, so we need to move. Can you walk?”
Tor’al gestured toward El’am. “With the cub’s help, I can.”
“Good. Alena, Nase, you two guard Tor’al and El’am,” Dason ordered. “TJ, you and Shanon help the Scoutmaster with General Rosberg. Sami, you’re with me.”
Dason took out his palm compu and brought up the complex schematic. Sami tapped on the display. “Access point. We could go skulking again. Double back under them.”
“Assuming that they aren’t covering those passageways with troops,” Dason commented. He wiped sweat away from his eyes to clear his vision and intently studied the diagram.
Muttering as if to himself, he said, “Probably fewer of them down there to take on than up here, though.”
He glanced at Sami. “Do you have more of those distractors?”
“Two more.”
Pointing at the schematic, he gave quick commands to his team. “Make for this access point, get into the lower tunnels and head for the Zephyr. Sami and I will hold them here for as long as we can.”
He drew in a breath to say, “If Sami and I haven’t caught up with you by then, boost out. Remember, getting Elder Tor’al off Earth so that he can contact his people is crucial. You all know what the stakes are.”
He handed the Scoutmaster his compu. “The schematic shows the access hatch down that corridor about a hundred meters.” He nodded to the others. “Scouts Out.”
Shanon squeezed Dason’s hand and whispered, “I will see you.”
Dason looked deep into her eyes and whispered back, “And I will see you.”
The unmistakable sound of pounding footsteps caused Shanon to whirl away. With Tarracas on one side and TJ and Shanon on the other, Rosberg limped away, following Tor’al and his escorts.
Dason and Sami took up a protective position using the corridor’s sharp corner as a shield. Sami reached into his side pocket, pulled out two camo-colored orbs, and set them down on the floor. “Say when,” he whispered to Dason.
Dason nodded and huskily replied, “Not yet. Let’em come a little closer.”
The muffled patter of footsteps came closer and then stopped, starting again a few seconds later. Dason nodded to himself.
They were facing trained troops who knew better than to charge straight in against an unseen and unknown enemy. Whoever led them was sending one team forward with the other covering, before repeating the process.
He listened with an intense expression and soon got a sense of their pattern of stopping and going. He tapped Sami on the shoulder and nodded.
Sami reached down and activated the two balls. Before the whining sound could start, Sami placed his thumb over a spot on the ball, which muted the noise. He looked at Dason, who held up a hand signaling to wait, and then mouthed, Three . . . two . . . one . . . now!
Sami flung the two balls around the corner with all his might. Dason could hear the balls’ thunk-thunk-thunk as they bounced down the hall and against the sidewalls.
In seconds, the corridor lighted up from fiery explosions that sent showers of sparks spewing in every direction.
More detonations sent the balls skewing and bounding in all different directions, against the ceiling, the floor, and the walls as if someone were playing a fast-paced game of Octi-wall with the spheres.
Dason whipped around the corner and let loose a volley of stun shots. Underneath him, Sami lay on his stomach and fired nonstop at their adversaries. It took several seconds before their opponents returned fire, but when they did, it wasn’t with stunner fire.
A laser bolt from a mega-weapon blasted out a chunk of the wall just above Dason’s head, sending plas-concrete fragments raining down.
They flung themselves back, bracing their backs against the wall. “Whew,” Sami uttered breathlessly as more shots thundered down the corridor. “They must think they’re facing a company of Space Marines.”
“Then, let’s not disappoint them,” Dason replied, dialed his weapon up to disruptor level, spun around to fire off several rounds and then jumped back.
Two more blasts sent chunks of wall and ceiling crashing to the floor just a few meters away. “They sure want to play rough, don’t they?” Sami growled, before he sprang out, let loose a quick volley, and then dove back for cover.
Smaller laser bolts from laser rifles accompanied the next round of mega-laser shots. “They’re moving up,” Dason declared and sucked in a breath.
“Using the fire from their laser cannon to cover their movements. Do you have anything in your bag of tricks to counter those cannons?”
“Nope, sorry,” Sami answered. “They’re too far away for what I’ve got left.”
Exchanging meaningful glances, the two flung themselves around the corner and sprayed the corridor with shot after shot. They dove back to safety just as a whole volley of return laser shots splintered the sidewalls.
Sami glanced over at the walls where wisps of smoke rose from hand-sized craters. “There are easier ways to redo the décor, don’t you think?”
“How much charge do you have left?” Dason asked, cringing and ducking low from a whole series of laser shots that gouged out huge holes in the wall across from them.
“Just about out in this one,” Sami answered as he held up his weapon. “Full up on my spare, though.”
“Me, too. Okay, one more round with these,” Dason ordered. “Then we head for that access hatch. If we have to, we’ll make our next stand there.”
“Spoilsport,” Sami answered, “Bugging out just when the party was really starting to warm up.”
He reached into his torso vest, pulled out a small, gray box, and held it up. “What say I leave a little surprise behind, a little going away gift?”
Dason grinned. “I like it, set it for one minute.”
Sami primed the little mine, and with a boost from Dason, set it high on the wall. They let loose one last volley then sprinted down the hallway.
It didn’t take long before they found the wall-mounted control for the access point. Seconds later, Dason followed Sami down the ladder. He had just reached the bottom when a powerful detonation rocked the tunnel.
Sami smiled and said, “That’ll get’em thinking real hard about pursuing too close.”
“I’ll say,” Dason answered. “How’d you get so many toys away from those Marines? They usually just don’t go around handing out that stuff.”
“Met a Gunnery Sergeant by the name of Kasum,” Sami answered. “Back on the Intrepid. He and I speak the same language when it comes to the Faction.”
Dason hit the control to lower and close the clamshell doors and together with Sami, darted down the tunnel. They turned right at the first intersection and raced forward. Dason punched his comms button, “Alena, status.”
“We’re in the tunnels.” She paused before saying, “Ran into some beefy fellows who took exception to us being down here. They won’t be going home for supper tonight, though.”
“Go it,” Dason answered, “We’re in the tunnel, headed your way. Keep to the plan.”
“Roger,” she replied.
Dason slowed the two of them down and then halted. He motioned for Sami to be still. Through the various creaks and groans of the underground piping, the two tried to listen for anyone following.
Whispering, Dason asked, “Hear anything?”
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br /> “Too much noise,” Sami muttered, jutting his chin up at the tubes and piping and brought out his LifeSensor. After a quick scan, he reported, “Nothing on the display, too much clutter from the metal to get a good read though.”
“Let’s go,” Dason ordered, “maybe we’ve lost them.”
Minutes later, he and Sami climbed up the ladder leading to the generator room. They retraced their steps toward the Zephyr, only to find their teammates and the Sha’anay hunkering down at the doorway leading outside.
Dason edged up next to Tarracas. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing and that’s what’s wrong,” the Scoutmaster replied quietly.
“We’ve assaulted the Great Hall, set off powerful detonations, stunned and killed guard troops; yet your ship sits there as though nothing has happened.”
“A trap?” Sami asked.
“Undoubtedly,” Tarracas replied.
“And the Zephyr is the bait,” Rosberg ground out.
“What are we going to do?” TJ asked. “We just can’t sit here; they’re bound to find us eventually.”
Staring across the open, grassy square to where the little ship sat, half-cloaked by overhanging limbs, Dason felt a growing sense of danger.
Stepping close to the doorway, he closed his eyes, tuned out everything else and waited. Yes, danger waited for them in what appeared to be a quiet courtyard quad.
He turned to the group and directed, “Everyone stays here; I’m going to make a run for the ship. If I get in, I’ll bring the ship as close to the building as I can to cover you.”
“No,” Shanon stated firmly. “We all go, or we all stay on this one.”
“She’s right, we all go,” TJ chimed in firmly.
“I agree,” Nase stated.
“We do this together,” Alena intoned. “No more going it alone, TL, we’re a team, remember?”
Sami started to open his mouth, but Dason held up a quick hand to stop him. “I know, I know, it’s a democratic mutiny.”
He sighed and looked at the Scoutmaster and Rosberg. “Who was I kidding when I claimed to be the team leader of this rebellious gang?”
“The best kind of leader,” Tarracas replied softly. “One where your teammates will follow you anywhere, even into hellfire if necessary.”
Dason looked at his team, and each met his gaze with a firm nod. “In that case,” Dason answered as he hitched at his vest. “Let’s just see how hot that fire is.”
With quick hand gestures he ordered, “Scoutmaster, General Rosberg, Elder Tor’al, El’am, you’re in the middle. The rest of us will form a three-sixty around you. When we get to the ship, Scoutmaster, I need you to get the Elder in first. The rest will follow, and I’ll be the last in.”
In a steady voice he instructed, “Once Elder Tor’al is inside, if we get attacked, no matter who’s left outside, take off, get him back to the SlipShip. Understood?”
Swift head nods affirmed everyone understood the plan. Dason took one last, quick glance outside, turned to his teammates and ordered, “Let’s go, Scouts Out.”
Dason eased out, did a hasty scan with both his eyes and his LifeSensor, and seeing nothing but still sensing peril, motioned for the others to follow him. The young scouts formed a ring around Tor’al and at the best pace they could manage, headed for the Zephyr.
They were close to the midway point when sharp arc lights turned the evening darkness into a blazing ring of light that centered on them. A loud voice shouted, “Halt! Move, and we open fire.”
Dason swung his weapon up to find the overlooking rooftop filled with troops with laser rifles aimed straight at them. He spun to the open side toward the Zephyr only to find more armed soldiers filling the spacious courtyard.
The soldiers surrounded them on all sides. There was no way out, no escape.
“Lower your weapons!” the voice commanded.
Dason turned in a slow circle, trying to find even the remotest chance of escaping the trap. With a slump of his shoulders and a sigh of resignation, he ordered his team, “Do as he says,” and lowered his own weapon. “They’ve got us boxed in.”
Low, guttural snarls came from Tor’al and El’am with the young Sha’anay holding his weapon outstretched and ready to fire. Dason stepped next to El’am and pushed his arm down. “I’m sorry,” he murmured to Tor’al. “I don’t think we can get out of this one this time.”
“It would seem that way,” Tor’al replied. “But do not give up hope, my human friend, if there is still life in the body then there is still hope.”
The troops facing them parted and a dark, hooded figure strode into the light. Behind him walked the false Tor’al and his keeper.
“Hope, Elder Tor’al?” a silky, smooth voice called out and laughed. “You’ll find no hope here. And life? Well, we can take care of that soon enough.”
He threw back the hood and Dason recognized the pallid countenance. It was Adiak Peller, the High Council’s new head and de facto leader of the Imperium.
Dason’s hand gripped his weapon a little tighter and just for a second the thought that the sacrifice of his team for the death of this one man would be worth it flashed through his mind.
“I wouldn’t,” Peller said as if he could read Dason’s mind. “Not only are there several dozen laser rifles pointed at you right now, but I promise you that your friends would suffer excruciatingly before they died.”
He waved a hand at the surrounding building tops. “As you can see, you are completely surrounded by Planetary Guard troops and—”
“Call them by their real name, Peller,” Rosberg spat out. “We know you’ve replaced the Imperium and Planetary Guard with your own paid mercenaries—Faction scum, the low-life of the galaxy, no better than you.”
Peller’s body went rigid and for a second his hand stretched out like a claw. He then relaxed and let out a little laugh. “Call them what you will, but they are completely loyal to me, and that’s all that matters.”
Waving a dismissive hand at the trapped group, he leered, “But enough of this, you have cost me a great deal and—”
He never finished his sentence for just then, two Zephyrs rose over the building, two giant plas-steel hawks ready to swoop down in a slashing strike on those below. In unison, they swung down and hovered with their noses directed straight at Peller.
“Peller!” Jadar’s voice boomed over the Zephyr’s external loudspeaker. “My finger is poised over the fire control button of my ion cannon and that weapon is aimed straight at you. Tell your people to stand down, or I open fire.”
Peller’s mouth dropped open in complete, stunned surprise. For just a second he stood immobile, then commanded, “Lower your weapons.”
A shuffling of boots accompanied the rattling sound of lowering rifle muzzles.
Jadar’s Zephyr grounded, and his team, with him in the lead, spilled out, weapons drawn but not aimed. The other Zephyr hovered in place as if it were a lethal javelin pointed straight at Peller.
Jadar strode over to stand beside Dason and confront Peller. Working his mouth in frustration and rage, the Faction leader glared at Jadar. “We seem to have a standoff, for the time being. You realize though that you can’t win this. Even now, my ships are on their way. You’ll never get off the planet alive.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Peller,” Jadar snapped. “They’re leaving, and in fact, you’re going to give them safe passage out of here.”
Peller’s laugh was sharp and shrill, eerily similar to a crow’s caw. “And just what makes you think I would do that?”
“Because we have something that you want, something you’ve tried to get for just about twenty years.”
Peller’s eyes narrowed and he raised a bony finger to thrust at Jadar. His voice came out in a drawn-out hiss, “You’re Jadar Marrel.”
His intense gaze went from Jadar to Dason and back several times before he took a step toward Dason. “And,” he began as his eyes lighted up in sudden recognition, “yo
u’re the spawn of the man who killed my son.”
Dason began a sharp retort, but Jadar reached out and gestured for him to remain silent. “You got it, Peller.”
He stopped and waved a dismissive hand toward Peller’s Faction guard. “And he’s proved more than once that he’s more than a match for this sorry excuse of so-called warriors that you’ve collected.
“And now that we’re all introduced, I suspect you want to talk about the Kolomite. But I’m not going to negotiate on anything until they go free.”
He took a step forward and met Peller’s stare without blinking. “They all go free.”
Glaring, Peller returned Jadar’s stare for several seconds until he rasped out, “I want the Kolomite and Deklon Marrel.”
Gesturing toward the Sha’anay, he snarled, “And I want Tor’al too. I get them all or no deal.”
Jadar shook his head. “No. All you get is me. I’ll stay as your hostage as guarantee that we’ll retrieve the Kolomite. Elder Tor’al is not part of this deal.
“This is between us. But just so we’re clear, I’ve already sent an n-space message to the Sha’anay telling them that we’ve located the elder, and we’re on our way back.”
Jadar grinned at him. “I also told them specifically who was keeping him captive.”
Peller jerked as if Jadar had slapped him across the face. “That’s right,” Jadar replied. “You get it, don’t you? You try to take him hostage again, and the Sha’anay will never stop until they’ve hunted you and your Faction scum down.”
Dason glanced sideways at his uncle, proud of his unflinching stance against the Faction master, but also aware that his uncle was playing a dangerous gambit to win their freedom.
Peller’s heavy breathing seemed to fill the night air. “So . . .” he rasped out, “you do know where Deklon Marrel has been hiding!”
Jadar didn’t answer Peller’s question, but Dason stepped forward to face the Faction master. “I know where he is.” After exchanging quick glances, Jadar and Dason turned hard eyes back on Peller.
Peller’s eyes flicked between Jadar and Dason, as if weighing the offer. Through clenched teeth he ground out, “I accept your proposal, with these conditions, you have one week to bring me the Kolomite, and I set the time and place of delivery.”