How Far the Stars (The Star Scout Saga Book 5)

by GARY DARBY

  “They’ll be at your front door in about two minutes. Good luck to you both. Rhee, out.”

  “And to you,” the Scoutmaster murmured without touching the transmit button.

  He turned to Dason. “I’m going to input all of the symbols that I know are correct per their meaning. There are two that I don’t know, and they’re the variables in the equation. They could either start up the propulsion system or the detonation sequence.”

  “Does it matter if you enter one or the other first?” Dason asked.

  “No,” Tarracas answered. “Not if I’m reading this correctly.”

  Dason met the Scoutmaster’s eyes and responded in a solemn voice, “Then may I suggest that you enter those last two just before the Faction arrive, Scoutmaster. If it does start the detonation sequence, then I think that would do the most good.”

  Tarracas gazed at his former novice with a proud expression. “I fully agree . . . Dason.”

  Dason’s eyes widened; his heart beat faster, and a slow smile lifted his lips.

  Scoutmaster Israel Tarracas, a hero among the Star Scouts, a man whom Dason respected and admired, who had taught him that a sacred oath was more than mere words—this man had just told him that he was an accepted equal.

  In the Scoutmaster’s eyes, he was no longer the novice Star Scout that had stood so afraid and unsure of himself in Tarracas’s office so long ago. He had become every bit a Star Scout, in the same mold as his father and uncle and the Scoutmaster.

  Even in the face of death, Dason had never known a prouder moment in his life and for an instant, all the heartache, all the trials and travails that he had endured up to that point passed away.

  He stood in the warm glow of comradeship with his venerated and beloved mentor.

  “Shall we?” Tarracas asked.

  “Yes, Scoutmaster,” Dason replied. “I’m ready.”

  Tarracas turned to the console and with rapid finger strokes pressed several of the Mongan markings. He came to the last two, and his hand hesitated just above the gray surface.

  With an impish little grin, he muttered to Dason, “Now, if I were Scout Alvaro, at this point I’d say, ‘Just to make this fair should it go wrong, why don’t you press one and I press one? That way, I don’t get all the blame.”

  Dason couldn’t help himself and laughed. He had never seen the Scoutmaster quite so lighthearted before, especially in so dangerous a moment.

  “That’s exactly what Sami would say, Scoutmaster,” he replied with a smile and reached out to hold one finger above the symbol. “And I’m more than happy to share the blame.”

  Tarracas inhaled and then in a small voice asked, “Ready? And—go!”

  Their fingers dipped at the same time, pressing their respective symbols and then in a swift motion they jerked their fingers away.

  They both stood stock-still, their eyes never leaving the dark gray board. Dason couldn’t help himself and found that he was holding his breath.

  A sudden flickering caught his attention, and he leaned forward to stare at the pulsating light.

  Dason felt an immediate sense of dread flow through his body at the rhythmic beat that lighted the console.

  It gave every indication of being a countdown clock—a countdown of seconds that would mark the end of their lives.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Star date: 2443.115

  Inside the Nova Device

  Bleakness tinging his voice, Dason pronounced, “Scoutmaster, I think we definitely pushed the wrong buttons.” He leaned back with a forlorn air, accepting the fact that he was living his last seconds.

  With an abruptness that held both of them motionless for an instant, the pulsating lights stopped. A second later, all the symbols on the console flashed in unison, once, twice, three times before they steadied and glowed in one constant light.

  Dason swallowed and then said hopefully, “Then again, maybe not.”

  The floor and the consoles started to tremble from a deep, bass rumbling that grew in volume and intensity.

  Through his boots, Dason could feel a vibration that seemed to increase with each second. With a quick glance at Dason, Tarracas whipped out his compu and scanned the lighted symbols.

  Raising his head, he gave Dason a nod and a small smile. “Not,” he returned.

  He pressed several markings and once again, the holographic star chart appeared. A bright, tiny dot of green near a red-orange sun that was Sarpens marked their location.

  Tarracas put one finger on the small dot and moved it from its position to a point outside the Sarpen’s system.

  The rumbling increased in pitch and intensity. Dason felt added gravity, as if he were in a stratospheric cruiser that had just taken off from the runway and he was being pushed back in his seat from the sudden acceleration.

  He peered at the hologram and saw that the little pinpoint that represented the nova machine now rushed through space, out of the asteroid field and toward the coordinates that Tarracas had imprinted on the navigational controls.

  “Whew,” Dason muttered. “Something tells me that we just beat those inbound Faction warships, Scoutmaster.”

  Without taking his eyes off the controls, Tarracas gave an affirmative nod. “I suspect that they were on our doorstep when we boosted away.”

  “Any idea of how fast we’re going?” Dason asked. “I can’t tell from the hologram.”

  “My guess is that we’re staying just under hyperlight speed,” Tarracas responded as he studied the flight holo-imagery.

  “And that’s good enough to get us out of the immediate neighborhood. If the SlipShip is where she’s supposed to be, we’ll rendezvous in about thirty minutes.”

  “Can you tell if the Faction is following, trying to intercept us?” Dason asked.

  Tarracas gave him a wan smile. “Oh, I’m confident that they’ll try for an intercept. But, I programmed our flight path just outside Sarpens Two’s orbit.

  “If those Faction ships try and follow, I think they’re going to find a few objects that will run interference for us.”

  Dason furrowed his brow at the Scoutmaster’s remark. “Sorry, but I don’t understand? Objects that will run interference for us?”

  “Those star cruisers and destroyers that pulled those battlewagons off your neck,” Tarracas replied. “They’re under the command of Admiral Stannick. We’re not the only ones that have been fighting Peller and his takeover of the Imperium.

  His smile was grim. “The good admiral has collected a fairly sizeable fleet of ships manned by loyal captains and sailors who want no part of Peller’s one-man rule.”

  Dason’s mouth gaped wide in admiration at the Scoutmaster’s pronouncement. “That’s good to know, sir. For a moment there, I thought we were pretty much alone.”

  “Sometimes it’s good to hold your cards close to the vest,” Tarracas answered. “So the other fella can’t see if you’re holding an ace or two.”

  “You and Alena,” Dason muttered to himself.

  “Pardon?” the Scoutmaster queried.

  “Sorry,” Dason replied. “Lieutenant Romer. She’s a card player too, talks just like that. You know, keeping your vest close to your aces.”

  “Now you’re sounding like Scout Alvaro,” Tarracas laughed lightly. “The term is keeping your cards close to your vest, but I’ll keep that in mind about Lieutenant Romer. Always looking for another good player.”

  With that, the two turned back to their immediate situation. “Is there a way we can see other ships around us?” Dason asked.

  “Working on it,” Tarracas answered. “But we might arrive at the rendezvous coordinates before I can figure it out. Just be glad I was able to decipher the propulsion system symbols.”

  “Believe me,” Dason replied, “I will be forever glad. For a second there, I thought that the only thing that would be left of us would be an atom or two.”

  “For a second there,” Tarracas returned dryly, “I didn’t think that there
would be even that much of us left.”

  For Dason, without any reference points to gauge their situation inside the practically featureless cavity, the next several minutes seemed interminable.

  As Tarracas worked on learning more of the Mongan device’s control systems, Dason had little more to do than watch the tiny pinpoint of light while it crawled through the hologram toward their destination.

  They were but minutes from their journey's end when Tarracas stopped and then leaned forward as if something had caught his rapt attention.

  Noticing the sudden change in the Scoutmaster’s body language, Dason asked, “Did you figure out how to get us a view of surrounding space, ScoutMaster?”

  Tarracas was slow to answer. “No, but if I’m reading this right—and I’m not totally sure I am—then I may have stumbled on a workaround to bypass the Faction’s stopgap measure to prevent the nova device from going off.”

  “Wait,” Dason returned. “Are you saying that you might be able to reinitiate the detonation sequence?”

  Tarracas deliberated over his compu and the strange symbols on the console for several more moments before he answered in a quiet voice, “I believe so.”

  A muted warbling interrupted their conversation, which caused Tarracas to peer intently at the hologram. “We seem to have arrived.”

  He clicked open his suit comm. “Mr. Rhee, are you there?”

  “Scoutmaster!” Teng Rhee exclaimed. “It’s great to hear your voice. You had us all pretty worried there for a while.”

  “The feeling was mutual, I assure you,” Tarracas replied.

  “Now, how do we get this thing inside your hangar bay? Unfortunately, we haven’t figured out how to get an outside view and there’s nothing here that resembles anything approaching radar. We’re essentially flying blind for any close-in work.”

  “Hmm,” Teng answered, “that is a problem. Not to mention that getting that rock inside the hangar is going to be a tight squeeze.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tarracas responded, “but I don’t think we’re going to be much help as all I have is a proximity reading to your ship and little else to go by.”

  “Understood,” Teng replied. “Hang on a bit while I gather my, uh, ‘staff’ and see what ideas we can come up with.”

  “Certainly,” Tarracas replied, “as long as you have clear space on your interstellar sensors.”

  “Clear space, Scoutmaster,” Teng returned, “Nothing to worry about for now. And, oh, by the way, I delivered your message to General Rosberg. He sends his thanks for the warning.”

  “Sir,” Dason asked in a hesitant voice, “what about my father? Is he—”

  “Well enough,” Teng answered. “He, Jadar, and Doctor Stinneli took one of the Zephyrs and headed for Sarpens Two just before we linked up with you.

  “Sorry, he didn’t leave a message for you. I think they were in quite a rush.”

  “Speaking of,” Tarracas asked, “do you know how the rescue operation is going?”

  “No,” Teng answered. “General Rosberg did speak with Jadar and Deklon, however. He must have said something that lighted their fire because that’s when they blasted out of here in one big hurry.”

  “I see,” Tarracas murmured, an anxious expression crossing his face. “I hope that doesn’t bode ill.”

  “By the way,” Teng replied, “one of my ‘staff’ is anxious to speak with Lieutenant Thorne. Here she is.”

  “Dason!” Shanon’s anxious voice came across the communicator. “Are you okay?”

  “We’re okay,” Dason answered. “It was touch and go there for a few moments, but we managed to get the propulsion working.”

  He gave a little laugh and remarked, “It was literally seconds before the Faction showed up. I would’ve loved to see their expressions when we boosted out of there practically under their noses.”

  “You would,” she sniffed, the relief palpable in her voice. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

  “Thanks, now run and help them figure out how to move these two hunks of rock inside the SlipSter.”

  “Count on it,” she replied. “See you soon.”

  “Soon,” Dason answered. He grinned to himself.

  It had become so easy to picture her dimpled smile as they conversed. It sent a warm feeling coursing through his body.

  A far, far different feeling than he’d had just minutes ago and one that he never, ever wanted to lose if at all possible.

  His euphoric feeling passed as his thoughts turned to his father. The man seemed to be indestructible, or at least thought he was.

  Dason shook his head in wonderment. To be able to get out of his sick bed as he did, and undertake what could only be an arduous task was unbelievable.

  However, he had, and for a moment, Dason felt a deep sense of pride in his father, and of his uncle. They were indeed men among men.

  An hour later, Teng spoke to the group over the on-board communicator, “What do you think? We hashed out some ideas, but this seems to be the best plan given what we have to work with.”

  Dason and Tarracas exchanged worried looks. “Sounds pretty risky,” Tarracas replied. “These things are pretty massy; once you get them moving, if we don’t slow them down in time, they could punch a pretty nasty hole in the SlipSter.”

  “We took that into consideration,” Teng answered. “Honestly, whoever is driving the two Zephyrs is going to have to have a mighty light touch on the accelerator to get them moving.

  “And then they’ll have to place their axis of thrust in perfect alignment on the other end to slow and then stop the brute at just the right point.”

  He paused before pointing out, “Otherwise, there’s a good chance that they’ll get crushed between the rock and the bulkhead.”

  “What about the SlipSter?” Dason asked, “Couldn’t we do it the opposite way? Have you—”

  “Open the hangar bay and slide them in using our thrusters?” Teng finished for him.

  “That was our first idea. The problem, believe it or not, is that this ship has very rudimentary sensors for close-in work. Even the vu-screen can’t get us the close-up shots we’d need for that level of tricky maneuvering.

  “I guess the designers figured that since this ship would go dozens of light-years in one leap, of what consequence was a few meters right in front of your face.”

  Addressing Dason, he asked, “So, of your team, who do you recommend as pilots?”

  “Me and nobody else,” Dason stated flatly.

  There was a long moment of tense silence before Tarracas reached over and pulled Dason around. “There are times in every leader’s life,” he murmured low, “when he or she wishes that they didn’t have to make such a weighty decision. But for the good of all, sometimes they must. This is one of those times.”

  Dason met the Scoutmaster’s candid stare and nodded. “You’re right.”

  He took a deep breath, felt a churning in the pit of his stomach, and announced, “I’ll pilot one, Scout Hsu will take the other. Have her meet me in the hangar bay.”

  A few minutes later, having boosted over from the asteroid, Dason stood next to the two Zephyrs with Shanon. He leaned close and asked, “You understand the plan?”

  “I should,” she answered. “I’m the one who came up with the idea.”

  “Oh,” Dason replied. “Well, it’s a good idea, but as the Scoutmaster once stated, ‘What seems easy enough in planning, doesn’t always mean it’s easy in the execution.’”

  His hand slipped along her arm. “Ready?” he asked.

  “As I’ll ever be,” she replied somberly.

  “Then let’s do this.”

  Shanon turned to enter the nearest Zephyr and Dason hurried over to the other. He ran his fingers over his board and then asked over the ship’s comm, “Shanon, are you powered up?”

  “Green across the board,” she replied.

  “Bridge,” Dason intoned, “we’re ready here.”

  “Stand by,” Te
ng replied. “Depressurizing bay.”

  Seconds later, he announced, “Bay doors opening. Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” Dason answered and ran his fingers over the Zephyr’s controls. Soon after, his and Shanon’s Zephyrs floated off to one side of the SlipShip.

  “Scoutmaster,” Teng asked, “Are you out?”

  “Roger,” Tarracas replied. “I’m in position, begin your approach.”

  As if in slow motion, the SlipShip, with its hangar doors fully open approached the first asteroid’s tapered end.

  The SlipSter neared the asteroid until the Scoutmaster called out, “One hundred meters . . . seventy-five . . . fifty . . . and . . . full stop!”

  The craft came to an abrupt standstill with the asteroid’s curved nose some twenty meters from the open bay.

  Dason watched as Tarracas used his suit’s thrusters to fly a slow circular orbit around the rock, inspecting how aligned the two huge rocks were with the opening into the hangar bay.

  “Nicely done,” Tarracas reported. “It’s centered. Grav generator off?”

  “Off,” Teng answered.

  “Good,” Tarracas answered. “We don’t want a couple thousand kilograms of rock to come crashing down to the bay floor.”

  Tarracas came floating back up and over the asteroid to hover near the two vessels. He gave them a wave of his gloved hand. “Okay Zephyrs, it’s your show.”

  “Roger, ScoutMaster,” Dason replied and glanced through the window over at Shanon.

  “Remember,” he repeated, “short, short bursts on the thrusters. All we want is a velocity measured in centimeters per second. If we get it going much more than that, we might not get it stopped in time on the other end.”

  She smiled at him. “I got it, nothing but love taps.”

  They began to maneuver their two ships into position. Shanon flew to one side of the asteroid, Dason to the other. They eased each Zephyr’s nose up to the rock, with their respective ships offset to the asteroids’ midline.

  Once she had completed her maneuver, Shanon quipped, “You know, after this, we should recommend to Star Scout Command that they put dozer blades on the front of these things.