by GARY DARBY
“Should be plenty of time,” Jadar answered.
Gritting his teeth, Deklon inserted his legs and arms into his suit. He turned to find Jadar already suited up and giving him a suspicious stare.
“Hey,” Jadar asked, “what gives? You’re acting as if it’s more than just sore ribs that's slowing you down.”
Deklon waved Jadar’s comments off. “Old age. Remember, I’m almost three minutes older than you. You’re still a young pup.”
“Uh huh,” Jadar answered as he reached over to help Deklon with the last bit of suit fittings. “I still say you stuck your foot in my face and shoved off just so that you could get out ahead of me and claim first dibs on everything.”
“Is that why your nose always looked a little squashed?” Deklon replied with a small smile.
“Squashed, huh?” Jadar answered. “Have you looked at your own schnozz lately? You ready?”
Deklon pulled his helmet up, went through the pressure testing routine, and gave Jadar thumbs up signaling he was ready.
The two clomped over to the airlock and moments later had cycled through to stand on the cubicle’s threshold.
They demagnetized their boots and swung themselves out and around to hang by their fingers onto the airlock’s inner framework.
“Okay,” Deklon ground out through clenched teeth over the suit’s comm, “When the Zephyr fires up, we hold on until we can see the SlipSter, and then we let go. Got it?”
“Got it,” Jadar answered. “Wouldn’t be too good to let go early and sail off into these clouds. Have a hard time finding your way back.”
“Exactly,” Deklon replied. “Not a whole lot of streetlamps around here to guide you.”
Seconds later, there was a gentle rumbling as the Zephyr’s last remaining engine started up. Deklon and Jadar tightened their grip as the ship began to move forward.
Deklon had programmed the Zephyr for an easy boost so as to not dislodge them from their precarious hold, but he found that he had grown weak, and his hands and fingers were losing their grip.
He pulled down as hard as he could, but it was no use, he was losing his grip, and the SlipSter was nowhere in sight.
Jadar, sensing his brother was in trouble and in danger of slipping off, slid his own hands over Deklon’s and pressed down with every bit of strength he had.
For several long seconds, the two hung in a precarious fashion to the side of the ship as it accelerated.
“There!” Deklon cried out as the clouds parted, and the SlipShip lay in full view. He and Jadar hung on for another second before they both turned loose.
They sailed along for several seconds before they used their micro-thrusters to slow and orient themselves on the SlipSter.
Off to their left, the now empty Zephyr’s engines flared to life, ramping up to the best speed it could make. The little ship began a series of corkscrews and barrel rolls through the clouds as if it were a sparrow being chased by an unseen but real hawk.
Seconds later, it disappeared into a thick cloudbank leaving the two scouts sailing along toward the SlipShip.
“Nobody seems to be firing,” Jadar observed. “Maybe our little ploy worked.”
“You better hope it worked,” Deklon replied. “Because I don’t know about you, but I feel completely naked out here.”
The two closed on the SlipShip. Just as they got to the hangar doors, they decelerated practically to a standstill.
Swiveling their heads to the left and right, they scrutinized the open bay. The nova device still lay on the smashed floor and squeezed in on one side of the hulking asteroid sat the Star Dreamer, its hatch open and its short ramp down.
“See anyone?” Deklon asked.
“No,” Jadar replied, “which is good for us, but it probably means that Peller’s thugs have taken the ship already.”
“Only one way to find out,” Deklon answered and maneuvered himself close to the edge and then accelerated forward.
As soon as he passed through the aperture, he dropped to the ground as the artificial gravity field took hold.
A moment later, Jadar joined him. Both drew their weapons and made their way past the asteroids to the fore hatchway.
A blinking red light told Deklon that there was pressure on the other side. He reached over and activated the atmospheric control. Seconds later, a green light blinked and Jadar reached out to open the hatch.
Both stepped into the short corridor, Jadar closed the hatch and Deklon activated the air pressure controls to bring atmosphere back into the passageway.
Moments later, with their helmets down, they were moving stealthily through a narrow corridor.
They abruptly stopped when just ahead and above them came the sharp priiing of a stunner followed by the ear-ringing blasts of disruptors blasting away in close quarters.
“One guess who’s using the stunners, and who’s using the blasters,” Jadar muttered in a growl.
“It’s coming from near the control room,” Deklon whispered back. “And there’re only two ways to get up there. The liftor or the escape stairs.”
“I vote stairs,” Jadar answered. “Too easy to get caught in the liftor.”
“I agree,” Deklon replied through pain-filled clenched teeth. “Let’s go.”
In silence, they slipped through the passageway, hurrying as best as they could in their P-suits toward the sound of battle. They came to the bottom of the stairs and Deklon eased his head out to peer up the metal staircase.
Bright flashes of red and orange light accompanied an almost unceasing roar of blaster fire. The muted priing of stunner fire still sounded, and Deklon smiled to himself.
The Faction hadn’t broken through to the bridge.
“There’s but one way to go,” Jadar whispered. “Up.”
“It’s only two wide, brother,” Deklon replied.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jadar answered. They gripped their weapons tighter, took a deep breath, and took the stairs two-at-a-time.
They had gotten to the next-to-last-landing when both stopped. Above them, on the next ledge someone was shouting at the top of his lungs.
The two glanced up and Deklon’s eyes widened.
“Peller,” he gurgled.
Some inner instinct must have warned Peller because just then he turned and looked down. For just an instant, Deklon’s and Peller’s eyes met.
Deklon’s were full of loathing and disgust; Peller’s at first filled with amazement before they changed to utter fear as he realized the danger.
He yelled something and dove between several of his Faction guards just as Deklon and Jadar opened fire.
With anguished moans, the guards crumpled and fell headfirst down the stairwell. Deklon and Jadar didn’t hesitate but charged up the stairs, throwing themselves behind the last stair step for cover.
Deklon peered over the landing to see Peller crawling on all fours, yelling for his guards to save him. He tried to fire, but a sudden barrage of blaster fire caused him to duck down for cover.
Deklon glanced over at Jadar. “You ready?”
Jadar gave a quick nod, and the two leaped to their feet, unleashing a blistering barrage of fire at their adversaries.
The short, narrow passageway that led to the SlipSter’s bridge filled with acrid smoke, and the cries of those caught in the withering fire.
To their credit, the Faction didn’t flinch; instead, they returned the fire with their own blazing fusillade.
Laser bolts crackled through the air, blasting apart bulkhead and stair railing. A Faction body fell into the passageway; a hole burned deep into his chest, another fell and then another.
Jadar and Deklon ducked under cover, waited, and then opened fire again, shooting at will over the threshold, ignoring the scorching laser rays that passed just centimeters over their heads.
Deklon jerked upright and sprayed the passageway with a blistering blast of disruptor fire.
Screams of agony rose above the shriek of te
aring and ripping metal. Bodies toppled to the floor; their pressure suits smoking and burning from the scorching disruptor heat.
Without warning, a blaster bolt clipped Deklon’s left shoulder, sending him spinning into the stairwell. Jadar reached down and pulled his wounded brother back up the metal stairs.
“Can you still fight?” Jadar yelled out.
Gritting his teeth, Deklon nodded at him. “Yeah, they only winged me.”
Jadar started to turn when he suddenly reached out and shoved Deklon to one side as he yelled, “Look out!”
Two blaster bolts caught Jadar full in the torso sending him sprawling against the bulkhead.
As he slipped down, he sprayed laser fire into the two Faction who had snuck up behind the scouts. Their bodies bounced down the stairs to land with a dull thud several stairs below.
Blood gurgled from Jadar’s mouth before he began to topple forward.
Deklon caught him around the shoulders and eased him down to the metal landing. Jadar’s eyes opened, and he coughed up more blood.
“You crazy galoot,” Deklon groaned as he held his brother tight. “When are you going to learn to stop saving your older brother and save yourself?”
Jadar brought his bloodied hand away from shredded flesh, looked at it with sad acceptance before his eyes met Deklon’s. “Looks like, never.”
His eyes closed, and a last breath rattled through his teeth.
Deklon held Jadar close for a second before he reached out, grabbed Jadar’s L-gun and with hard, avenging eyes turned toward the top of the staircase.
He drew in a deep breath and then flung himself to the top, firing both blasters in a rapid-fire motion at both sides of the corridor.
Faction bodies fell, shrieking in anguish as the laser fire ripped into their bodies. Scorching hot laser bolts zipped by Deklon’s head, but he marched forward, his gun barrels beginning to glow red from the never-ceasing fire.
A ray caught Deklon’s left arm, spinning him around and forcing him to drop his weapon, but he lunged to the side and kept shooting with his right hand.
Another Faction body thudded to the floor and moments later, a second.
From the doorway to the bridge, a Star Scout stepped out next to Deklon, bringing his own weapon to bear.
Together, Deklon and Scoutmaster Tarracas rained fire and destruction on the remaining Faction until none stood in the smoking, scorched corridor.
The two trained their weapons on the bodies that lay on the floor, making sure that their death masks were real. With slow and cautious steps, they moved up the corridor until they stopped at the sound of whimpering.
Without a sound, they strode forward until they came to a cowering figure who lay sniveling on the floor behind a pile of Faction bodies.
Cringing and pressing up against the bulkhead, his helmet down but his royal purple pressure suit stained by the blood of his Faction bodyguard was a cowering and cowardly figure.
“Adiak Peller,” Deklon muttered in a voice full of contempt and loathing.
The loathsome creature raised his head, blinked at the two and began to rise. Before Deklon could react, Peller whipped up a laser to fire. In the same moment, Tarracas pushed Deklon away and took the full blast.
Deklon spun around and fired, but his weapon was empty.
Before Peller could bring his weapon to bear, Deklon leaped over the pile of bodies and brought Peller crashing to the floor with a vicious tackle.
Deklon wrenched the gun away from Peller’s grasp and backhanded Peller with a crunching blow to the face.
Peller went down in a ball, and Deklon towered over him, breathing hard, the laser’s barrel only centimeters away from Peller’s open and terrified eyes.
“Don’t, please don’t,” croaked Peller, holding up one hand as if to ward off Deklon’s wrath.
He curled himself into a fetal position, whimpering, “I’ll give you anything you want, riches, power beyond your wildest dreams. You name it. Just let me live.”
Deklon glanced back at his brother’s crumpled body, and for an instant, the image of his beautiful wife Jenn, and of his son Dason came to mind.
His family destroyed because of this man and his lust for riches and power.
Deklon began to squeeze the trigger before a guttural, “Wait,” from behind him caused him to whirl.
Trying to raise himself was the Scoutmaster, his body torn and bloody.
Deklon turned back to Peller, and like a striking Tiger Snake, slammed his fist into the man’s jaw. Peller slumped over, unconscious.
Jumping to the Scoutmaster’s side, Deklon held him in his arms, his face racked with agony as he gazed at Tarracas’s ripped and shredded torso.
“Scoutmaster,” Deklon moaned, “why didn’t you save yourself?”
“Wanted Dason to get his father back,” Tarracas whispered, “after all these years.”
Deklon nodded sadly and murmured, “He already has Scoutmaster, he already has.”
Nodding, Tarracas pressed his hand against his bloody side, the bloodstain on his uniform growing by the second. “Help me up,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
As gentle as he could, Deklon raised him to his feet. Tarracas wavered before he gestured toward Peller. “Bring him.”
The Scoutmaster turned to stagger into the bridge. With his waning strength, Deklon pulled the unconscious Peller along the floor and onto the ship’s bridge.
Once inside, Tarracas gestured toward one of the side chairs. “Tie him up, tight.”
Seconds later, using the Scoutmaster’s belt and vest straps, Deklon had Peller’s arms and torso tight against the chair.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Deklon muttered to Tarracas.
He turned and saw a body crumpled to one side.
Teng Rhee.
Noticing Deklon’s gaze, Tarracas muttered, “Our sensor array was completely off-line, we only had visual, and we were looking forward.”
He took a pain-filled breath before saying, “Didn’t think that anyone was behind. They surprised us, but Mister Rhee put himself between the bridge and the first wave until I could draw my weapon.”
“A brave and good man,” Deklon affirmed in a soft breath.
“Yes,” Tarracas mumbled.
He motioned for Deklon to join him and gestured toward the console. “You know the mission, what the SlipShip has to do?”
Deklon nodded without speaking. “This,” Tarracas said as he pressed his hand over a small side console, “is remotely linked to the nova device. Once you push the three keys, it will activate the detonation sequence.”
He again drew in a deep breath and coughed, grimacing in pain. He caught himself, leaned on the console for support.
“Once it starts, there is no way to stop it. You’ll have less than five minutes once it activates and the Kolomite detonates. That should give you enough time to get aboard your ship and boost out.”
Deklon grimaced at the Scoutmaster’s comment. “Sorry, Scoutmaster, I’m afraid this is strictly a one-way trip. There is no other ship.”
Tarracas shuddered as he drew in another breath. “Then I guess we’ll make it together.” He groaned, grabbed at the console, and started to slide down.
Deklon sprang to catch him and eased him to the floor. Deklon cradled the Scoutmaster’s head, knowing from the gaping hole in Tarracas’ side that there was little he could do for the dying man.
Tarracas stirred and opened his eyes. “You saved my life, Scoutmaster,” Deklon whispered.
“So that you can save others,” Tarracas whispered back.
He reached out with one hand toward the bridge console. “You have to fly the ship to the planet, do what must be done.”
Deklon gripped the Scoutmaster’s hand. “I will, Scoutmaster; you have my word.”
Tarracas took a breath and ran a tongue over his lips. He coughed and pointed at Peller as a tiny smile crossed his face. “If he ever wanted to see how the nova device worked, he will now.”
The Scoutmaster coughed again and a small trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. “Dason, your son. I always knew he was special, knew he would be a great Star Scout, someday. Was my honor and privilege to be his Scoutmaster.”
“And his honor and privilege to be your novice,” Deklon replied, his voice choking. “No greater Scoutmaster did any novice ever have than you.”
Tarracas smiled in thanks, and then pointed toward the vu-screen. “I would have loved to see the stars one last time, but . . .” his mouth worked as he tried to speak, he took in one last breath, and then slumped forward in death.
With gentle hands, Deklon laid the Scoutmaster’s head on the metal floor. “Farewell, Scoutmaster,” he murmured, “wherever your Last Trail takes you, I’m sure you’ll find your stars there—for an eternity.”
Turning hard eyes on Peller, Deklon snarled, “As the man said, you wanted to see what happens when the nova machine goes off?
“Well, now you’re going to get your chance. Up close and personal like.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Star date: 2443.116
The Final Battle
“Cutting in the forward thrusters!” Dason yelled. “The main is out!”
He and Shanon fought to right the Zephyr that spun through the atmosphere like a spinning gyroscope. “Work the side thrusters,” he shouted to Shanon. “Try to get us on an even keel.”
“We’ve only got half power in the thrusters!” Shanon shouted back. “The laser must have cut some of the plasma lines.”
Dason glanced over his sensor readings. “Under a hundred thousand meters,” he said in a tense voice. “We either break this rotation or we’re going to pancake straight in!”
“I’m trying!” Shanon exclaimed.
“Try using just the port thrusters,” Dason shouted. “Push’em hard.”
Seconds later, the two young scouts, working together, halted the ship’s mad whirling. “Still falling like a rock,” Shanon called out. “I can’t get the main back up.”
“All we’ve got are thrusters,” Dason replied grimly, “and they’re only at half power.”
He took a quick glance at the onrushing planet. “In that case, let’s actually fly this thing.”