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

by GARY DARBY

  Shanon flipped out her L-gun. “What about these?”

  Nase stepped forward. “Six beams focused as one.”

  “A spear of light pointed straight up,” Alena observed.

  Dason shook his head at her. “Not a spear, an arrow. An Arrow of Light, like the ones we wear on our collars.”

  They all nodded in agreement, and Dason motioned toward the airlock. “Let’s go.”

  Before clambering out the airlock, Dason called over the communicator, “Dad, we think we’ve got the answer. Give us a sec.”

  “Hurry, Dason,” Deklon replied, “I don’t know how long the Sha’anay can hold the window open.”

  In answer, Dason jumped to the ground, pumping his arm, shouting, “We’ve got to move, run!”

  The six sprinted across the scorched and smoldering ground, coughing as they inhaled the thick smoke.

  Scant moments later, they skidded to a halt on the brink of the precipice. Dason glanced down into the ebony darkness and stared in amazement at the chasm’s size.

  Wide enough that even an Imperium dreadnought could slide through, Dason had the feeling that the Mongan-made crevice dropped for tens, perhaps hundreds, and hundreds of kilometers into the planetary crust.

  Perhaps, even more.

  He stood next to the abyss and called over his communicator, “Dad, we’re in place, start your run.”

  “Inbound, son,” Deklon answered and then spoke softly, “Dason, I want you to know that what you told me about your mother meant the world to me, and I want you to know that I never stopped loving her, or you, and I never will.”

  Dason swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest, before a feeling of calm and peace came over him. “I love you, too, Dad.”

  Deklon’s voice choked in reply. “Dason, I’m going to get a bit busy here in a second, so I need to sign off. Until we meet again, son.”

  “Until we meet again, Dad,” Dason replied in his own choking voice.

  * * * * *

  With a lump in his throat and a burning ache in his heart, Deklon turned away from the communicator console.

  A noise behind him caused him to swivel in his seat to find a bound and gagged Peller, his face a mask of fury and hatred, struggling against his bindings.

  Deklon gave the man a wan smile. “Forget it, Peller. For our Supreme Leader, I used supremely excellent and supremely tight knots. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Grimly, he then offered, “Let me rephrase that, you’re definitely going somewhere.”

  He waved a hand at the vu-screen that showed the battle that still raged above the planet. “Down there, through the clouds and after that, well . . . It’s my feeling you’re not going to appreciate the final destination very much. Or at least, that’s my fond hope.”

  He turned back to the comm's console and opened a channel. “General Rosberg, this is the SlipSter, Star Scout Deklon Marrel in command.”

  “Deklon!” Rosberg exclaimed. “What are you doing on the SlipShip?”

  “Sir, it’s a long story that we haven’t time for,” Deklon answered.

  In rapid, but sad tones, he laid out what had happened on board the ship, finishing with, “My son Dason and his team crash-landed on the planet.

  “They’re headed for the tunnel to give me a signal to guide me into the opening. General, it’s time for everyone to clear out.

  “One way or the other, this thing is going to end real soon and you don’t want to be around when it does.”

  Evident sadness filled Rosberg’s voice. “We all owe a great deal to the Marrel family, and I promise you, Deklon, that once this is over, the whole story will be told, and the honor that your family should have had will be restored, in full measure.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Deklon replied gratefully. “I’m starting my run, general. Star Scout Lieutenant Colonel Deklon Marrel, commanding SlipSter, out.”

  * * * * *

  High above the planet, General Rosberg punched at his communicator. A second later, the image of Elder Tor’al flashed above the console.

  Rosberg didn’t bother with a greeting, “Elder, get your ships moving, hyperspeed in any direction. The planet is going to blow.”

  Tor’al listened with an intent expression and then answered, “I hear you, human Rosberg; it shall be so.” His image wavered and then disappeared.

  General Rosberg slapped again at his comm's button and waited until Admiral Stannick’s image appeared.

  In a loud voice he bawled, “Cait, the SlipShip is going in, get your ships out of here, now!”

  “On it!” she exclaimed, turned, and began issuing crisp orders to her bridge crew.

  Rosberg took a deep breath and turned to Brant Renn, “Okay, LT, we’ve done what we can, get us out of here.”

  Within seconds, the general’s battle-scarred Zephyr leaped forward, accelerated, and flashed toward the nebula, followed by the last two of the tiny Zephyr fleet.

  All across the space battlefield, Imperium and Sha’anay warships broke off their individual fights, turned and accelerated away from their adversaries.

  Within a minute, all had raced into the darkness of the nebula and were lost from sight.

  A sudden hush seemed to fill the void that they had left behind. The Mongan fleet seemed to pause for an instant.

  Then, with vicious, unceasing laser fire, they turned on the remaining Faction fleet that had been left behind by the immediate withdrawal of Tor’al’s and Stannick’s warships.

  In less than a minute, they destroyed every Faction ship, leaving nothing but dying balls of flaming gas as their momentary tombstones.

  Seeing the destruction of their trans-universe habitats, and sensing that something was wrong on the planet, the Mongans turned their war cruisers toward the surface.

  Akin to angry wasps returning to their nests, the Mongans sped toward the globe, unaware of the SlipShip that now raced ahead of them.

  * * * * *

  Standing close to the gigantic mine’s threshold, Dason took a step back and spoke to his team who had gathered around him, “It’s time.”

  He raised his weapon to point high over the enormous gulf. He turned his sweaty, dirt- and smoke-smeared face toward his five comrades.

  “One last time, one last mission, one Last Trail, together.”

  One by one, they raised their weapons and at a “Now!” from Dason, six scarlet laser bolts flashed skyward.

  Instantly, they merged to form one solid beam. The dazzling shaft pierced the dust and smoke, its brilliance lighting up the arrows of light that each scout wore.

  Higher and higher the beam lifted, shredding the swirling dark clouds, until high above the murky dust and smoke, a glorious, brilliant globe resembling a starburst shone clear and bright for all to see above the darkness.

  They held firm, holding their weapons aloft and steady, not wavering, not flinching, not turning away, even as a relentless march death rushed toward the six Star Scouts.

  With the roaring sound of an approaching tornado, the SlipSter sliced through the dark clouds, straight at the tunnel.

  At the unmistakable noise Dason yelled, “Lasers off!” He spun toward the chasm to see the SlipShip punch through the last layer of swirling dust.

  To Dason, it seemed that just for an instant the ship hung motionless, just above the gaping, dark hole.

  It seemed too, that just for a moment, Dason could see his father, his uncle, and the Scoutmaster, their hands raised in a last goodbye, their countenances beaming with broad, loving, and proud smiles.

  Then the SlipShip disappeared into the black hole, leaving Dason standing on the precipice, staring down into the crevice.

  The wind from the ship’s passage flowed over his face, ruffling his short hair, the very last thing he would feel of his father’s sacrifice and passing.

  Sami came up to stand next to Dason. “Well, LT, I think that this time, we definitely met all mission complete criteria. Don’t you think?”

  Daso
n turned, reached out to grasp Sami about the shoulders, and gave him a firm hug. “Yeah, we did, Sami.”

  Dason turned, and Shanon slipped into his arms, his chin resting on her head. “You weren’t kidding when you promised me forever, were you?” she asked.

  Dason drew in a deep breath and murmured, “I meant what I said. You and me, together, forever.”

  In the swirling dust, the scouts clustered together, their bond of friendship growing stronger in their last moments.

  Dason lifted his head just as a gust of wind blew the smoke and dust away. His body went rigid, and his mouth widened, but only for an instant.

  He grabbed Shanon’s hand and shouted, “Run!” Pulling Shanon as fast as he could, Dason and the others sprinted across the darkened landscape.

  “Where are we going?” Shanon yelled.

  “There!” Dason answered and pulled her harder.

  In seconds, the scouts rushed up to the craggy side of an undamaged nova device. The doors to both asteroids were open, and Dason pushed Shanon through the opening of the second.

  “Sami, Alena, TJ, get in!” He ordered and grabbed at Nase. “You, with me!”

  The two sprinted to the first, leading asteroid, and bolted inside.

  “There,” Dason yelped as the two dashed to the dual consoles that lay against the forward wall.

  Jamming his hand into his torso vest, Dason pulled out the Scoutmaster’s hand compu.

  He pushed it into Nase’s hand. “The Scoutmaster said that he had deciphered all of the Mongan symbols on these consoles. The consoles control the machine’s operating systems, including the protective shield.”

  He pushed himself close to Nase and muttered, “Time to show off that brain of yours, scout, and save our team.”

  Nase spun to the console and his fingers flew over the little compu.

  Seconds later, he began tapping on the console’s symbols. In response, the consoles lighted up accompanied by a whirring sound.

  Watching the flickering symbols, Dason nodded. “That’s good, Nase, that’s real good.”

  “Don’t joggle my elbow,” Nase replied with a little tension in his voice. “Besides, that only powered up the consoles.”

  Dason stood back, not daring to interrupt, but feeling as though he was about to burst out of his skin. He wanted to help, to offer a suggestion, but he knew he would just slow Nase and right now that was the last thing he wanted.

  Nase paused, his hand held motionless over the symbols, staring at the compu. As if he had made a crucial, last-second decision, his hand flew down, and his fingers raced across the console.

  A second later, there was a loud rumbling, a growling that gathered until it reverberated and shook the little room.

  Nase whirled around and yelled, “Get out!”

  He and Dason leaped through the door, hit the ground running, and raced to the second asteroid. Shanon, TJ, Sami, and Alena had their heads half poked out of the doorway.

  “Hurry, the door is closing!” Shanon screamed.

  Dason and Nase put on a last burst of speed, and with arms outstretched as if they were flying, dove through the door just as it snapped shut behind them.

  Rolling, Dason came to his feet, only to be slammed upward and then downward as if a nutonic bomb had exploded under the device.

  His last thought as blackness took him was that he and Nase had failed, they hadn’t engaged the Mongan protective shield in time, and what he felt now was his last conscious moments before he died.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Star date: 2443.116

  Aboard the Dauntless, Admiral Stannick’s Flagship

  Whirling to her helmsman, Admiral Cait Stannick demanded, “Have we cleared the nebula?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” The young woman instantly replied. “Passing the the outer rim now.”

  “Take us out to one light-year and then bring us to dead slow,” Stannick ordered.

  After several minutes, the helmsman reported, “We’re at dead slow, admiral.”

  “Vu-screen on,” she ordered. “Show me the nebula.”

  The bridge screen lit up, displaying the Helix Nebula’s glowing, gray-green coils in the distance. With pursed lips, Stannick stared at the gigantic gas cloud.

  “Ma’am,” one of her bridge officers said, “General Rosberg is off our port bow, requesting permission for his three Zephyrs to come aboard.”

  “Permission granted,” Stannick answered in an instant.

  Several minutes later, a worn and fatigued Rosberg entered the bridge and came to stand next to Stannick.

  For several long seconds, neither spoke, just stared at the Helix. “How many did you lose?” Rosberg asked.

  “Better question is how many are left?” Stannick replied.

  In answer to her own question she murmured, “Six and all damaged to some degree. You?”

  “Three of eight Zephyrs got out,” he replied in a gruff undertone. “We lost Scoutmaster Tarracas, Deklon and Jadar Marrel, Dason Thorne and his team, along with Teng Rhee.”

  Stannick turned at that. “Teng?”

  Rosberg nodded. “Peller and his Faction goons somehow got aboard the SlipShip. Teng, along with the Scoutmaster and the Marrel brothers, held them off.”

  Turning his head to her, he growled with a satisfied smile. “And somehow managed to capture Adiak Peller as well.”

  Before she could ask, he went on in a subdued voice. “Deklon has him all trussed up as if were a sack of wheat aboard the SlipSter.

  “Thorne’s team crashed on the planet, close enough that they’re going to guide the SlipShip straight down into the hole.”

  He drew in a breath and sadly shook his head. “They aren’t going to be able to get off the planet in time.”

  Stannick turned hard eyes back to the nebula. “In a way, I guess that’s a fitting end for Peller, but after all the monstrous and evil acts he committed it seems as if he’s getting off way too easy.”

  Commander Jeth came up to Stannick. “Admiral, general, the sensors are showing a powerful pressure wave moving through the nebula.

  “It’s tearing the cloud apart, dissipating the gas. Even if the orbs detonate, there’s not enough concentrated Kolomite left to do much other than produce some massive explosions.”

  Stannick’s voice choked, as she murmured in a sober but grateful voice, “They did it.”

  Rosberg and Stannick exchanged solemn looks, even as they both blinked back tears. “Yes,” Rosberg murmured as he reached out to tightly grasp Stannick’s arm, “they did.”

  Another bridge officer came up the admiral. “Ma’am, we’re receiving a hail from a nearby Sha’anay warship.”

  “Open a channel,” Stannick ordered.

  The holographic image of Elder Tor’al floated just above the floor in front of the two. Both bowed their heads out of respect, and Rosberg held up his hands in the Sha’anay greeting. “I greet you, Elder Tor’al.”

  “And I greet you,” the Sha’anay Great Elder replied. “My ships report that the dangerous gasses are being dissipated and soon the levels will be well below the danger level.”

  “Yes, Elder,” Rosberg agreed. “That is what our sensors are reading as well.”

  Tor’al’s expression took on a semblance of a satisfied smile as he rumbled, “And my ships also report that the explosion has destroyed the Mongan fleet. The evil ones are finally vanquished.”

  “That is good to hear,” Rosberg replied. “There will be a great rejoicing around the clan fires for many, many days.”

  Tor’al nodded before he exhaled deeply. “Yes, that is true. But first, we must take time for many days of remembrance, for this day has been costly.

  “No House, including my own, has been left untouched, and soon our war blades will ring three times for days upon days for those whom we have lost.”

  His countenance grew long and sad. “Even my sept has not escaped the death call. My son To’ran perished in the fight. It was he that guided his
ship to the ground, and destroyed the Mongan habitat craft.”

  Rosberg was silent for a long moment, before he replied, “I am sorry, your son was a brave and courageous warrior, a fitting tribute to his father.”

  He drew in a breath and said, “And I am sorry to have to tell you that in the sacrifices of your House, you must add one more. Dason Thorne did not survive the battle.”

  Elder Tor’al’s shoulders slumped and his head hung for just a moment. Raising his head slightly, he asked, “Did he die bravely?”

  “Yes, elder,” Rosberg replied. “He and his team saved us all.”

  Shaking his head in sorrow, Tor’al muttered, “I have lost two sons this day and my heart and my spirit burn low as only a father can know even in the sadness of losing but one child.”

  Raising his head fully to meet Rosberg’s eyes, he pronounced, “Be assured, I will bring his name to the clan and we will honor him as one of our own on the Day of Remembrance.

  “May his name and his deeds burn brightly in our memories for all our lives and beyond. From this time forward, his name will always be called on the Day of Remembrance, and the Sha’anay will never forget.”

  “Yes,” Rosberg affirmed, “may all their deeds glow forever in our minds and in our hearts and may we indeed, never forget what has happened here this day.”

  Rosberg then added humbly, “On behalf of my people, we are forever in the debt of your great nation, and in particular to you.

  “Wherever you go, know that my House will ever be ready to answer your call, and we will always stand by our Sha’anay friends.”

  Tor’al nodded in reply. “Thank you, human Rosberg, but I believe that the debt goes both ways.

  “Thanks to your brave ones, we were able finally to accomplish what we have sought for these many years, and now we can finally turn to the ways of peace instead of war.”

  Tor’al pulled himself to his full height and then raised his arms in the Sha’anay traditional sign of respect. “Farewell, my human friends.”

  Rosberg and Stannick raised their arms in turn, “Farewell,” they replied.