War Without Honor

by J. R. Geoghan

The man dropped his arm and scratched his forehead. “Chief, Skip, we’ve got to move out on the double. This big buddy of ours thinks trouble’s brewing.” Axxa again didn’t understand most of the language references, so he decided to stride off towards the service entrance. The humans had demonstrated that they could keep up, so he focused on getting them out of the Center and into the mass of humanity that lay beyond.

  Halloran watched the big red guy stalk off down the corridor before waving insistently at his people still in the elevator. “Let’s get moving, folks; the boat is leaving without us!”

  As the crew streamed by and turned down after the two locals, Captain Antonov stopped by Halloran. “How sure are we that this is not another trap?” he whispered.

  Halloran shrugged. “I suppose it could be an elaborate roundabout way to get us into a gas chamber, but their last approach was much more direct. Your guess is as good as mine, Captain.”

  “Call me Pyotr.”

  Halloran nodded. The last of the crew came by, followed by Reyes and Singletary. Halloran and Antonov hurried after the group. A hundred meters down the way a small door stood open and Deacon was passing through. Halloran saw the sunlight and the lump in his heart lessened at the sight of it. Submariners used to being encased in a metal tube for weeks on end yearned for the natural atmosphere… He found himself pressing those around him, encouraging them towards the opening.

  One by one, the crew passed through the door until Halloran got there, close to last in line. Reyes went before him and Halloran waved Antonov ahead as well. Singletary stood next to him. “Ready for this, Sir?”

  “After you, Terry.”

  Outside, the first thing Halloran noticed was the door sealing behind him almost immediately. Axxa stood there, adjusting the control console next to the door. He looked up at Halloran. “Resetting the console so the security guards cannot identify which gate we accessed. It will slow down their search.”

  “You certainly have thought this through,” Halloran admitted.

  “Prax leave nothing for chance.”

  “Interesting.” Halloran began to turn away to the crowd of sailors following Deacon down a concrete alley.

  Axxa grabbed his arm. “What is interesting, Tomalloran?”

  Halloran screwed up his face, then smiled. “No, it’s Tom Halloran. Tom is my first name and Halloran is my family name.”

  “You have two names? What is a ‘family name’ used for?”

  Halloran paused to think. “Well…”

  Axxa shook his head. “You may explain this to me later. We must go.” But he frowned at Halloran anyway. “What was ‘interesting’ to you?”

  They began to jog after the group, who was disappearing around the bend. Halloran noticed that the day was long into the afternoon, and shadows were spreading between the buildings. It was still hot, though. The city was not like anything he remembered in his travels. “What you said about taking nothing for chance. Wars are often won through the taking of calculated risks. Chances, if you will.”

  Axxa looked at him with a grim face. “Fools fail to calculate the cost.”

  “Sounds like a saying.” The two of them rounded the bend and began to catch up. Reyes was looking over his shoulder for Halloran and he waved a reassuring hand.

  “It is indeed a saying of my people.”

  “Who…are the Prax? I have not heard the name before?” Halloran was getting a bit winded from the run.

  “Later, Tomalloran. Let us escape first.”

  “Does Deacon know where he is going?”

  “This is Deacon’s city. I know the Center, but he knows the city.”

  “What city is it?”

  “No more questions; follow Deacon to wherever he is taking us.”

  Reyes waved Halloran up. “Keep up, sir. This guy has us in a dead run.”

  “Let’s hope not, Chief.”

  The group rounded another corner and disappeared into the bowels of a ravaged city district.

  The comm blinked on the panel and his tablet began talking. “Lord, we have a breach.”

  The Prime scooped it up and saw the fear in the guards face. “Explain.”

  “The human prisoners have escaped their cell.”

  “How is this possible? Retrieve them immediately.”

  “As you command, Lord.” The guard still seemed hesitant.

  “What is it?”

  “Lord, our scanners are failing to find any traces of them in the Center.”

  “What, you’ve already scanned all the levels?”

  “Well, no Lord, not all. We are working our way down from the surface levels.”

  No sign of them? That seemed impossible, unless… “Report on the location of Second Advisor Axxa, immediately.”

  “Yes, Lord.” The man signed off.

  The Prime tossed the tablet against the nearest wall in frustration. He just knew it. The treachery would lie with the whimpering human-lover Axxa.

  Almost immediately the tablet beeped again and the Prime bent to pick it up. “Well?”

  “Lord, Second Advisor Axxa has not been seen. Scanners last located him in his quarters but he is not presently there. Guards have retrieved his connector.” The ‘connector’ was a small implant that allowed security to maintain an accurate location and vital signs scan of all Prax. It also allowed leaders to keep tabs on their charges. “Lord, he removed it with a surgical procedure and placed it in the destruction bin, but failed to turn it on.”

  “He wanted me to find it,” the Prime said softly to himself, almost in a breath.

  “Lord?”

  “Never mind. Second Advisor Axxa is to be considered a fugitive and should be apprehended on sight, and any humans in his company be terminated immediately. Now find them!”

  The guard hurriedly said “Yes, Lord,” and signed off.

  The Prime cursed the seven stars for allowing his temper to go on display like that. But then, Axxa always had a way of putting him ill at ease.

  He retrieved the tablet and tapped it.

  A familiar face came on the screen. “Yes, Lord.”

  “Where are you?”

  The Praxxan’s face reflected his curiosity at receiving such a sudden call from the Prime himself. “Currently in the human continent called Australia, hunting resistance factions.”

  “I want you back here. Now.”

  “No explanation for your own son?”

  “A Prax turned to the humans and escaped.”

  That news caused the other to pause. “Explain, Lord.”

  “I will, once you and your unit are back.”

  “You want my unit, too?”

  “All of you. I may yet have need of more assassins.”

  “As you command, Lord.” The Prime caught the smirk on his son’s face as he closed the channel. Calxen was just the one to clean up this mess. But first, the Prime would release the Observers over the city. He opened a channel to the city security unit.

  Again, the sight of the Prime himself caught the Praxxan by surprise. “My Lord commands me?” he asked, fear in his eyes.

  “Release all the available Observers to scan the city grid for a large group of humans, moving together.”

  “Of course, Lord. I will report when it is done.”

  “Report to the Center security leader.”

  “As you wish, Lord.”

  The Prime flung the device against the wall again and began pacing his quarters. He couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that Axxa was getting away and taking a prize with him. And the idea of it infuriated him.

  Chapter 20

  Rat City

  The faces that stared back at them as they passed were horrifying.

  It was as though the group had been dropped into the depths of the most poverty-stricken city on the planet. Halloran had been to several places in India as junior officer in the mid-nineties, and the press of humanity combined with the culture shock had left a mark on him, but even those memories couldn’t compete wit
h the reality that surrounded him within a few minutes of leaving the Praxxan compound.

  Hundreds—thousands—of people crowded the streets, appearing to be milling aimlessly. Many squatted along the walls and pavement, just staring. He couldn’t help but wonder how many more were out of sight, within the crush of buildings, given the crowds in the streets.

  The buildings were an odd mix of newer structures built of some sort of concrete material, tan in color and geometrically correct. Those neat shapes clashed violently with the older facades that were jammed in around them. Those seemed to be created from spare building parts and bits of everyday materials. He saw one front that was merely a large quilt of cloth hanging down, reminding him of something from the Arabian Nights stories. The newer buildings, while clearly recent projects, also exhibited their own decay and broken-out windows. Graffiti seemed to be everywhere, and it wasn’t in English. And it was hot. Even with the sun setting, its heat lingered in every crevice of the city.

  And through all that milled the people, dressed in a scattershot variety of clothing ranging from literal rags to reasonable arrangements of shirts and pants, but all with the unmistakable middle-eastern dusty appearance to them. The skin tones were decidedly on the darker side, but with Caucasian mixed in.

  And the smell. Whatever it was, it pervaded the atmosphere, the way that the smell of a large city rises in your nose when you’re downtown on a hot summer evening. Sewage mixed with something that could be food—bread? It was impossible to place.

  Halloran wanted to speak, to raise his voice and demand answers from Deacon or Axxa, but the hairs on the back of his neck bristled as the flight down the twisty streets was being keenly observed by literally every set of haunted eyes. People stopped to watch the spectacle of forty-plus trim and fit sailors hustling past in their camo green uniforms. If a brand-new red fire truck rolled slowly down the street blaring its siren, it wouldn’t make much more of an impression on the crowds they passed through. Only Deacon seemed as one of them, scrawny and head-down.

  Then there was Axxa. The big red guy was in the lead with Deacon jogging alongside and it was his presence that allowed for their quick procession. Groups of passerby, looking up and pausing in their way, quickly fell back from the tall figure and huddled against the walls or down on their haunches, face and hands covered, as if the man would reach out and murder them with his bare hands. But as far as Halloran could see, Axxa ignored the people scattering and squeaking with fear, seeming instead to focus on scanning the fading blue sky overhead and the rooftops. He kept up a continual muttering with Deacon of which Halloran, about twenty paces back in the midst of his group, couldn’t pick up a word.

  Several times Deacon grabbed the bigger man’s sleeve and pulled them in a new direction. It was all Halloran and his fellow officers could do to keep the crew moving and focused. Many were clearly at the end of their rope, both mentally and physically. Halloran understood; he himself felt used up by the merciless combination of the injuries, the mental stress and the intense, unfamiliar sad city surrounding him.

  Eventually—finally—Deacon led them down a series of narrowing alleys where the pavement below grew more uneven and the smell intensified, while at the same time the press of people thinned dramatically. Halloran ran a hand along one of the high walls that they brushed past; it felt like real stone, even a bit slick with wetness. They were descending. At the same time, he realized that the sun was nearly down and the sky overhead getting harder and harder to pick out way up in the maze of interconnected structures. How long had they been pushing through the city? An hour? It seemed like many more. His ribs ached but he ignored them, breathing as evenly as their pace allowed and encouraging those crew losing steam to keep it up.

  The people ahead of Halloran turned a tight corner of dark stone and the column had stopped. He pushed through the dozen or so crew and met Petty Officer Carruthers’ eyes along the way. The exhaustion he read in them was obvious, but hers hardened the moment she realized it was her Captain. With a clap on her shoulder he pushed through and turned the corner.

  Axxa was heaving on a metal door of some sort while Deacon pushed back the crew in the lead, who were restless at suddenly halting. Halloran reached them and said “What’s happening here?”

  With a grunt, the big man got the door mostly open. The smell that cascaded out of the darkened interior nearly made Halloran’s eyes water. “What the…”

  Deacon looked at him. “Give me a minute to check inside.” He ducked into the building and Halloran found himself looking up at Axxa, who was patiently resting both hands on the door edge, waiting for instructions. Their eyes met.

  “We have done well to arrive here without pursuit.”

  “How can you be so sure we’re not being pursued?”

  “We are certainly being pursued, Tomalloran. But the Prime apparently did not discover our absence fast enough to deploy the Observers effectively, which would have been our undoing.”

  “Deploy the observers?”

  Axxa looked somewhere impatient. “Observers are small flying craft, unmanned, with sensitive recording devices that can find humans easily.”

  The way Axxa said ‘humans’ sounded odd. “You mean drones. They’re called drones.”

  Axxa’s deep, thick voice sounded out the word. “Drones.”

  Deacon popped his head out. “My contact was right; this place is clear. Let’s get inside as fast as possible. I think the luck of the stars is going to run out on us any moment.” He stood back to allow the crew standing near to enter, but nobody moved. After a few moments he looked at Halloran. “What’s wrong with these people?”

  Halloran felt the anger welling inside his aching ribs. Frustration. “They’re waiting for orders, Deacon. What’s in there?”

  “It’s an old storage facility, designed to hide sensitive supplies and equipment. It belonged to the government until there wasn’t one anymore. I’ve used it as a drop in the past for my, er, activities. Now can you get your mob to go inside—soon?” To punctuate Deacon’s urgency, somewhere nearby a woman began screaming.

  Halloran pushed forward and stepped into the dark doorway.

  After his eyes started to adjust—quickly, a side benefit of years aboard a submarine—he saw that the interior was all concrete and steel, clearly an unused and cavernous basement of some sort. It would do. “Let’s move inside, on the double!” he hollered out the doorway.

  As the green uniforms shuffled in, mostly single-file, he took the opportunity to clasp every shoulder he could, to give words of encouragement.

  “Good to see you made it, Perez.”

  “Excellent hustle, Yeoman Stiles.”

  “Get that neck looked at, Seaman Baker.”

  Petty Officer Wilson trotted by. “Keepin’ them in line for you, sir.”

  “Thanks Gerry.” Then, “Thanks for keeping it together, Carruthers.”

  “We’ll figure this out, Elias.”

  “Wyatt, good to see you with us.”

  “You ready to whip us up a hot lunch, Stan?” The mess tech’s white teeth flashed in the gathering gloom as he caught the joke. Halloran patted Stan on the arm.

  “Keep it up, Yeoman Butler.”

  And so it went until all were present and accounted for. Chief Reyes helped Axxa yank the heavy door closed—not that the big guy needed it. Halloran suspected that the Chief just wanted to assert his authority.

  The group milled around the dark, dank space where sight was extremely limited. Halloran pushed back through the now-faceless crowd and called out. “Deacon!”

  “Keep coming this way.”

  He found the young man standing deep in the room, more by touch and voice than by sight. “Are we staying here?”

  “For the moment, yes. I’m trying to make sense of what I was told about this complex. Frankly, it’s all guesswork and rumors.”

  “What is?”

  Deacon’s clothes rustled as he turned to him, the gloom making his
face impossible to see. “When I was only taking out one Prax, I could’ve hid him almost anywhere. Lots of tight holes to stuff ourselves in until the time came. But no, he wanted to save the whole bunch of you. So I had to remember all of the places I’d used or heard about where I could possibly stash fifty people. So here we are, but I’m not sure if we’re alone other than the rats.”

  “Is that what that smell is?”

  “Yep. It’s Rat City.” His tone was flat.

  After a moment’s thought, Halloran held his ribs and called out quietly. “People, we’re hunkering down here for the night, hopefully. Find a spot and try your best to get some shuteye; we don’t know how long we have until we need to get moving again. Anyone has an injury they aren’t sure about, see Chief Reyes ASAP before you nod off.” To the crew’s credit there were only a few scattered grumbles as boots grated on the concrete floor in the darkness.

  Skip Chandler’s voice was next to Halloran. “Wish we had at least one torch. It’s pretty black in here.”

  Halloran wrinkled his nose. “Probably best that we don’t see what’s down here with us. Let’s find our own spot, Skip.”

  A minute later the two officers were sitting against a rough concrete wall, booted feet pulled up tight and arms around their knees.

  Halloran whispered. “Who are these tall, red people? I can’t get a read on their national origin.” His voice was strained from exhaustion.

  Instead of answering, Chandler elbowed him. “Tom, why don’t you take first kip. I’ll keep an eye on things for a watch.”

  Halloran wanted to argue, but his drained body had its own argument in favor of Chandler’s plan. Within a minute, he lapsed into a deep but fit-filled sleep, haunted by shadows of his ship beached and crew bleeding on the ground in front of him.

  Chapter 21

  Mars - Human Fleet Command Base

  Admiral Kendall strode across the conference room without greeting anyone. If that wasn’t unusual enough to all in attendance, he brusquely tossed down his tablet on the table and looked around, obviously inviting a challenge. The hastily assembled officers and staffers collectively held their breath.