War Without Honor

by J. R. Geoghan

  Halloran shrugged. “Call it a hobby. When I was assigned to Bonhomme Richard I studied up on Jones and his story. He’s a legend.”

  “I see. And this battle?”

  “That’s just it, Djembe. Jones lost his ship, the Richard, in the engagement. It was too damaged and sank shortly after. But,” He wagged a finger at the pilot, “Jones had taken the Serapis. He claimed her as his prize and sailed her to Holland for repairs.”

  Djembe nodded. “This prize, it means he became the Captain of the enemy ship.”

  Halloran’s eyes were on the bulkhead overhead. “I have not yet begun to fight.”

  “What?”

  “Jones said that, when Serapis’ Captain Pearson demanded his surrender. Instead, Jones lashed the ships together to negate the British advantage in guns.”

  “Your Navy sounds very interesting, Tomalloran.

  “It still is. You think about what I said earlier, Djembe. No Fleet, just us. You and me.” And with that, he walked casually off down the corridor, leaving the pilot staring after him.

  Chapter 45

  Intersystem Transport 3033 - En Route to Luyten System

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I must first apologize for this incredible intrusion into your flight.”

  Halloran was standing at the front of the passenger lounge, flanked by the two gray-uniformed security men and Chief Reyes who clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the cabin as though he was its caretaker here for inspection. Halloran was in a crisp newly-replicated work uniform and cap, feeling more like his proper self in what seemed like a long time. It almost felt…normal.

  Immediately, several people launched to their feet. One of the guards, a younger man named Yaram, lifted his weapon marginally. Reyes noticed and whispered to him, “Take your finger off that trigger, son. You’re likely to blow a hole in our hull with that thing.”

  The guy glowered at Reyes.

  One of the male passengers called out, “What right do you have to take over this ship?” Another matched the first’s volume. “What unit are you with? We don’t recognize your authority!”

  Halloran raised his hands. “Please, please. Let me brief you on our situation. Take your seats…” He waited patiently until all had relaxed somewhat before continuing. “Thank you. My name is Captain…Halloran. The unit I and my crew represent is hard to explain at the moment, and not particularly relevant.” He raised a hand again to quell several outbursts. “Suffice it to know that we are the target of a Prax team of assassins who have pursued us from Earth.”

  The mention of the planet threw the assembled group into a silence bordering on rapt attention. Why hadn’t I led with that, Halloran wondered. “Yes, Earth.”

  Someone called out. “That’s unbelievable. No one gets on or off Earth.”

  “I understand your sentiment, but the fact remains that I and my crew are from an Earth vessel.” He hurried along. “Now, the other important fact you need to understand is that when we left Earth, we took along a Prax defector—who is currently aboard this vessel.”

  The collective gasp was impressive, but no one challenged him.

  “So, we were taken to Charon Station and subsequently the station was attacked by this pursuing Prax unit. Our people barely made it onto this ship in time. Now we expect the same pursuers may be coming for us as we land at the next destination.” He leaned over to Yaram. “Where was that again?”

  “Agra Colony, Luyten System.”

  “So the Agra…spaceport? Please understand that I have not taken control of this vessel—the Captain has the conn. But we have apprised him of the danger and are planning contingencies to deal with any possible situation that may arise before we dock and debark this ship.”

  A woman in a uniform that looked like the Fleet stood up, slowly. Even from where she was, her piercing dark eyes skewered Halloran and almost caused him to wince. “So we’re to understand that you’re continuing on with this flight to Coloran? Or are you actually planning to leave us alone once we reach Agra? What’s the real reason for this commandeering?”

  But Halloran had lost his train of thought, staring at the woman. She was, simply, captivating. Her light-brown hair was coming out of a regulation-style bun and her face radiated strength and control. Her eyes penetrated into his, distracting him.

  In his profession there were a number of women in officer roles, and of course many more were part of ship crews even though the majority remained male. He interacted with both sexes professionally and had for decades. But…there was something about this brunette with the insistent eyes. Halloran frowned minutely at his sudden consternation. Maybe—.”

  “Are you going to answer?” She demanded, her tone changing into a challenge. He saw a man’s hand snake up and lay itself on the women’s forearm. A warning?

  Reyes leaned over. “Um, sir? Methinks you just got derailed,” He whispered.

  Halloran heard the Chief’s chuckle and blinked, shaking his head to clear it. “Ah, yes. Your question was whether my crew would leave the flight at the…what was it called again?”

  Yaram sounded mildly exasperated. “Agra Colony.”

  Halloran chided himself. Let’s get through this. “Okay. It’s our intention to return to Mars as soon as possible, to rejoin the fight.” He looked around, avoiding the brunette’s eyes. “Any other questions?”

  A young man piped up. “Many questions. But it seems we are under your control for the moment.” He nodded at Yaram and the gun.

  “I understand your concern. I’d be confused and concerned in your place as well. But please know that my first responsibility is to everyone aboard this ship, and their safety. Thank you again.” He turned to Reyes and added softly. “Keep them together and out of each other’s hair.” As they started walking toward the door, he glanced at Yaram. “You weren’t going to shoot them earlier, right?”

  “After your Fleet speech, I was more likely to shoot myself.”

  Reyes slapped the young man’s back. “I like this one, Captain. But,” he squeezed the man’s shoulder with a viselike grip, “We don’t address a senior officer that way where we come from.” The Cuban’s eyes had gone flintlike.

  Yaram wilted under them and the message they conveyed. Reyes helped by turning him toward Halloran, who had paused. The grip tightened.

  “Ahh, sorry sir. Captain.” Yaram’s face reflected the pain as he apologized.

  Immediately Reyes released his captive and stepped back. “Told you, sir.”

  “You have a way of making friends, Chief.”

  Reyes stuck his substantial chin out. “Don’t need more friends, sir. Just willing—and civil—sets of hands.” But the smile was written on his face.

  Yaram scuttled off with his gun.

  Reyes stepped close. “Uh oh. Incoming at one-eight-zero degrees, sir.”

  Halloran spun to the indicated bearing to come face-to-face with the brunette. She smelled wonderful, he noticed immediately. He’d been around sweaty men for too long…

  “Excuse me, but tell me again what unit you were with?” Her voice was light but hard and carried unmistakable authority.

  “I’m sorry ma’am, but I didn’t reference any.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Halloran, for some odd reason, wanted this argument to continue. “You are correct.”

  She folded her arms. “I am a Fleet Captain. What ship were you? Sol Flotilla? Were you under Tarsa?”

  He smiled patiently. “Hmm, that’s a lot of questions. Let’s just say that my ship and crew are off of an Earth vessel.”

  “Not possible.” Her lips were tight. “We don’t have any operational units on-planet. We can’t even get much closer than Luna…”

  “I understand that this is difficult to process, ma’am.”

  “You can call me Captain. Captain Kendra of the Carillion.” Her eyes were challenging.

  Halloran nodded. Kendra was at least six inches shorter than him and at this close range he ha
d to depress his chin to talk to her. He backed up out of reflex, but she followed him to maintain the proximity. She knows how to put a man off-balance. “Captain Kendra, it’s my privilege to make your acquaintance. You of all people should understand the importance of keeping order in a confusing situation.”

  “What I see is an thinly-disguised act of piracy. Perhaps you are Haulers trying to take this ship as a prize?”

  Halloran looked for help but Reyes had strategically retreated. “Um, so pirates you think? What’s a ‘hauler’ and are they pirates of some sort?”

  The woman made a frustrated gesture. “So you don’t know who Haulers are? Maybe you were hibernating on Earth.”

  You have no idea, lady. “I can assure you that we are not pirates, ma’am. Captain. Our Navy may be obsolete, but our honor is not.”

  “We’ll see about that. Halloran, was it?”

  “Yes—.” But the woman had turned on her heel and marched back up the aisle of seats.

  Halloran turned away, eyebrows up and blowing out an exhalation. “Wow.”

  Reyes met him at the entrance. “She was something. Sir.”

  Halloran nodded in agreement. “Something else.”

  Kendra sat heavily next to Travers. “That man is lying.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Very little of substance. Just that we needed to keep calm. He wouldn’t identify his ship when I pressed him, and he continued to claim that his origin was Earth.”

  “Well, that alone makes it a fabrication. Wonder what they want with this ship?”

  Kendra shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps a valuable cargo in the hold? He acted as though he’s never heard of Haulers when I threw that name at him. What a liar.”

  “You think they’re Haulers?” Travers was alarmed.

  “How do I know, Travers? One thing’s for sure—they certainly aren’t Fleet.”

  Travers looked out the portal. “Can we get a message to Mars or Charon somehow? Warn them?”

  “Not while in jumpspace. You know how it works…the jump must complete as programmed. But the moment we hit realspace again…”

  Travers was thinking. “What if we got into the mechanical spaces and reprogrammed the transponder to broadcast a distress beacon? That’d be trackable in every direction.” He thought a bit more. “I could even code in a sentence of text…describe the attackers.”

  Kendra nodded. “Let’s make that our working plan. Somehow I think we’re going to miss the second leg of this flight as planned.”

  The Captain was named Elian. His bridge was orderly but understaffed. Antonov felt sorry for the man. Now, all he had eyes for was the Prax who dominated the control space with his bulk. The red skin was accentuated by the reddish tinted lighting that Elian seemed to favor.

  “Captain, please.” Antonov was reasoning with him. “Understand that we are merely looking to leave the ship as soon as it docks at the Spaceport. We will find our own passage back to Mars.”

  “No,” the man replied with yet another shake of the head. “We must head directly to the dock at the proscribed arrival time.” He glanced nervously at the Prax.

  “And we will dock. But it’s only prudent to come back from this—jump—and immediately change course to throw off any vessels pursuing us closely. You did see the explosions on the station before we left, correct?”

  “Yes, yes, explosions. But this is not my concern.” The Captain turned away, to his console. “I am liable to my company for exact schedule. This vessel will dock at the moment it is scheduled to.”

  Antonov raised his hands in exasperation to Axxa. “Any ideas?”

  “We can eliminate him from command. I am certain I can learn this ship’s technology…”

  “No, no. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “You guys are certainly a literal race.” Antonov sighed. “Let’s report back to Halloran.”

  They ran into the man in the corridor. Halloran folded his arms and leaned against the bulkhead. “Any news?”

  “Only that the ship’s commander won’t alter the schedule one bit. He intends to dock at the exact moment his timetable calls for.”

  “We could assume control, Tomalloran,” offered Axxa.

  “Tom.”

  “Tum.”

  “Call me Tom, Axxa.”

  “Tum.”

  “Okay, then ‘Halloran’.”

  “Halloran” A microscopic smile registered on the alien’s face.

  Halloran shrugged. “Not bad.”

  It’s like teaching a westerner to speak Russian,” laughed Antonov.

  Halloran tapped his translator. “These gadgets can’t fix the inability to sound grammar.”

  Antonov nodded. “Took me forever to learn to pronounce ‘thhhh’…” He attempted to sound the English TH with his lips.

  “I’ve got news for you. You need more work.”

  Antonov frowned, and Halloran saw a flash of previously-uncharacteristic anger behind the man’s eyes. “So, about this Captain?”

  Halloran filed away what he had just seen. “I’m not taking over this ship. So we play it by ear. If we manage to dock unmolested, we get off with all our gear and make our way to the boss there. Bargain for a return passage to Mars. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’ll be a friendly warship there that can take us right away.” He indicated Axxa. “After all, we have a pretty good bargaining chip.”

  “We should take the guard’s two rifles. That plus several sidearms and our Prax plasma gun…not a bad arsenal.”

  Axxa shook his head. “They will remove our weapons.”

  “Maybe. We’ll stash them.”

  “‘Stash?’” The Prax frowned.

  “More English idiosyncrasies.”

  “These words do not translate.”

  “Americans always use big words, Axxa.” Antonov was in a combative mood all of a sudden.

  Halloran held up his hands. “Hey, I was second in my class at the Academy.” Right behind John Buston. He felt his good humor fade away as the face of his best friend leapt to mind. Gone. Murdered.

  Antonov lapsed into silence.

  “You are sad,” offered Axxa.

  Halloran began to say something, but a memory seared his mind…

  The confusion. Heat. They are gathered at knifepoint—a throne. The red alien, calling loudly…arrogant. John, being forced forward. Wounded. The blade slicing, killing him. Halloran watching…the face. That face. That face...

  “Tom, what is it?” Antonov’s voice, cutting into his vision.

  Axxa. The Prax. The face.

  Halloran stiffened. “No…no.”

  Antonov placing his hand on Halloran’s shoulder. Shrugging it off.

  Slowly looking up into Axxa’s green eyes guarded but aware. He knows I know. “You.” Softly. Voice like steel. “You.” A crack in his voice. Moistness forming at the corner. Frustration. Anger.

  “Yes.” Axxa’s one word conveyed sadness and his own brand of frustration.

  Without another word, Halloran turned as an unhappy, angry man and walked away, leaving a stunned silence in the corridor behind him.

  Chapter 46

  Luyten System

  Reyes stood behind the Captain of 3033, arms crossed and watching vigilantly. Halloran stood behind him, head down and quiet. Too quiet, thought Reyes.

  Something had changed in the Old Man since several days ago, when they’d announced to the passengers about the situation. He rarely left the stateroom assigned to him, and had asked that meals be taken to him most times. While the crew was boisterous and as ready as they could be for whatever came next, the Skipper was messed up. And that worried Abran Reyes. His job was to hold everyone together—enlisted and officers—and it’d been a rough week for that. Probably the roughest in his thirty-year Navy career.

  Reyes grew up around the Little Havana community in Miami. As a teenager his got into trouble and narrowly avoided the law, in the proce
ss alienating his parents. Only Rosa, his newly-married sister, and her husband Jon stayed at his side. In January 1998 he walked into the Navy recruiting office in Miami and never looked back.

  In the subs, Reyes had proved his mettle as a leader of men. The Navy lifestyle agreed perfectly with him. The degree earned along the way. His sister’s family were there the day that Abran had earned his Master Chief rank.

  And subs were in his blood. As the lead noncommissioned officer on two Ohio-class boats before the USS Bonhomme Richard, Reyes had earned the loyalty of the crew as well as the respect of the officer corps. A hard-nosed but reasonable man who enjoyed a cigar whenever possible, Reyes was the one man on a multi-million dollar warship who knew the intimate secrets of everyone from the newest Seaman without his dolphins to the Captain himself.

  Now, the world was upside down. Reyes could feel the tension and anger emanating from his Skipper like never before. Sure, the man had been through more than anyone could expect—Reyes himself had come very close to cracking himself under the strain—but Halloran was a special breed, set apart for command. When he’d requested Reyes as his Chief of the Boat for the newest sub in the US fleet, Reyes had gladly offered his unswerving loyalty to the tall, reserved leader with the secret grin he saved for his XO and COB only. Reyes had worried a bit after the man’s wife and newborn were killed in the car crash, but Halloran had seemed to be back in the saddle. Then all of this…insanity. Abran wasn’t sure about the long-term implications of jumping forward in time, and of course he’d seen a movie or two along the way, but that stuff was the officers’ concern. As long as he had a crew to worry over, he’d stay focused.

  Reyes idly watched the ship Captain and his solitary mate working the controls as they prepared to come out of “jumpspace.” The new world they found themselves in, it was as foreign as could possibly be imagined. Yet…Abran felt strangely at home. After all, ships were ships, whether they traversed thousands of kilometers of water—or space. And a crew…that would always be the same. Whenever humans were involved, it was always the same. And Reyes knew people. It was his trade.