Search for Honor (The Tarvaax War Book 2)

by Tripp Ellis

  "The medal ceremony is going to be broadcast into every home across the Federation. By this afternoon, there won't be a citizen of the colony that doesn't know your name."

  "I thought we were just getting a commendation, sir?" Zack said.

  "No one's told you?"

  The two Marines shook their heads.

  "You two are getting the Medal of Honor. The Federation's highest award for valor. Going above and beyond the call of duty at great personal risk. Demonstrating conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in the face of grave danger."

  “We were just doing our job, sir. Nothing more than any other Marine would do."

  "Nonsense. You two are heroes. And the galaxy needs to know about it. You two are going to be the face of the UPDF. I'm talking posters, commercials, interactive game characters. You will inspire the next generation to serve the Federation. Now, more than ever, we need fresh recruits with a willingness to fight, and die if necessary, to save this great Federation"

  Zack and Diesel were silent a moment as it all sank in.

  "Sorry, I get a little excited about this kind of thing. It's the CEO in me coming out again. You two are a product, and I want to sell you to the citizens of the Federation. Your faces will be on lunch-boxes, and kids will be playing with your action figures. Of course, all proceeds will go to fund the military. I want our fighting men and women in the best plasma-resistant armor, with the best weaponry."

  The whole commercialization of their image seemed a little odd, but better gear for the troops was a sentiment that Zack and Diesel could get on board with.

  "It's a great story. I mean, you're fresh out of boot camp, and you save the planet. An entire alien fleet decimated by a small unit of scrappy Marines. That is marketing gold. It has mini-series written all over it. I'm already in negotiations with one of the major studios." President Parnell had an almost mischievous grin. You could tell he missed the private sector, but he was applying his skills to the Executive Branch. He had given the office a flare and style not seen before. He was young and vibrant, and for the first time in almost half a century, the government was operating at a surplus. He had turned the presidency into a profitable Fortune 500 company. "How does all that sound?"

  "Overwhelming,” Zack said, half joking.

  "I have no doubt that you two can handle anything that comes your way."

  "Thank you, sir." They said in unison.

  "Of course, there are a plethora of other perks that come along with being a Medal of Honor recipient," the president said. "You get a lifetime pay increase. Full medical for you and your family. Pre-approved loans at discounted rates. Commander Garrick can fill you in on all the details. Not to mention, you won't be in a combat position anymore. You will be serving the Federation in a PR position. Interfacing with the citizens. Being war heroes."

  Their faces went blank. It wasn't what they wanted to hear.

  "But, sir,” Zack said, “combat is what we trained for. Being in the field is where we can do the most good for the Federation.”

  "You can do the most good for the Federation by being a positive role model."

  Zack's face tensed, but he bit his tongue. A lance corporal didn't argue with the president of the Federation.

  "I can assure you, you'll enjoy your new role. You'll always sleep in a comfortable bed, and you'll never have to eat another MRE again."

  Zack and Diesel exchanged another wary glance.

  "Sir, what about the prisoners of war?" Zack asked.

  Parnell took a solemn pause "I know you're from Crylos 9. I want to assure you that I am doing everything in my power to locate, and arrange for the swift return of, those hostages. I've got the best people in the UIA looking into it. I will not rest until those innocent civilians are returned." He sounded sincere enough.

  "I'd like to be involved in the rescue effort,” Zack said.

  "I promise you, I will keep you in the loop. But you two are going to be too busy with your new duties to focus on much else.”

  Zack was getting frustrated. He didn't want to travel around the galaxy as a recruitment tool for the Space Corps. He wanted to find the POWs and bring them home.

  "But don't worry," the president said. "I've arranged for you both to have several weeks of R&R to recharge your batteries before you start out on your new missions."

  Zack held his tongue.

  "Well, if you're ready, the press corps is waiting. We need to get you into hair and make up first. Those cameras pick up everything, and that lighting can be brutal."

  Zack's brow crinkled up. It all sounded so bizarre.

  8

  Zack

  Zack felt weird about receiving the Medal of Honor. He kept thinking about the rest of his platoon. They deserved the award more than he did, he thought. They paid the ultimate price, and had earned some type of posthumous recognition.

  After the award ceremony, it was a media frenzy. Cameras and microphones were shoved in front of their faces. The studio lights were blinding. Reporters were hurling questions at Zack and Diesel.

  Cyrus Cole weaved his way through the crowd. Zack snapped to attention and saluted the Gunnery Sergeant.

  “At ease, son.” Cole had a huge grin on his face. He gave Zack an enthusiastic handshake, then slung his arm around Zack's shoulder, like a proud parent. The two posed for the cameras. “I discovered this boy. He is my recruit. Six months ago, he was a sad pile of clay. Now he's forged of steel."

  It seemed like Cole was making a last grasp for the spotlight before he was pushed out as the face of the Space Corps.

  “Damn fine work, son. Damn fine. I knew you were going to make an outstanding Marine. You've made me proud."

  “Thank you, Gunny,” Zack said.

  The media onslaught lasted about 15 minutes, then security personnel ushered Zack and Diesel away. Cole stayed behind to get his last bit of camera time. Zack was relieved to escape. The swarm of reporters crowding around him had felt claustrophobic.

  "Is it just me, or do you feel drained?" Zack asked.

  Diesel nodded.

  Commander Garrick laughed. "Those vampires can suck the life out of you, that's for sure. Don't worry, you'll learn to handle it. The publicity tour we set up for you won't be near as chaotic. Mostly one-on-one interviews with various news networks. You’ll be making public appearances, and of course recruiting."

  “I thought Cyrus Cole was the face of the Space Corps.”

  “He is,” Garrick said tentatively. " The president feels like you two will appeal to a different demographic. In a way, you two are more relatable. You are just average, everyday citizens who served their Federation and saved a free planet."

  Diesel and Zack exchanged a skeptical glance.

  “I don't know if ordinary, and average, are terms that I would use," Diesel said with a cocksure grin.

  Garrick chuckled. “Okay above average. How's that?"

  “I can deal with above average.”

  Garrick escorted them back to their compartments. "The president wants you to take a few weeks of R&R before you start your publicity tour. He wants you fresh and energized.”

  Zack hesitated a moment. "Sir, I'd really rather be back in a forward position."

  Garrick's congenial manner vanished. “It doesn't really matter what you want, Lance Corporal. You will serve in the position that best suits the needs of the Federation. Right now the president feels your special skills are best utilized in a publicity capacity. Most Marines would kill to be in your shoes."

  “Yes, Commander,” Zack muttered.

  Garrick seemed perturbed at Zack's less than enthusiastic response. "Perhaps you don't understand the delicate political situation the president is in? The Federation currently has the lowest number of active-duty troops of any time during the last century. Thanks to the previous administration's cutbacks, defense spending is at an all-time low. The operational readiness of UPDF forces are abysmal. In case you hadn't noticed, we face an existential threat that co
uld destroy all human life in the galaxy. The president is working diligently to push through his new budget proposals for defense spending, and re-instituting the draft would be a highly unpopular measure. Are you beginning to follow me?"

  Zack nodded.

  "Good. If the president wants to get re-elected, he's going to need to keep an all volunteer defense force. It's your job to help get the numbers up. And I would dare say that's equally as important as saving Crylos 9. Perhaps more so. The entire Federation is at stake. Have I made myself clear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  “Good. Now, you two just need to pick where you want to go on R&R and I'll make all the arrangements." He was a little agitated with Zack, but Garrick forced a smile.

  “Thank you sir,” Zack said.

  Garrett marched away, grumbling to himself—something to the effect of, “Ungrateful little bastards."

  Diesel shrugged. "Don't look so dejected. Things could be a lot worse.”

  “I know."

  “At least nobody is shooting at us right now.”

  “Give it time.”

  Diesel chuckled. "So, where are you planning on taking your R&R?”

  “I don't know. You?"

  “I have a few ideas." Diesel let it hang there for a moment.

  “Well, are you going to share your ideas? Or is it a secret?”

  “I might tell you… If you’re lucky." She smiled. "But I don't really want to go on R&R alone. Kind of defeats the purpose.”

  “Is that an invitation?"

  Diesel became suddenly shy. "I mean, unless you’d rather go off somewhere by yourself." Then she quickly added, “Totally as friends. I know you’ve got a girlfriend. I'm not trying to step on anyone's toes."

  Zack pondered this for a moment. If he didn’t know better, he'd think Diesel was flirting with him.

  Diesel could see the hesitation on his face. "You don't have to answer me right away. Think about it.”

  “This is going to sound a little crazy, but I don't think I can go relax on a beach somewhere while thousands of innocent civilians are being held captive somewhere in the galaxy.” Zack sighed. "Nobody seems to be doing anything about it."

  “You want to spend your vacation time going on a search and rescue mission?"

  Zack nodded hesitantly. “The president said we could go wherever we wanted to go.”

  “I don’t think that’s exactly what he had in mind.”

  “Well, you go where you like. I know how I’m spending my R&R.”

  9

  Mercs

  "Is that him?" Fester asked. He had dark hair, and dark, shifty eyes. He was a short, thick, musclebound guy with a thin, high-pitched voice. He had been given a lot of shit over the years for the tone and timbre of his voice, but more often than not, anyone who harassed him about it regretted it.

  Rex held up his mobile device and inconspicuously captured the image of a man who was leaning against the bar, ordering a drink. The man's nervous eyes glanced around. He was a thin, dark haired guy with a few days of stubble. He wore a leather jacket and his hair looked a little greasy.

  The bar was like any other found on a private space station. Mostly unremarkable, with overpriced drinks. There was a moderate crowd, and a constant ebb and flow. Classic rock from the 2560s filtered out from the juke-bot. The robot milled about the bar, taking requests in exchange for credits.

  The station was an intergalactic truck stop. It had a mix of pilots, flight crews, and deck hands from all across the galaxy. There were a couple regulars at the bar—station workers spending their hard-earned paycheck. And like any intergalactic way-station, there were ladies looking to separate the men from their hard-earned credits.

  Rex was a big guy, maybe 6’2”, 250 pounds. Nothing but muscle. He was sleeved in tattoos and wore dark sunglasses, despite being inside a dim bar. He had short blonde hair, cut high and tight. He was with Fester and two other gentlemen, Cyclops and Ash. Former military types. They carried themselves with confidence and swagger.

  Within a few seconds, the facial recognition software on Rex's mobile matched the man's image against a grainy surveillance photo. The display on Rex's mobile read positive match. "That's him all right."

  An instant later, the software ID’d the man as Vic Vargas.

  "That has got to be the dumbest mother fucker in the galaxy," Fester said. "Who in their right mind steals from Tommy Meatballs?”

  "Apparently that guy," Cyclops said.

  Cyclops had one eye that was gray and milky. It was easy to see where he had gotten his nickname. He was almost completely blind in that eye, and had only a vague perception of light and dark with it. His good eye, on the other hand, was another story altogether. He was a big hulking behemoth of a man. He was nearly 7 feet tall, and looked like he had been injecting steroids since birth. He made Rex look tiny, and Rex was anything but tiny. His smooth bald head reflected the lights of the bar. He had a low, deep voice that you could feel resonating in your own chest when he spoke.

  “Why do they call him Tommy Meatballs anyway?" Ash asked.

  Cyclops gave him a look. "Don't ask."

  "What do you think he stole from Meatballs?” Fester asked.

  "I don't care," Rex said. "And it's none of our business. Let's just make sure we get it back to Tommy Meatballs like we're paid to do."

  “I got a bad feeling about this,” Cyclops said. "We never should have gotten involved with Tommy Meatballs."

  "Too late now," Rex said. He kept his eyes on Vargas.

  It wasn't long before Vic met another shady character at the bar. He had long gray hair that was pulled back in a ponytail.

  Rex took a picture of him on his mobile device and tried to get a facial recognition match. The man with the ponytail was not in the system. That was highly unusual. Next to impossible. Either he had surgically altered his appearance, was wearing some kind of cloaking technology, or he had managed to escape any type of interaction with the Federation government for his entire adult life, which was unlikely.

  After some small talk, the two men left together.

  Rex nodded to the rest of his team, and they followed the men out of the bar. They tried to keep their distance as they weaved their way through the corridors of the space station.

  Vargas and the man navigated their way to docking Bay 63. There were hundreds of bays aboard the space station that served as glorified parking spaces for intergalactic vehicles. Smaller ships could land directly in the contained bays. Larger freighters docked at piers that extended from the hub of the space station.

  The ship perched on the deck of Bay 63 was a Spitfire P-630. It was an ancient relic compared to modern ships. A pre-war workhorse that looked like it could barely fly. It was pocked and scarred from decades of combat. There were rust stains and carbon scoring on the hull. You could pick them up pretty cheap on the secondhand market. One day they would be considered a classic, but today they were just junk.

  Vargas sealed the hatch to the docking bay to keep out prying eyes. Rex was relatively sure that Vargas hadn’t picked up on the fact that he was being followed. But the kind of transaction Vargas was about to make was best done in private.

  Rex and his team surrounded the hatch. He peered through the viewport and could see Vargas unloading a container from the Spitfire. It was on a hover pallet, and Vargas eased it down the back loading ramp of the transport ship. It glided above the deck for a moment, then Vargas lowered it down. He punched in a key-code atop the container and opened the lid.

  The ponytail reached in the container and pulled out a small package that was wrapped tight like a brick. It was unmistakable.

  Rex cringed.

  “Is that what I think it is?" Cyclops asked.

  "More than likely," Rex said.

  “Man, I don't get involved in that stuff."

  "We got hired by a mob boss to retrieve some merchandise. Was anybody under any illusions of what we were recovering?" Rex said.

  The rest of th
e team was silent.

  Rex and his team had a standard policy of not asking questions. A client would hire them, they’d perform the work, then get paid. That was the extent of it.

  "Ash, override the locking mechanism," Rex commanded as he pulled a plasma pistol from his shoulder holster.

  The rest of the team readied their weapons as well.

  Ash placed a smart membrane over the biometric entry pad. It scanned Vic’s fingerprint that was left on the pad, then created a 3D likeness. When Ash pressed his own finger over the membrane, the hatch opened.

  They burst into the docking bay, moving with tactical precision.

  Vic and the guy with the ponytail both grabbed for their weapons.

  10

  Mercs

  "Don't even think about it," Rex shouted.

  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure they were outnumbered. With the barrels of four plasma pistols aimed at them, Vargas and his cohort decided against using their weapons. They let go of their pistols and raised their hands in the air.

  "You guys are making a big mistake. Do you know who you're stealing from?" Vargas asked. He was trying to talk tough.

  "I know who you stole this from," Rex said. "And Tommy Meatballs isn't very happy with you."

  The gray-haired guy with the ponytail freaked out. “Whoa, wait a minute? This belongs to Tommy Meatballs?"

  “That’s right,” Rex said.

  “I didn't know that. I don't want nothing to do with that. I thought I was making a legit transaction." He glared at Vargas.

  "Both of you, get down on the floor and put your hands behind your head.”

  Vargas hesitated.

  “Do it! Now!" Rex yelled. The barrel of his plasma pistol made a convincing argument.

  They both complied.

  Fester sealed the cargo container and activated the hover pallet. Rex motioned for him to push the container back up the ramp of the Spitfire.