Search for Honor (The Tarvaax War Book 2)

by Tripp Ellis

“You don't mind if we take your vehicle, do you?" Rex asked.

  “I swear to God, I'm gonna find you bastards. You’re gonna regret this."

  Rex chuckled. "If I were you, I'd worry about finding a place in the galaxy where Mr. Meatballs can't find you. Good luck with that."

  Vargas grimaced.

  “Please tell Mr. Meatballs that I had no involvement and no knowledge of this," the ponytail yelled.

  “What do I look like? Your personal messenger?" Rex snapped. "Now I suggest you both get out of here before I change my mind and decide to bring your heads back to Tommy Meatballs as well."

  The two scampered from the floor and scurried out of the bay. Rex sealed the hatch behind them, and marched up the loading ramp of the Spitfire.

  Ash slid into the pilot seat and powered up the vehicle. The instrument clusters lit up and flickered. He ran a preflight check, and all systems came back green. The fuel-cell had a full power charge, and despite the external appearance, everything seemed to be functioning. Ash depressurized the bay, then opened the outer doors. A million stars flickered in the distance. Ash throttled up the Spitfire and lifted off the deck, then rocketed out of the landing bay.

  The Spitfire was surprisingly fast and nimble. The controls felt perfectly balanced in Ash’s hands. He had flown several Spitfires before, but he didn't remember them handling this well. Vargas must have made several aftermarket modifications. Ash had spent time as a maintenance technician, and was pretty familiar with the Spitfires. They were cheap and took modifications well. There was a sizable community who liked to hotrod them. Every now and then, you'd run into a Spitfire that could outmaneuver a Scarab or an Osprey.

  Ash programmed in jump coordinates, and moments later Spitfire vanished into the inky blackness of space. They were heading back to Vega Lotrix. Mission accomplished. Almost. Hauling a container full of illicit drugs was making everyone on board a little uneasy.

  The space around Vega Lotrix was hardly ever patrolled by Federation agents. But today was an exception. As Rex and his crew emerged from slide-space, they saw dozens of Federation Customs Enforcement ships doing random checks of incoming transports.

  Rex grimaced at the sight. “Everybody just relax.”

  “I say we jump out of here," Fester said. "Try re-entry tomorrow.”

  “It's too late,” Rex said. “They're using some type of quantum disruption field. We can't jump away. Plus, if we run, it will make it obvious we've got something to hide."

  A voice crackled over the comm line. “Spitfire P-630, this is Customs Enforcement. Prepare for boarding an inspection. Be advised that non-compliance could result in fines and/or incarceration.”

  “Copy that," Ash said.

  Rex sprang from his seat and marched down to the cargo bay. Fester and Cyclops followed him.

  Rex stared at the container for a moment.

  “This much Hervoxin is gonna put us all away for a lifetime," Cyclops said.

  “What the hell are we going to do with this stuff?" Fester asked. His eyes were wide, and he fidgeted nervously. He was a high strung kind of guy.

  Rex surveyed the cargo hold and caught sight of several EVA suits hanging on the bulkhead. "I've got an idea."

  11

  Zack

  "You want to do what?" Gunnery Sergeant Cole asked. His face was twisted up like the idea was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard—and it was.

  Cole sat in a booth with Zack and Diesel. Anchors Away was an enlisted bar on the 2nd Deck of the Intrepid. Panoramic windows offered a stunning view of the cosmos, and the booth they were sitting in was prime real estate.

  Gunnery Sergeant Cole was the kind of guy who always got the best seat in the house. Everyone in the Federation knew who he was—just like Zack and Diesel were about to become household names.

  "I want to rescue the hostages. Or at least try," Zack said.

  "Never happen." Cole said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  "Why not?"

  “You'll never get approval. "

  “I’m not talking about getting approval,” Zack said.

  "Let me get this straight. You two are going to trek across the galaxy, face off against a vastly superior force, and liberate the civilian prisoners?"

  “I keep telling him, he’s crazy,” Diesel said.

  Zack had to admit, when Sergeant Cole put it in those terms, it did sound rather impossible.

  "You don't have the resources,” Cole said.

  "You said yourself, the Federation is not actively planning a rescue mission,” Zack protested.

  "They're not,” Cole said. “One, we don't pay ransoms, or negotiate with hostile forces. Two, it would take a full-scale invasion force. And when that happens, the objective is going to be the complete and utter annihilation of the Tarvaax. The liberation of the hostages will be incidental."

  "That sounds pretty crappy,” Zack said.

  "It's all about picking your battles,” said Cole. “And while I can sympathize, I think you're picking the wrong one right now."

  Zack frowned.

  "Zeplovia is still occupied. Right now there is great debate on how to handle that situation among the inner circle.” Cole looked around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in and whispered, "I have it on good authority that we’ll be moving on Zeplovia soon." Then he added, "Of course, that's top-secret. I shouldn't be telling you, so keep your mouth shut."

  The waitress stopped by the booth, and Cole ordered another round of drinks. She smiled at him, and his eyes lingered on her as she strutted away.

  "There's got to be something we can do," Zack said.

  Cole's eyes flicked back to Zack. "If… and that's a big if… you could find out where they were located, the best you could hope for would be to sneak into whatever compound they're being held at and possibly liberate a small handful.“

  "A handful is better than nothing."

  Cole exhaled. "I know you had family and friends on Utonia. I'm just going to be real blunt. Do you have any evidence that they are still alive?"

  Zack nodded. "I saw Honor boarding one of the transports."

  "And you're sure it was her?"

  "Positive."

  Cole was silent a moment. "Well, I guess sometimes a good woman is worth risking everything."

  There was a glint of hope in Zack's eyes. "So, you'll help us?"

  "I didn't say that." Cole shook his head in dismay. "You two save one planet, and you think you're invincible."

  Diesel and Zack exchanged a glance and shrugged confidently.

  Cole took pity on the young Marines. “Well, hell. They're putting me out to pasture anyway. What do you need from me? I'm not going to get involved, but maybe I can help facilitate things."

  The two grinned from ear-to-ear.

  "Transportation and a team of special operators?” Zack said, hopeful.

  Cole lifted an eyebrow. "Why don't you ask for a star destroyer while you're at it?"

  "Sure, if you think you can round one of those up." Zack was only half joking.

  Cole sneered at him. "Let's keep it realistic." He paused a moment. "You realize, if this goes wrong, we're all going to be doing hard time in a super-max prison somewhere."

  "Then let's keep it from going wrong," Zack said

  “You're going to have to hire contractors to get the job done,” Cole said.

  "Mercenaries?" Diesel said with disdain.

  "Have you got a better idea?"

  Diesel didn't say anything.

  "You'll need to find a pilot and a ship as well. You got any money to pay for this, kid?"

  “I've got my enlistment bonus.”

  “That’s a start.”

  The cute waitress returned with their drinks. She served them up with a smile.

  “What do I owe you, darling?" Cole asked

  “Now, Gunny… You know your drinks are on the house.”

  Cole dug into his pocket and handed her a handful of credits.

  She smil
ed. "Never necessary, but always appreciated."

  Cole’s steel blue eyes sparkled at her.

  “You know, I'm about to clock out,” she said with an inviting tone. Her words were soft and velvety.

  “What a coincidence. My friends were just leaving, and I hate to drink alone.”

  "I'll see you in a few.” She spun around and sashayed away.

  Cole watched for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Zack and Diesel. "Well, looks like tonight is my lucky night."

  “I get the impression that every night is your lucky night," Diesel said.

  Cole flashed a guilty smile. “I’ll make some calls, see what I can drum up. I'll talk to some of my buddies at UIA and fish around for intel. We’ll reconvene on this matter tomorrow."

  “Thank you, Gunny,” Zack said.

  He and Diesel took their cue to leave and slid out of the booth.

  12

  Mercs

  The customs ship attached to the Spitfire via a magnetic umbilical. A squad of agents moved through the crosswalk and entered into the Spitfire’s airlock. They were accompanied by an automated detection bot that hovered in the air. It was a black and gray orb, with two ocular lenses and a speaker grill that gave it features resembling a human face. It was jam packed with sensors that could detect even the smallest quantity of airborne particles. If there were any illicit substances on board, this thing would smell it. The customs agents had affectionately named it Sniffles. It had a plethora of uses in other disciplines with the ability to detect chemicals, gases, and volatile organic compounds.

  The customs agents carried M7 assault rifles. They were decked out in full tactical gear, similar to what was used by the military, although the customs agents’ gear was black.

  Once they were inside the airlock, Rex opened the inner airlock hatch, then stepped back as the agents filtered in. One of them spouted off the standard procedural disclaimer used when boarding all ships without a warrant. "Under Title VII, Section 384 of the Intergalactic Convention on Space Travel, and the Federation Security Act, we do hereby assert our privilege to board and inspect your vessel. Non-compliance or interference with Federation Agents is a criminal offense and may result in fines or incarceration, up to and including life imprisonment.”

  Rex smiled. "Come on in. My ship is your ship. Make yourself at home."

  The customs agents had stern, expressionless faces. They didn't seem amused by Rex in the least.

  “Where are you coming from?" The squad leader asked.

  Rex lied. “Epsilon Majoris 9.”

  "And where is your destination?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?"

  “Answer the question, please."

  “Vega Lotrix.”

  “Are you traveling on business or pleasure?"

  “We're just trying to get home, sir." Rex said, dryly.

  “I need to perform an identification check on your entire crew. Is there anything you would like to tell me first? Save me the time and trouble?”

  Rex played innocent. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

  “Do any of you have any outstanding warrants? Is there any illegal contraband aboard the ship?”

  Rex smiled again. "Nope. No outstanding warrants. No illegal contraband. Feel free to search until your heart’s content."

  The agent pulled out his PDU and scanned Rex's face. A moment later, his full dossier appeared on the screen. It listed his real name, military background, and just about every other personally identifying detail you could imagine. The agent scanned the rest of the crew as well. All former military. No outstanding warrants.

  “This vehicle is registered to a Milton Jeffries,” the squad leader said. “Is he on board?"

  “No,” Rex said, forcing a smile. Either Vic Vargas had stolen the vehicle, or was registered under a fake name. “Milton is a buddy. He's letting us borrow the vehicle. Nothing illegal about that, is there?"

  The squad leader's eyes fixed on his PDU as he ran the registration.

  Rex's body tensed in anticipation of the worst.

  The squad leader seemed displeased with the results of his query. “The vehicle hasn’t been reported stolen. Yet.”

  Rex smiled and exhaled with relief.

  "What type of work is it that you do?" the agent asked. He knew damn good and well they were mercenaries. They fit the profile.

  “A little of this, little of that,” Rex said.

  “I am detecting trace quantities of Diacetylmorvox consistent with commercial grade Hervoxin.”

  “This and that, huh?” the squad leader said, sneering at Rex.

  The customs agents proceeded to sweep through the Spitfire, going over it with a fine tooth comb. They searched the cockpit, the staterooms, the galley, engineering, and the cargo bay. They found hidden compartments in the bulkheads that Rex and the crew didn't know about.

  The customs agents didn't find anything, though there was no doubt the container sitting in the cargo bay once held an illicit substance. Now it was empty.

  The squad leader was furious. "There's enough trace residue in this container that I can put you all away for a lifetime."

  "Maybe you should go back and re-read the statute," Rex said.

  “I am well aware of the statute."

  Sniffles interjected. "According to Section 43.11a, a person is guilty of an offense if he or she is in possession of a usable quantity of a prohibited substance. According to my analysis, the residue within this container does not equate to a usable quantity for an average human being."

  The squad leader scowled at the robot.

  Rex beamed another wide smile. "Well now, seeing as we’ve complied with your search, which has not resulted in any offense, you no longer have the authority to board my ship. I believe your robot here can verify the actual statute on that."

  "Section 90.4c—“

  “When I want your input, Sniffles, I will ask for it!” The squad leader glared at Rex and the rest of his crew. Then he barked at his team, "Let's move out."

  The agents fell back to the airlock, and Rex sealed the hatch behind them. He waved through the viewport as he opened the outer airlock hatch. The agents disappeared down the umbilical, back to their own ship. Then the umbilical retracted, and their vehicle maneuvered away to harass someone else.

  Rex and his crew breathed a sigh of relief. Once he was sure the customs agents were out of visual range he suited up in one of the EVA suits, then stepped into the airlock. He sealed the inner airlock hatch, depressurized the chamber, then opened the exterior hatch. He tethered his EVA suit to a safety line, then climbed down onto the exterior bulkhead. He activated his magnetic boots and marched across the hull to the underbelly of the ship. He had tethered an EVA suit full of the Hervoxin to an engine cowling at the bottom of the ship. The curvaceous nature of the vehicle had obscured it from view.

  Rex retrieved the suit and made his way back to the airlock. It was a lucky break that the customs agents hadn’t searched the exterior of the ship.

  Once the airlock was secure, Rex activated his comm link, "Ash, get us out of here."

  Ash angled the vehicle towards Vega Lotrix. With any luck, they'd be on the planet surface and could return the merchandise to Tommy Meatballs, get paid, and be done with it, then sell the Spitfire for a little extra cash. Rex knew plenty of people that could chop up a spaceship and get it retitled.

  13

  Cole

  The knocking on the hatch sounded like someone was hammering it with a mallet. Sergeant Cole peeled his eyes open and wiped the sleep from the corners. His temples pulsed. His mouth was as dry as the Pluutova desert. What the hell time is it anyway, he thought? It felt like he had just gotten to sleep. He glanced at the clock—it was 0700 hrs.

  The waitress from the bar was passed out in the bed next to him. The banging on the hatch didn't seem to disturb her at all. Cole took a quick glance to see if she was still as good-looking as he remembered her being the night before. He shrugged—not bad.
He’d done a lot worse.

  The rapping on the hatch continued. Each knock rattled his skull.

  “Alright, alright. I’m coming." Cole staggered out of bed and ambled to the hatch in his skivvies.

  He mashed a button on the bulkhead, and the hatch slid open. A gorgeous woman, early 30s, auburn hair, stood in the corridor. Felicia Phelps. She wore a white blouse and a navy pantsuit. She arched an eyebrow and looked Cole up and down. "Rough night last night?"

  Cole smiled. "The usual."

  Felicia looked past him, catching a glimpse of the woman in his bed. "How old is this one?"

  “Why? Are you jealous?”

  She scoffed. “No. I stopped being a masochist a long time ago."

  Cole smiled. "So, you're jealous."

  "You wanted to talk, let's talk.”

  “Now is not exactly a good—“

  “Take it or leave it. There's not going to be a later.”

  Cole's eyes narrowed at her.

  “Are you going to invite me in?"

  Cole stepped aside.

  She brushed past him and marched into the compartment. "The bimbo has got to go."

  Cole feigned indignation. "I'm astonished. She is not a bimbo. She is a highly skilled professional.” He grasped for a lofty title. “She's a fluid delivery engineer."

  “She’s a waitress at Anchors Away.”

  Felicia kicked the bed, rattling the waitress awake. "Bar’s closed, honey. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

  The waitress looked flustered. She clutched the sheet, covering her endowments.

  “No need for modesty,” Felicia said. “I've got a pair myself."

  The waitress glared at her, then fumbled for her clothes on the floor. She slipped into her frilly lace panties and pulled on her skirt. Then she put on her shirt and stormed toward the hatch. She glared at Felicia, then Sergeant Cole. "You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend."

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Cole said innocently. “Not currently.”

  “Thank God," Felicia muttered.