Tommy Thorn Marked (28 page)

Tommy glanced at his friend while loading a fresh energy pack into the Vargus blaster rifle. “I’m not going out that way, Sloan,” he said matter-of-factly.

Sloan tried to give a reassuring smile, but he knew they were going to die here.

We sure aren’t going back up, not now, and the desert
… Tommy took in the flat, featureless sand sea stretching to the horizon. “You know they’ll scan the area for life forms, and I’ve seen what they do to prisoners.”

“Here they come, LT,” Decker said as the flashing lights of a pair of assault transports appeared over the distant ridge.

“Randal, break out a fire stick,” Sloan said. “We might get lucky and take down one of their transports before it can offload.”

“Copy that, sir,” Corporal Randal replied, no hint of concern in his voice.

The members of the Q, either through practice or disposition, had all come to terms with the idea of dying in combat, and although not something they longed for, it was what it was. All death was, after all, certain.

“All right, stay here. Wait till they start to unload.” Sloan returned his attention to Tommy, waving his blaster along the endless sand that stretched out in front of their position. “Our blasters will be useless against the transport’s shields.”

Tommy nodded, rested the Vargus blaster against a nearby boulder, and began sighting into the darkness of the desert.

Sloan smiled. “Their bolts are green or blue. Ours, except for yours, will be red,” he said and began moving to another secure site.

“Hey, Sloan,” Tommy called out.

Sloan stopped and flipped open his faceplate.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he continued.

Again, Sloan flashed a broad smile. “You’re a funny guy, Thorn,” he said before giving a reassuring nod. “It’s been an honor, Tommy.” Sloan slapped his faceplate down and glanced up as the transports flashed overhead and began arching around for a landing. “Try not to shoot any of my guys,” he continued and disappeared into the darkness.

Colonel Franza turned from the pair of eight-foot royal Couragian guards and stepped into the turbo lift, doing his best to regain some sense of composure before addressing Imperial Fleet Admiral Kada. They had, of course, been notified of the envoy’s arrival, and Franza had seen Couragian before but…

“Enter,” Franza heard the admiral say even as the hatch slid open.

“They’re here, sir,” Franza said without looking directly at the senior officer’s eyes.

The admiral’s quarters were dimly lit, but with all viewing ports open the glow of the distant planet Vargus gave off enough light to clearly see Kada standing tall in his finest dress uniform—replete with an enormous amount of colorful decorations.

The admiral nodded and extended his hand to give Franza a small data storage device.

“Would you see that these are sent to the appropriate recipients?” Kada asked, his air of superiority subdued or maybe genuinely gone.

“Certainly, sir,” Franza said. Taking the device, and for the moment, set it on the oval-shaped conference table.

Franza felt pity for the now-disgraced leader of the mighty Tarchein fleet. Although it had been his arrogance and sense of self-righteous predestined greatness that had cost the lives of so many, at least he had taken full responsibility for the failed invasion. Colonel Franza knew he would never be promoted. His promising career was essentially over, but for now, the only thought was one of relief—relief that he hadn’t been called to stand trial in the royal court. A trial that all knew, no matter the number of impassioned pleas or references to a distinguished military career, could have only one gruesome outcome…

“Shall I call for the…” The colonel hesitated, not wanting to use the word “guards.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kada responded.

“Sir, the…the royal envoy was quite insistent,” Franza stammered.

“As I said, Colonel, I do not require an escort to find the hanger bay of my own ship,” Kada said in a commanding tone.

“Very well.” Franza lowered his head and turned to leave the quarters.

“Colonel Franza,” Kada called to his former chief of staff’s back.

Franza turned. “Sir?”

“I regret the way this turned out. You’re a good officer,” Kada said.

Franza only nodded before hurriedly moving through the now-open hatch—very much relieved to be out in the hallway.

Kada waited for a moment for the hatch to slide closed, then straightening his tunic, he walked to the large viewing port, hands behind his back.
All in all, it has been a good career,
he thought, more than he had expected coming out of the Academy those many years ago. Kada had not been at the top of his class. He was not the brightest or the most likeable, but he had understood the politics of the Star Force. Never making controversial moves, he had always waited, judging the direction of the prevailing bureaucratic winds and becoming astute at going along with the majority—that is, until Vargus.

Vargus!
Kada had grown to hate the name.
With my last conscious breath I will curse you Vargus,
he thought as he placed the small clear capsule under his tongue.

Franza hit the hatch chime for a second time. He had absolutely no desire to confront the admiral again, but he had made a commitment to send out those damn messages.
Why didn’t I simply put the storage device in my pocket?
he thought.

After a third attempt on the admiral’s hatch, Franza decided to act. “Override security Kada two zero nine—Franza, Colonel, identify.”

Before the hatch had completely opened, Franza was at the admiral’s side. He was sprawled out on the deck next to the viewing ports, eyes closed, a pinkish foam bubbling from his lips.

“Admiral! Admiral Kada,” Franza shouted as he cradled the Tarchein’s unconscious head. “Sick bay, this is Colonel Franza. Get an emergency medtech to Admiral Kada’s quarters—we have a medical emergency.”

“On our way, Colonel,” was the reply over Franza’s integrated earpiece.

Franza continued to hold the admiral’s dying head. “Hold on, sir,” he said, then looked up at Vargus. He had once thought the planet to be beautiful.
Damn you, Vargus
, he thought.
Damn you, and all who live on you
…

“Hit it again, Randal!” Sergeant Decker shouted over the noise of battle.

“Forget it, Deck, Randal’s dead.” Sloan rolled from his position just as it erupted with blaster fire. “Keep moving and concentrate your fire on that damaged transport!”

“Roger that.” Then after a pause, “Check your three o’clock, LT, it looks like they’re trying to flank your position,” Decker breathlessly responded.

Sloan, busy directing defensive positions, did not respond to the first sergeant, when suddenly, inexplicably, the desert landing zone erupted in tremendous explosions, sending one of the Vargus transports end over end before landing in a burning heap.

“Nice shot, Deck!” Sloan shouted as the damaged Vargus transport flipped and exploded in a gigantic burst of flaming debris.

“Wasn’t me, sir!” was Decker’s excited reply.

“There’s something out there, Sloan,” Tommy said, taking advantage of the confusion to peer over the cover of his boulder.

A large black ship was just becoming visible, streaks of orange blaster bolts raining down on the now-panicked Vargus assault force.

“Everyone to the ship,” Sloan yelled, already charging out of the foothills. He had recognized the ship’s silhouette from countless covert exercises. It was a Darkstar!

Sloan caught sight of Tommy making his way down from the rocks, the attention of the Vargins for now focused on the Darkstar. “Keep moving, Tommy, I’ll cover you,” he spoke between breaths as both men labored to get down to the desert. Just one large boulder was between them and the sand, illuminated now by blaster fire and the burning hulk of the dead transport.

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Tommy shouted while firing a continuous stream of green blaster fire.

“Shut up and run.” Sloan knelt and took careful aim before squeezing off several bolts. “And for god’s sake—stop firing! Someone on the Star is going to think you’re an ugly!”

There was a flash of braking thrusters as the Darkstar settled into the soft sand just three hundred feet in front of the boulder Tommy had already considered to be his tombstone, loading ramp already opened.

“Pick up the pace, gentlemen,” a calm voice from the black ship broke in over Tommy’s headset.

“Move!” Sloan yelled at Tommy, who had tossed his weapon but was still lumbering to make way in the loose terrain.

The second transport was beginning to burn. The firepower of the Darkstar had overwhelmed its shields fairly quickly, but there was still plenty of well-aimed blaster fire coming from the now-dug-in Vargus troops.

“In ya go!” a Darkstar crewmember yelled, grabbing Sloan’s arm and throwing him against the already loaded surviving members of his team.

“Is that it?” the nervous crew chief asked, as a makeshift door gunner letting loose a stream of fire into a spot from which green bolts were materializing.

“One more,” Decker yelled, pointing toward the shadowy, crawling form of Lieutenant Thorn, still fifty feet from the ramp.

“He’s been hit!” the gunner yelled over the commotion.

At that, Sloan leaped up and started down the ramp just as the door gunner took a hit and slumped over the heated barrels of his weapon .

The crew chief lounged at Sloan. “Leave him!” he shouted, clutching Sloan’s arm. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Sloan did not have time to argue, but he ripped free of the alien’s grip and, dodging blaster fire, dashed back to Tommy side.

“Pretty sure you’re on this flight, pal, or are you nervous about flying?” Sloan asked.

Tommy, holding his side, tried to smile. “Maybe I’ll just catch the next one.”

“Funny guy, Thorn,” Sloan said, reaching under Tommy’s arm and pulling him up and over his shoulder.

“You’ll never make it. Leave me, Sloan.” Tommy winced, his blaster wound now grinding into the shoulder of Sloan’s armor.

“Hurry it up, LT,” Decker yelled, moving the gunner and taking over his gun as he and the rest of the team laid down cover fire.

Suddenly, just a few feet from the ramp, Sloan fell to a knee as a pair of blaster bolts slammed into his lower back.

“We got to go!” the crew chief again shouted. “Commander, this is Zander. Liftoff! Liftoff!”

Decker gave Warrant Officer Zander a hateful look and shouted as he dove out to aid his lieutenant, “Open your mouth again and I’ll kill you myself!”

By the time Decker got to Sloan, he had managed to stagger to his feet, and with the Sergeant’s help, all three made it to the ship, collapsing onto the ramp.

“Let’s get out of here, Commander,” Decker said into his mic, holding onto Sloan and Tommy as the ship lifted off. “Everyone is accounted for.”

Once safely into orbit, no longer in range of the deadly Vargus guns, the Darkstar’s commander moved down from the flight deck and stopped to check on his wounded passengers. “How’s he doing, Sergeant?”

Doc looked up from a now-unconscious Lieutenant Sloan. “He’s going to make it, sir. Most of the blast was absorbed by his armor.”

“And him?” the commander asked, looking down at Tommy.

“Commander Vance?” Tommy said, surprised to see his former instructor.

“Mr. Thorn, it’s good to see you in more or less one piece,” Vance said, kneeling down and putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“He’ll be okay, sir. I got the bleeding stopped. Medtechs will get him back good as new,” Doc added.

“It’s great to see you, sir, but how did you talk the fleet into risking a Darkstar?” Tommy asked without lifting his head.

“You Humans always say it’s easier to apologize than ask permission,” Vance replied and flashed a broad grin.

Tommy smiled, starting to feel the effects of whatever the medic had given him to ease the pain.

“Besides, what are they going to do—make me fly Darkstars?” Vance added with a chuckled.

“Now I owe you two rounds of drinks, Commander,” Tommy softly said as he let himself drift into sleep.