Beyond Honor (Book 2: Double Cross): A Military Sci-Fi Novel, page 1
BEYOND HONOR (BOOK 2: DOUBLE CROSS)
A MILITARY SCI-FI NOVEL
DOUGLAS SCOTT
DANIEL YOUNG
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
1
Admiral Benedict Hatch despised bounty hunters with the fiery heat of a supernova. He’d encountered dozens of them during his years as a young captain in the Terran Alliance fleet, long before he’d worked his way up to his current position as Chief Military Attaché. The hunters plied their trade throughout the war, chasing fugitive POWs across the galaxy for both factions. He and his landing parties had broken more than a few hunters’ heads (along with several regulations against engaging with outliers on Free Federation worlds), and he’d never lost a moment’s sleep over it. Bounty hunters were nothing more than war profiteers, crass and greedy, the very antithesis of honor. Just being in their presence raised his blood pressure.
Yet here Hatch was, in his office on Gedamedes, smiling at their leader sitting in a plush chair just a few meters away. Qorvaq, the chief executive of the Hunters Trust, was a Loxxarian, small and wiry by human standards, with the species’ typical chalky skin and glossy black eyes that eerily reflected a person’s own face back at them. He was clad in the standard light body armor of his trade, sipping from a glass of incredibly rare Chablis. The wine was crafted from grapes grown by Terran colonists some 250 years earlier, in the sandy soil of New Gaul, a moon orbiting Belascus VII. The bottle came from Hatch’s own private reserve of pre-war vintage wines, a collection that had taken him decades to build.
Qorvaq smacked his thin lips and peered at the glass with those ebony eyes. “Tastes like piss,” he said dismissively.
I have a delightful fist I could ram down your throat instead, Hatch thought, but didn’t say. Instead, he kept his smile in place and said, “My apologies. May I offer you something else?”
“You can tell me why I was summoned to the gleaming towers of Gedamedes,” said the Loxxarian. “I’m a very busy man, particularly right now. And I’m allergic to all the bureaucrats on this planet, with their need to file forms and record every flarking thing that happens.”
Hatch took a deep breath and reminded himself for the umpteenth time that, as much as he hated Qorvaq, at the moment he needed the man. “I can assure you there are no recording devices in my office.” He stood and tugged absently at the hem of his uniform’s tunic. “As for why you’re here, it has to do with the ten-trillion-credit bounty that was issued after the attack here a few weeks ago.”
“Of course it does.” Qorvaq was clearly impatient. “Why else would you bring me all the way here? Get to the point.”
To hide his anger, Hatch turned to the window wall behind his desk and gazed out at the vast landscape of skyscrapers that comprised the city of Gedamedes Prime. Its entire population was currently devoted to the Office of Bilateral Affairs, with the sole purpose of negotiating the end of the 200-year-long war between the Terran Alliance and the Arcadian Empire.
“The terrorist attack was a devastating blow to our peace efforts,” he said. “Apprehending the culprits is the top priority of the governments on both sides.”
“Obviously,” said Qorvaq. “I’ve heard that you were right in the middle of it when it went down. Is that true?”
The memory was still fresh in Hatch’s mind, like an open wound: he was in the grand ballroom of the office tower that acted as a neutral meeting ground for the armistice effort. He was drinking champagne with High Commander Zalt, the Arcadian chief consul who was his counterpart, and discussing their grandchildren. A hundred or so senior members of the diplomatic corps were also at the gathering, all celebrating the progress they’d made in recent months toward ending the war. Hatch had never felt more hopeful for the future of the galaxy than he had at that moment.
Then Zalt’s head exploded.
Without warning, eight armed combatants had appeared on the mezzanine above them. and the mayhem began. Blaster fire rained down from above, sending everyone scurrying for what little cover existed in the vast hall. Amron Thonn, the head of security, was caught completely flat-footed, and his guards were among the first to fall. When their attackers finally disappeared and the slaughter ended, the bodies of nineteen Terrans and twenty-one Arcadians littered the floor, along with a dozen victims from various other races. On top of that, Admiral Vanessa McCann and her Arcadian counterpart, High Commander Krish, had been captured by the terrorists. The two of them were still on active duty, working on disarmament logistics, and were stationed on Gedamedes. Hatch had to assume that McCann and Krish were still alive and that the terrorists were using them for leverage, though there had been no contact about ransom or other demands yet.
“I was there,” he said curtly in answer to the bounty hunter’s question.
“And yet you did nothing to stop them?” Qorvaq gave him an appraising look. “Interesting.”
Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. Hatch repeated it to himself over and over, like a mantra. “I asked you here for two specific reasons,” he said. “First, to reiterate the fact that these fugitives have two high-ranking officers of the Terran and Arcadian militaries, and that their safe return is our highest priority. It appears some of your people caused a great deal of damage in a FUBAR wild goose chase on Vyndis II, right after the bounty was issued. If the fugitives and their hostages had actually been there, it’s unlikely any of them would have survived.”
“The Hunter Trust isn’t a ruling council,” Qorvaq said tersely. “We don’t give orders or regulate our members. We’re simply administrators who issue the bounties.”
“And collect your percentage,” Hatch said with barely concealed contempt.
The Loxxarian shrugged. “It’s not surprising that the hunters on Vyndis II were eager, given the incredibly huge reward. And the bounty offered no incentives for returning the hostages alive.”
Here was the opening Hatch had been waiting for. “That’s the second reason I asked for this meeting,” he said, looking confused. “I’m unclear on the timing of the bounty contract. Our records indicate it was issued some 16 hours after the attack, and yet several hunters were already converging on Vyndis II almost immediately.”
Qorvaq frowned. “It must have to do with the vagaries of interstellar travel,” he offered. “Time is relative, after all.”
“Not with quantum communication,” Hatch countered. “Even if there had been some sort of lag, the message couldn’t go backward in time. And the contract clearly stated the hostage priority.”
“Then your records are wrong,” Qorvaq snapped. “I intercepted the original communiqué personally—the timing is correct, and there was no mention of the hostages.” He tapped a small plate on the back of his gauntlet, and a projection appeared on the glass of the window. It was an official electronic document with the seal of the Office of Bilateral Affairs. “This is the contract, and that’s your signature right there.”
Hatch peered at the projection. The document was exactly what Qorvaq claimed: an official communiqué from his office. Ironclad military-grade encoding made such messages impossible to forge—and yet this one had been. Hatch’s office had issued no such contract after the attack, a secret known only to him and Amron Thonn.
“Very well,” he said. “I can see now that I was mistaken.”
Qorvaq scowled. “And I’ve wasted the better part of two days coming to this flarking planet when a video conference would have sufficed. Though it’s hardly surprising—you Terrans and Arcadians think you’re the only species in the galaxy, and the rest of us are at your beck and call.”
Hatch ignored the shot. “One last thing,” he said. “Why do you think several hunters all converged on Vyndis II at the exact same time? I thought your type never worked together.”
The question appeared to catch Qorvaq off-guard. “That is not the Trust’s concern, nor is it your concern what happens within the Free Federation. I could just as easily ask how you knew about what happened on a planet that is far outside your jurisdiction. I suggest you watch your step, Admiral. We outliers, as you like to call us, are not yours to command, and our business is our own.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Hatch. “I can assure you, it is my concern.”
He waved a hand over a panel on his desk, and the door to his office opened. The bounty hunter’s black eyes widened as a broad-shouldered member of the Celestine race strode into the room, carrying a blaster pistol in one beefy hand.
“This is Amron Thonn,” said Hatch. “He’s the chief of security for
Qorvaq leapt to his feet and reflexively reached for his weapon, forgetting that he’d surrendered it when he landed on Gedamedes. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Take his right gauntlet,” said Hatch. “It has the device I need.”
Thonn grabbed Qorvaq’s wrist. The bounty hunter struggled, howling in protest, but the outcome was never in doubt. Thonn yanked the gauntlet free and handed it to Hatch.
“This is outrageous!” Qorvaq roared. “I am the head of the Hunter Trust!”
“You’re a parasite,” Hatch spat. He turned to Thonn. “You know what to do.”
The security chief nodded and swung a piledriver fist directly into the side of Qorvaq’s skull. Thonn caught him before he hit the floor, tossing him effortlessly onto one massive shoulder.
“Sir,” said Thonn. “Just a reminder before I take care of him: that video I gave you will automatically erase at midnight. It’s standard operating procedure for copies of unencrypted files.”
Hatch blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The footage of the terrorist attack, with the notes from my analysis.”
“When did you give me that?” Hatch asked with rising alarm.
Thonn’s big orange eyes narrowed. “Right before Qorvaq got here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You came to my office, sir. It wasn’t even a half-hour ago.”
Hatch’s gut was sparking like a live wire now. “I’ve been in my office since 0800.”
“I don’t understand,” said Thonn. “It was you. Here, let me show you.”
With that, the security chief called up a holographic projection of his own office from the portable computer on his wrist. There, clear as day, was Benedict Hatch, taking a portable drive from Thonn’s hand. It felt as if the ground suddenly dropped out from under Hatch’s feet.
“That wasn’t me,” he said, keeping his voice even despite his rising panic. “Lock down the entire city immediately. No one gets on or off Gedamedes, including me, until I say otherwise. Mobilize every last one of your people to search for the imposter immediately.”
Thonn looked even more confused now. “Sir, what should they do when they find…uh, you?”
“Bring me to me! And post a guard detail to my office door immediately.” Hatch waved angrily at Qorvaq. “And get him into a holding cell before anyone sees you.”
Thonn nodded quickly and jogged off down the corridor, yelling orders into his communicator. Hatch returned to his office and locked the door behind him, his mind racing. This was supposed to have been simple: find out what Qorvaq knew about the bounty contract, get his database, and then lock him away before he could talk to anyone. Thonn had sabotaged the light skimmer ship that had brought the hunter to Gedamedes; the plan was to send the ship back on a course to Free Federation space. Its computer would miss a handful of equations for the transition into pocketspace, and the ship would be sucked into an extradimensional void. A tragic accident.
Now that plan had gone to shit. And in the midst of all that, there was an imposter on Gedamedes with Hatch’s face, absconding with classified files. Qorvaq had shown him a bounty contract that had been issued by Hatch himself, without his knowledge, which should have been impossible—unless someone who looked exactly like him had done it.
And right now, that someone who looked exactly like Hathc was very likely walking around the halls of the Bilateral Affairs office complex with impunity. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.
Hatch sat as his desk and rubbed his temples. This had already been a long day, and it was about to get much longer.
2
Joel Chambers was on the verge of panic, and not just because his face was melting.
Everything had been going fine: he’d gotten the holographic footage of the terrorist attack from the security chief without incident, and he was on his way to rendezvous with Zephyra at the Bilateral Affairs hangar. He’d slipped into a public restroom to change his features from those of Admiral Benedict Hatch, possibly the most recognizable figure on Gedemades Prime, to a random human face programmed into his dermal implants so he could make his escape. He’d shucked out of the dress uniform tunic he’d been wearing and reversed it, so that now he was sporting a standard business jacket.
Then, while he watched in horror in the restroom mirror, his features didn’t just change; they began to shift and sag, almost sliding off his skull. Hatch’s face became a bizarre distortion of itself until the skin finally settled into the shape of a puddle of candle wax. It didn’t hurt—the nerves in Chambers’ epidermis had been surgically altered so that they didn’t register pain while the nanotech changed his face—but that was the least of his worries. He now had to get to the hangar without someone stopping him and asking why, exactly, his face appeared to be falling off.
That was when the alarm went off, startling him so badly he almost tripped over his own feet. It blared for a full five seconds before a voice came over the intercom: “The Office of Bilateral Affairs is now in lockdown,” it said in calm, measured tones. “This is only a drill. No one will be allowed to enter or exit the complex until further notice. Please stay where you are and allow security personnel to go about their duties during the drill. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Chambers cursed loudly in frustration and activated the communicator on his wrist. “Zero One to Vanguard One,” he whispered. “Do you copy?”
“In case you haven’t figured it out, we are no longer in the military,” Zephyra replied waspishly. “Communication protocol is pointless.”
“So you do copy. What’s your position?”
“At the hangar waiting for you!” she snapped. “I told you this plan was asinine. You’ve clearly been compromised; this supposed ‘security drill’ is meant to keep the civilians out of the way while they search for you.”
“You think?” he shot back. “How many times have you told me not to point out the obvious?”
“Why do you sound so strange?”
“Because my lips are a couple inches longer than usual. My implants are glitching and my face is trying to divorce my skull. The repairs that Xi and Regor made to our nanotech obviously didn’t work as well as we’d hoped, so you should keep the face you’re currently wearing.”
Zephyra let out an exasperated grunt. “Why is nothing ever easy with you?”
“Just hold your position,” said Chambers. “I’m in a public restroom in the east wing of the 97th floor. I’ll hide out here and see if I can reset the implants. If I’m not at the hangar in 20 minutes, abort and rendezvous with the others in the city.”
Before she could answer, the door to the restroom opened and three Terran guards entered, startling Chambers. He killed his comms unit and hurried into a stall, shutting the opaque glass door before the new arrivals could see his ruined face.
“Begging your pardon,” called one of the guards. “I’m afraid we need to clear all personnel as part of the drill.”
“Uh, yes, of course.” Chambers blurted. “Just, uh, let me finish and I’ll be right out.”
“No rush, sir.”
Chambers racked his brain for any possible escape plan as he feverishly worked the nanotech controls at the base of his jaw. But neither his brain nor his face cooperated, and he was left with only one option: a frontal assault. He climbed onto the toilet and braced himself against the back of the stall. He waited for as long as he could, knowing that the guards would start wondering what the hell he was doing in there at any moment now.
“Everything all right, sir?” asked one of the guards after several minutes.
Chambers took a deep breath and quietly mumbled that he needed some help. His longer lips helped to make the words almost unintelligible. When the guard replied, he was closer to the door, straining to hear, which was right where Chambers wanted him to be.
“I’m sorry, sir, what was that?” the guard asked. “I couldn’t make out what you said.”
“Everything okay in there?” said another guard. Chambers estimated from the sound that it had come from maybe two meters behind the guard at the door. The position of the third was an unknown, but he had no choice but to take advantage of the situation as it was and hope for the best.
