Honor's Reserve: Galaxy Mavericks, #1

By Michael La Ronn

The galaxy is at war. The only person who can save it is a soldier from the reserves.

Petty Officer Grayson McCoy's last mission in the Galactic Guard is simple: intercept a mysterious spaceship at the galaxy border.

When Grayson discovers the criminals onboard the ship are human traffickers carrying human cargo, he risks his life to save a group of strangers he's never met.

That's when the real bad guys show up.

Stranded behind enemy lines, the fate of twelve innocent people rest on what Grayson does next. So does the fate of the galaxy.

V1.0

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Level Up LLC
• Release date: Mar 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386383840

Michael La Ronn

Science fiction and fantasy on the wild side! Michael La Ronn is the author of many science fiction and fantasy novels including The Last Dragon Lord, Android X, and Eaten series. In 2012, a life-threatening illness made him realize that storytelling was his #1 passion. He’s devoted his life to writing ever since, making up whatever story makes him fall out of his chair laughing the hardest. Every day. To get updates when he releases new work + other bonuses, sign up by visiting www.michaellaronn.com/list

Book preview

1

From the bridge of the Galactic Guard Cutter Horizon, Petty Officer Grayson McCoy shone a spotlight into dark space, onto a lone starship slowing as it cut its engine. Two white, blinking lights appeared on the roof. A yellow gravity ring rotated clockwise around the center of the ship.

I’ve got a visual, Grayson said, locking the ship in his sights. Engine’s off.

He kept his eyes on the ship and swept the light up and down the hull. It was a sleek passenger ship, leisure grade, big enough for fourteen people. Most private passenger ships usually had salons, living quarters, kitchens, and bathrooms. This one looked like it had all of that, plus a hyperdrive. Its long white wings gave it the look of a dove floating among the stars.

He scanned the side of the ship where the name and port of call should have been.

There was nothing—the side of the ship was blank.

He glanced over at a black-haired, tanned man in a headset and an olive green flight suit who was bent over an instrument panel.

What do you think? Grayson asked.

Petty Officer Romeo Beauregard radioed to the base. We’ve located an unidentified starship near the nebula border. No name or port of call.

Beauregard waited for a response. A voice crackled in his headset. Base says to proceed with boarding.

It wasn’t every day that Grayson came across a ship like this. Most of the time, boarding a regular private passenger vessel was boring. But boarding one with no name or I.D.—you never knew what to expect. He preferred search and rescues, but this might be interesting.

He stopped the spotlight on the ship’s bridge, a large glass bubble on the front of the ship. A man and a woman put their hands over their faces.

We’ve got a male, late thirties, maybe six-two, salt and pepper beard. A woman that looks like his wife, late twenties, black hair.

He heard a computerized chime behind him. The rotunda-shaped bridge of the Galactic Guard ship was quiet.

Petty Officer Will Stroud, the flight mechanic, was sitting at his instrument panel, its green lights illuminating his face and red hair. I charted their path. They’re not from our galaxy, guys.

Outsiders. Or travelers returning home. In any case, they were still subject to the laws of the Rah Galaxy, and to searches from the Guard.

Beauregard swiveled in his chair and motioned to Grayson. He wore his trademark calm expression, the look of wisdom and experience. He was probably only a few years older than Grayson. He was an active duty petty officer, first class. As the only original active duty Guard on board, he took it as his responsibility to train Grayson and Will. He used everything as a learning experience.

Grayson, what do you think? Beau asked.

Grayson glanced back out at the ship. Things were quiet in space. Looks fairly innocuous to me, but you never know.

Let’s see if you’re right.

Beauregard activated the communicator and established a transmission with the ship. This is Petty Officer Romeo Beauregard with the Galactic Guard. Please identify yourselves.

Silence.

Grayson watched as the woman scrambled to the communicator.

Hello.

Identify yourselves.

Silence again.

Do they speak English? Will asked. Don’t you speak a couple of languages, Beau?

Beauregard considered the remark, but then the woman spoke.

My name is Rina.

Beauregard frowned. He took his finger off the radio. Guys, go ahead and suit up. He pressed the radio button again. Hello, Rina. How many are on board with you?

Silence.

Just me and my husband.

You have entered Rah space and are subject to boarding and inspection. Please make ready to accept our boarding party.

Silence. This time, the woman’s shadow turned to the man before answering.

Very well.

The radio went quiet.

Grayson watched the two silhouettes disappear into the bowels of the starship.

Looks like they speak English just fine, Grayson said, shutting off the spotlight.

Give them a thorough search, gentlemen, Beauregard said. They’re awfully quiet.

Grayson and Will high-fived. They walked together down a dark hallway filled with pipes and wires.

You think Beauregard’s gonna be okay by himself? Will asked.

I think so, Grayson said. He’s got all the handcoils he could ever want. And plenty of bullets.

Grayson grabbed a handcoil off the wall, a gray pistol-shape with a conical nose filled with springs and coils.

He and Will reached into a tray and pulled out a dozen needle-like bullets, loading them into the coils.

A little bit of excitement, eh? Will asked, locking his handcoil into place.

Will was his best friend. They’d gone through training together. He was active duty, petty officer third class, plucked from a cozy spaceship mechanic job on Provenance to a higher calling. The galaxy was at war and needed civilians to man the posts that were abandoned when the government called in more troops.

Hopefully it’ll be over quickly, Grayson said.

I know ship inspections aren’t your favorite, Will said.

Nah, this one should be interesting.

He was sick of telling people they were out of compliance. If you didn’t want to take your safety in space seriously, you were taking your life into your own hands. He preferred saving people who were stranded. The fear of death tended to teach them more effectively than an inspection.

On a day like today, he wished for his old job as a swim instructor again. Warm water around his waist, the sun bearing down on him, his arms around a child, holding them up as they learned to float for the first time.

But look at the good part, Will said, distracting Grayson from his daydream. It’s your last mission.

Guess you’re right, Grayson said. Now that you mention it, let’s get this sucker over with.

They emerged from the hallway into the airlock, a large room with gray, brushed metal walls and red spacesuits hanging on mounted coat racks.

We could have been really unlucky, Will said, swiping his spacesuit off the wall. We could be on Argus right now, fighting in the war.

Grayson grabbed his spacesuit and squeezed into it. Then he latched his helmet on. With the press of a button, oxygen funneled into the suit, and he breathed in the fresh air and closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them, Will was standing in front of him, grinning. Grayson, baby, talk to me. Why are you so quiet? You can’t tell me that excitement isn’t swimming in your veins. You’ll be out of here soon. If I were you right now, I’d be doing cartwheels. I’d be calling all of the available chicks on Kavios Two. I’d be—

I getcha, Grayson said. He went to a computer panel with a split screen. How about we celebrate when it’s over?

Every day you’re alive in space is a cause for celebration, dude, Will said, putting on his helmet. Especially when your tour is almost over.

It’s not over yet, Grayson said.

A grid appeared on the computer panel and a camera view of the lone ship above it.

With a joystick, Grayson aimed a green set of crosshairs at the ship, then fired.

Metal ropes with magnets on one end shot from the Galactic Cutter. They struck the starship, rocking it. Then they tightened and pulled the ship closer.

An intercom beeped overhead and then a voice spoke. It was Beauregard.

Nice shot, Grayson. We’re connected. You both ready?

Grayson and Will unrolled two harnesses connected to a metal hoist. They climbed in.

Ready, they both said.

Good luck, guys, Beauregard said. Call me at the first sign of trouble.

A honking alarm sounded and lights in the airlock flashed red. Then the bay doors opened, giving way to the stars, and weightlessness began.

Grayson’s harness tugged at his waist as he drifted out of the airlock and into space. The hoist slowly gave them slack as they floated toward the metal ropes that connected the two ships.

Grayson made his way down the rope, Will next to him. They were two specks of red in complete blackness.

Grayson had been through the training many times. They always told you never to look away from the rope. He’d heard stories of officers who looked away from the rope just for one moment, lost their orientation and accidentally let go.

He focused, moving along with Will, side by side, hand over hand.

The airlock on the starship opened, and its bay doors unfolded like origami.

Grayson and Will touched down onto the ship, guiding themselves off the metal rope and onto the bay doors.

Their boots clanged as they landed, and then the bay doors began to close. Dark space turned into the bright fluorescent lights of the starship as the airlock pressurized itself.

They unclipped the D-rings that held the harnesses. Grayson squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light.

The ship’s small airlock was empty aside from spacesuits hanging on the walls.

As his eyes focused, he saw the man and woman standing at the entrance to the airlock. Their faces were shadowed, and they didn’t speak right away.

You want to inspect our ship, the man said.

Let’s take this easy, Will whispered. I don’t like these two.

Will was always so pessimistic. Probably from his years as a spaceship mechanic. You tended to see the worst of people in service jobs.

Grayson shrugged. He just wanted to get this over with.

He walked forward. How are you two doing today?

Then he noticed the man’s face. It was haggard, with long scar tissue across both his cheeks. A barrel-chested, bearded man, he stood with his chest puffed out and his arms folded.

The woman had scar tissue all down one arm.

They looked like burn victims.

We’re fine, the woman said. Her pumpkin-colored shirt was tucked into blue jeans, and she had curly black hair and dark purple eyes—the mark of colored lenses. The