Boomer (Star Watch Book 3)

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “Those plasma bolts were fired from the Vastma ship. We won’t survive even a single hit from that ship, Cap.”

  Jason heard Ricket’s voice in his ear.

  “I believe Big Baby is operational, Captain,” Ricket said.

  “Copy that. Gunny?”

  “I heard. I’m on it.”

  Another virtual display suddenly appeared above the forward console. It was a duplicate display of what Orion was viewing on the tactical station. Jason watched as the Stellar’s upgraded AI targeted no less than ten Arrow fighters.

  “Fire at will, Gunny!”

  Big Baby—deploying aft—was mounted to an underbelly turret and was unlike any other weapon in existence, at least according to Ricket, who’d invented the weapon over the past several years. It was untested in battle—still in prototype-phase—and was supposedly propelled by a spinning matrix of plasma and gallium-energy waves. Ricket said it was a good fit for the Omni’s personal craft.

  “Shields down to five percent,” Leon said.

  The Stellar began to vibrate, as Big Baby spewed off a torrent of bright red energy spheres toward each locked on target—thump thump thump thump thump—and the Arrow fighters disintegrated on contact. Their shields seemed to provide little resistance against the Stellar’s powerful barrage. Within twenty seconds, the wall of Arrow fighters had been destroyed.

  A massive external punch, coinciding with a thunderous crack, and the Stellar went twirling uncontrollably through space. Those on the bridge were violently wrenched out of their seats and thrown to the deck.

  The AI’s voice filled the small space: “Warning, hull breach … Warning, hull breach … Warning, hull breach …”

  Jason half crawled, half slid, toward the forward console. His stomach protested; he needed to get the Stellar’s spinning under control fast.

  Leon, regaining his seat first, held out an arm to help Jason back onto his own seat. “Everything’s offline—G-force compensators … propulsion … even weapons systems,” Leon yelled above the blaring klaxon and the AI’s continuous alerts.

  At least they had auxiliary power, Jason thought. He addressed the AI directly: “Stellar, deactivate audible warning alerts.”

  The bridge suddenly went quiet.

  “Stellar … status of all major systems. We need to get the propulsion system back online. And reengage compensators!” He turned back to see that Hanna and Orion were basically holding on for dear life. Billy was lying on the deck, unconscious. Right then, Jason noticed the bridge hatch was secured and closed. His mind flashed to Mollie … where did the hull breach occur?

  “Stellar … where, specifically, is the location of that hull breach?”

  “Hull breach is on Deck Two, forward portside cabin. That section of the ship has been sealed off, Captain.”

  That was Mollie’s cabin. “Status of onboard personnel!”

  “All crew and passengers accounted for, Captain. Billy Hernandez is unconscious but his injuries are not life threatening. Traveler has lacerations to his face, which are not life threatening. Rizzo has a dislocated shoulder, which is not life threatening.”

  Jason let out a breath through puffed cheeks. “Propulsion and compensator systems cannot initialize while vessel is operating in auxiliary power mode,” the AI continued.

  Glancing out the forward observation window, Jason saw a blur of white streaks. He closed his eyes and held back an almost uncontrollable urge to throw up. He heard Ricket’s voice in his head.

  “Captain, we took a direct strike from that Vastma-class warship.”

  “I gathered that. What’s fixable?”

  “I am within the Engineering hold space. Whatever repairs I make will be temporary. I am attempting to initialize the starboard drive now. Ship power levels should be coming back online. But it could take me several hours before we have the compensators operational.”

  “And no nav-control?”

  “No, I am sorry, Captain.”

  Jason noticed that the phase-shift synthesizer status indicator had just gone green. “Ricket, do we have phase-shifting capability?”

  There was a long pause. Hanna announced she was going to vomit any moment just as Billy began to stir on the deck.

  “The phase-shift synthesizer is back online, Captain,” Ricket affirmed.

  “I’m on it, Cap,” Orion said. “Looks like the closest planet to our current coordinates—one with breathable air—is Dule. But this is a hostile …”

  Leon spoke over her, “It’ll be another five phase-shifts. Once we’re there, know we’re going to be stuck there for a while.”

  Jason had made up his mind. “We need to be gone from here before that Vastma warship shows up again.”

  Suddenly, Hanna threw up, and Billy, in the process of sitting up, threw up, too. Leon covered his own mouth and closed his eyes.

  Jason, seeing that Orion had provided the phase-shift telemetry now showing up on his display, tapped the flashing key. The Stellar flashed away.

  Chapter 17

  “Hold on!” Drom said, as he brought the dune-skipper higher up and banked around a tall rock spire. They’d crossed out of the dunes and onto the barren rocks ten minutes earlier, and had followed along a ridgeline for several miles. On one side, the ragged red cliffs fell away to a thousand-foot-deep chasm. Boomer avoided looking down. One mistake—one miscalculation on Drom’s part—and they would be shredded on the rocks below. Either that, or they’d fall all the way to the chasm’s bottom and certain death.

  The small dune-skipper dropped suddenly, and they began speeding along a narrow winding passage within the chasm walls. Boomer guessed she could touch the parallel walls by simply reaching out with both hands. Their speed hadn’t changed, yet up ahead the chasm appeared to be coming to an abrupt end. There was a solid rock wall thirty yards before them. She hugged Drom’s waist and prayed he knew what the hell he was doing. At ten yards out, and ready to scream, the dune-skipper suddenly dropped another twenty feet. In a blur, they plunged into total darkness. Boomer buried her face into Drom’s back.

  “Aaaa!” Drom yelled. “Easy on my back!”

  Boomer had forgotten all about his injuries, courtesy of the Shintuco Cat. “Sorry!”

  The temperature had easily dropped twenty degrees and the blackness was turning to varying shades of gray. Rock outcroppings flashed by as they periodically turned one way then another. It became evident to her—Drom had traversed this passageway many times before.

  Boomer felt them slow, now dropping in altitude at a far quicker rate. She peered around his shoulder and caught the distant glow of firelight. She looked behind her and saw no sign of the pursuing Sahhrain.

  Drom looked back at her and smiled. “I think you’re going to like this.”

  She nodded, doubting that anything could compare to this—having her arms wrapped around his muscular torso. But she was wrong.

  Like others, she’d heard the term oasis spoken of countless times. But until that instant, she’d never actually seen one. Not like this. They were at the bottom of the chasm, one thousand feet, or more, down. What she’d earlier thought to be firelight was actually sunlight, filtering down through lush, tall trees. The chasm gradually widened, becoming hundreds of feet wide. High green grasses swayed in the shifting breeze. A winding creek, with crystal-clear waters, meandered down the middle of the expanse, where a female, dressed in a Shadick, squatted, filling a container. She looked up and waved. Three sheep-like animals quickly skittered out of the way as the dune-skipper approached. As beams of bright sunlight fell across Boomer’s face, she raised her chin and closed her eyes to absorb its warming rays—letting the peacefulness in the oasis engulf her.

  The dune-skipper throttled down and they came to a stop. Her eyes opening up, Boomer realized Drom was watching her.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Startled, she took in a breath and held it. Before her was a city built into the cliffs—a city of glowing blue—as blue
as the enhancement shield on her forearm. “Glist!”

  * * *

  Boomer was led upward, to an area of the cliff-side city called Conclave Hall … or simply Conclave. To Boomer, it felt like a holy place, a sanctuary, where speaking in low tones would be expected. Earlier, Drom reminded her that when entering here one left both anger and ego behind. They had climbed a series of stairways, traversing across several narrow bridges, to get there. The Conclave was about halfway up, nestled within the cliff city. There were no windows—only open balconies. She was told temperatures were kept at a constant 72 degrees, even with the occasional warm breeze drifting in from the distant desert dunes.

  “They have been alerted to our arrival. It won’t be long now,” Drom said.

  Boomer stood before a Glist balustrade next to him. They were standing upon the largest balcony in the city, where before them lay a panoramic view of the oasis chasm. Treetops swayed rhythmically—back and forth—and Boomer could hear the tinkling sounds of a waterfall somewhere below them. If there were such a thing as paradise, this, most certainly, could be it.

  “What is this place called?”

  “It has had many names throughout the ages. Those living here now call it Loma City,” Drom said. “You know, I was born here … this is my home.”

  Boomer stared up at him. “Nice place to grow up. You must have had a charmed childhood.”

  “Phsssst,” he snickered at her comment. “You would think so, but no … I did not.”

  She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t speak further.

  A young Blues female, who looked to be about twelve or thirteen, approached them, carrying a folded tan Shadick. She stopped and held it out with both arms as she bowed her head.

  Boomer glanced over to Drom, who nodded. She took the garment, saying, “Thank you.”

  The female smiled and bowed again without speaking. Then she left the way she’d come.

  Suddenly self-conscious of what she was wearing—the same skintight leggings and just as revealing top—her midriff wide open at the waist, Boomer said, “I’m sorry … what I’m wearing must seem pretty inappropriate for this place, huh?”

  Drom shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

  Boomer slipped the Shadick over her head and ran her fingers through her hair, which she knew looked a mess. “Better?”

  Giving her a nonchalant shrug, he said, “Sure … I guess.” He looked over his shoulder. “Ah … they’re arriving. We must take our seats.”

  They stepped back inside the Conclave, which to Boomer looked like a temple, or perhaps a cathedral, not really sure about such things. It was circular in shape and light streamed in from the balcony, as well as from multiple high-up, outer-facing apertures. No less than twenty massive fluted pillars followed the contours of the cathedral walls—each reaching hundreds of feet up—supporting a vaulted ceiling high above them. Virtually everything was made of Glist. A bluish glow emanated all around, only adding to the hall’s heaven-like ambiance.

  Drom led Boomer to the archway that separated the balcony from the Conclave.

  “Can we go in?”

  “Best we stay here where we can talk quietly,” Drom said. They were about fifty feet back from a raised area that looked like a stage, or dais. She surmised that was where the elders would be seated.

  Boomer nodded and watched as the Conclave began to fill up behind them. Blues, Loma city residents, were wearing Shadicks of muted tans and pale greens. By the size of the still-growing crowd, as one after another plopped down onto cushions, she suspected the whole city—thousands—would be attending.

  The first of the elders to arrive was Elder Pauli. She wore a pristine white robe, which fell and gathered below her bare feet. She moved to the center of the dais and stood quietly as more elders filed in behind her, to sit on a row of cushions that spanned the width of the dais. There were eight elders in all. Seven cushions remained untaken.

  Elder Pauli held out both palms in a gesture of welcoming, and smiled at the congregation. Respectful silence replaced the crowd’s low murmuring, and again the distant soothing sounds of rustling branches, and the tinkling waterfall, could be heard.

  She spoke and her words echoed around the large chamber: “It is good to be among you; we shine together, as we shine alone—we shine into eternity—offering up our spirit into the Light.”

  The congregation repeated the words after her. Boomer had heard the same phrase a thousand times before—had said the same words herself too many times to count. Her training to become a Tahli warrior—and then a Tahli Master—had been as much a spiritual journey as it was a physical one. The beliefs of the Blues were indeed unique, but at the same time Boomer had found them to be surprisingly similar to other religions, or spiritual paths, such as some back on Earth. The truth was, she didn’t feel she was a particularly spiritual or religious-leaning person. As far as she was concerned, her beliefs were her own affair, and until she figured things out—was given some kind of proof of an afterlife, or experienced some deity’s lofty presence—she’d keep her mouth shut and go with the flow.

  “As you can see, the Council of One has been decimated,” Elder Pauli said. She glanced for a moment at the open cushions near her. “My heart is heavy in my chest. With those seven elders gone … I’m at a loss for how to continue. But continue on we must. Those we do not see today are the thousands upon thousands killed within that ancient arena of Capital City. Those Tahli warriors who gave their lives in defense of Harpaign.” She paused and glanced toward another section of the dais that Boomer hadn’t noticed before—where ten cushions, all black, sat unoccupied.

  “As you can see, none of the Tahli ministry have joined us here today. Just as absent as they were on the battlefields, when a Sahhrain warship decimated the city … decimated our people. Our reunification with the Sahhrain—our hope a thousand years of war between us had finally come to an end—well, that hope is gone now. We have been led down a path of trickery and deceit. Was it not our brethren, the Tahli ministry members, who opened the channels of communication with the Sahhrain high command? Was it not the Tahli ministry members who ensured us that Blues and Sahhrain, working together, would establish a new dynasty within the galaxy? Was it not the Tahli ministry members who had rallied, over much hesitancy from the Council of One, for independence from the Alliance? Why did we not see what was coming? Are the Blues so gullible?”

  Boomer leaned in close to Drom, whispering, “What do the Tahli ministry members have to do with the Sahhrain?”

  “The Talhi ministry always remained close with the Sahhrain. Although they are Blues, they follow the path of the dark power—that of Rom Dasticon—just as the Sahhrain do.”

  Elder Pauli’s voice was full of emotion—frustration. “Since the Sahhrain-Blues war ended, five years past, the Blues have had five years of wonderful prosperity. Our hardworking people are sought out now throughout the sector—by the U.S. fleet, in particular, as evident by their own new Liberty Station and now, by our own magnificent StarDome.”

  “The Blues are constructing space stations now?” Boomer asked.

  “Yeah … cheap labor. Think about it … a Blues worker is typically twice as strong as a human … can work more hours. The Blues workforce is in high demand. We can do the manual labor that droids aren’t well suited for.”

  Elder Pauli continued over their whispers, “But in recent years, in secret and under the prompting of Talhi ministry members, we have joined with the Sahhrain high command in constructing tens of thousands of warships.” She paused to let her words sink in.

  Boomer leaned in. “Why would the Blues help the Sahhrain build warships?”

  “Shhhh, keep your voice down. Let me listen.”

  “Now these warships will, undoubtedly, be turned against us and the Alliance—the U.S. fleet. Those same allies who came to our rescue a mere five years ago. I am ashamed … we have forsaken the very ones, the very saviors, who aided us in our tim
e of need. I would like to put the blame on the Talhi ministry members, which I do, but we … the Blues … are just as responsible. We made it possible.”

  Boomer listened to Elder Pauli with rapt attention. So much had happened while she was sequestered in her two years of training. She had no idea the Blues and the Sahhrain were even communicating, let alone had reestablished such close ties. And the Blues had become some kind of manufacturing powerhouse? Building warships? Warships intended—at least by the Sahhrain, to go up against the U.S. fleet?

  She felt her face flush; was she a part of something that could harm the Alliance … Earth? Could the lives of her own family be at risk now? She would not be a part of that. When she looked back toward Elder Pauli, she saw the old Blues master looking directly back at her, as if she were reading her mind.

  Boomer returned her stare—her own expression of mistrust evident. In an avalanche of emotions, Boomer realized something fairly profound: These are not my people. These are not my fucking people!

  Chapter 18

  Feeling more and more impatient, Boomer waited outside on the balcony. She thought about using baskile, but the truth was, the last thing she wanted to do was meditate … she wanted to be on edge—had every right to be angry. Where the hell was Drom? She turned away from the views of the chasm and peered back inside Conclave Hall. Most everyone had left. Only a few stragglers stood around, talking in small groups.

  She heard footsteps and saw Drom, along with Elder Pauli, walking toward her. They must have entered onto the balcony from somewhere else. Boomer crossed her arms beneath her breasts and leaned back against the balustrade.

  The old elder bowed, offering Boomer a smile that carried with it pain, and perhaps foreboding. “Congratulations, my young warrior. You are now a Goldwon master. One of very few.”

  Boomer stood up straighter, fighting to keep her emotions in check. “I didn’t know the Blues and the Sahhrain had become so chummy while I was hidden away, in training on Harpaign.”