Star Watch

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Shakrim let that sink in and there it was … hope. He’d given them a glimmer of something unexpected. They would fight with more intensity now … they would kill each other. How easily they are manipulated, he thought. He looked into the stands at the Sahhrain seated around them. He spoke loud and clear: “You are witnessing today the cost of failure. There is not one amongst you who couldn’t, just as easily, be standing here before me. You will not be warned again.”

  Lord Shakrim finally gave a cursory bow in the direction of the warriors before him. They broke from their formation—away from each other—taking up defensive stances, their pratta-shafts held high, and their enhancement shields rightly positioned in front of them. Each was highly trained in the Sahhrain’s own, albeit similar to that of the Blues, version of Kahill Callan martial arts. The warriors moved quickly—several stayed clustered together, in small groups, surrounding Shakrim on all sides.

  He kept his eyes on the lone warrior in front of him, knowing he would not be the first to attack. Shakrim already knew who that would be. Twenty feet directly behind his back, Shakrim felt the warrior there try to suppress his thoughts, hide them … but it was a futile effort. A warrior’s pratta-shaft was far more than a simple spear. It was the only weapon capable of piercing through an opponent’s distortion waves. It instantly matched any vibration it came into contact with. The spear came fast, directed towards the back of Shakrim’s head. He used his telekinetic powers to alter the spear’s flight by less than four degrees—just enough, though, to change its trajectory, bypassing his own head—instead, hitting the warrior who stood before him. The pratta-shaft’s tip imbedded itself into his chest, killing him instantly.

  Using the edge of his shield, along with telekinesis, Lord Vikor Shakrim catapulted into the air, high above the warriors now charging toward him from up ahead. He sensed their thoughts … knew when they’d make a move. He spun around, now landing at their backsides. He swung his pratta-shaft in a wide sideways arc, its razor-sharp tip decapitating the nearest warrior; then, letting the weapon’s momentum carry it around his own body, in mid-swing, he changed his grip and threw the shaft with a forceful, forward thrust. It flew unhindered for thirty feet, entering the abdominal cavity of a charging warrior, then exited him and entered into the chest of the warrior who was standing ten feet behind him. Both fell to the ground, dead.

  As in most Sahhrain close-contact battles, the pratta-shaft, typically, was lost early on. Inevitably, it was the warrior—armed only with his enhancement shield—solely left to endure a prolonged battle.

  Right then, no less than five pratta-shafts were in the air, all headed toward Shakrim. He dodged one and used his shield to block another. The next three missed as he again leapt high into the air—his black and red cloak billowing out dramatically behind him. The crowd abruptly cheered in unison.

  Violet distortion waves, brighter and more powerful than any of the others, continuously pulsed and streamed out from Shakrim’s enhancement shield. Surviving Sahhrain warriors attempted to block the devastating waves, but could not. One after another, they were catapulted high into the air—several even into the stands. Two warriors were held stationary, paralyzed, ten feet up in the air, as the one-sided battle raged on below them.

  Shakrim continued to move with amazing speed and agility—never staying in one place long enough to get hit by a flying pratta-shaft or, more frequent, the continual barrage of distortion waves. One by one, Lord Shakrim pounded these waves into his opponents. Bodies lay motionless within the arena, and several outside it.

  He stopped now and saw there was no one left to fight. He had taken no injuries himself. He was barely out of breath. Finally, he let his eyes level upon the two suspended warriors. He released them and they both fell to the ground. Slowly, they regained the ability to move around, and warily stood, facing him. He assessed them both.

  “Your fight with me is done. The one who can defeat the other lives.”

  With that, Lord Vikor Shakrim strode from the arena toward his now-visible ship. The crowd cheered as the only two surviving warriors took up fighting stances.

  Chapter 37

  Dacci System

  The Perilous, Open Space

  _________________

  The Perilous arrived in ten minutes. Within that timespan, Jason watched as his father’s life-support indicators moved from stable to critical. One of Grimes’ young fighter pilots, Lieutenant Tom Burn, occupying the pilot’s seat, phase-shifted the shuttle close to them, and, within seconds, Jason was joined by Billy—who, after phase-shifting into open space, appeared nearby.

  “There’s not a lot of room in there, Cap, so we need to transfer the admiral into the Perilous the old-fashioned way.”

  The back hatch of the shuttle opened as the small ship backed toward them. Inside, everyone wore battle suits. Dira, standing in front of the others, gestured for Jason and Billy to maneuver the admiral’s inert form toward her. Then she, along with several other sets of hands, grabbed on to the admiral’s body and brought him on board.

  First Billy, then Jason, got on board. Jason turned outward, to face the nearby fighter. “You okay to fly this pile of scrap back to the Minian? It’s a bit tight in here.”

  “Yes, Captain … I believe I’ll be fine,” said Ricket.

  Jason gave a mock salute and stepped away as the rear hatch lowered and secured into place.

  Jason looked out the rear observation window and saw that Ricket and his battered fighter were now heading off in the opposite direction of where the Minian was located—he was heading toward the planet. What the hell’s he doing? About to hail Ricket on his NanoCom, his attention was pulled away.

  “We need to get the battle suit off the admiral!” Dira yelled into an open channel.

  Burn, at the controls, yelled back … “Thirty seconds to decompress the cabin … hold on.”

  Dira leaned anxiously over the admiral’s unconscious body as he lay on the deck; even through her visor, Jason could see concern. He was pretty sure it matched his own grim expression. He purposely tried not to think about his father’s worsening condition—how close the admiral was to death’s door.

  “Atmosphere’s restored!” Burn announced.

  Jason remotely accessed his father’s battle suit HUD settings and disengaged the suit. It immediately withdrew, back into the small SuitPac device affixed to the admiral’s bloodstained belt. Dira gasped, seeing the caked blood on his exposed chest.

  “What the fuck did they do to him?” she asked to nobody in particular. She disengaged her own battle suit and quickly went to work, injecting him with a small device of some kind and then affixing three other, larger, devices onto his exposed skin. After that, she reengaged the admiral’s battle suit and, leaning back against the bulkhead, met Jason’s eyes.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Jason … he’s in a very critical condition.”

  “What did you do for him?”

  “Gave him an amped-up nanites injection that will go directly to the distressed areas within his body. I also placed his body into a semi-stasis … cryogenic … state.”

  “Will he live? Were we in time?”

  Dira stared back at Jason for several moments before answering. “You didn’t know? I’m sorry, Jason … your father’s not alive. From what I can tell, he’s been gone for several moments now.” She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There’s still hope. We’ll be back on the Minian within minutes … let’s see what a MediPod can do for him.”

  Jason was fully aware what miracles a MediPod could perform. Mollie did die, shot in the heart by a plasma bolt, and he had only five minutes to get her body into a MediPod. He made it, but barely. How long now had his father been dead? Four minutes … five?

  “Burn! How close?” Jason yelled toward the ship’s forward cabin.

  Three bright flashes, one right after the other, occurred before he actually heard his answer, “We’re there! Suggest you phase-shift directly
into Medical.”

  Simultaneously, Dira and Jason initialized their battle suits. Jason took ahold of his father, wrapping his arms around his upper torso, and the threesome flashed away.

  * * *

  They phase-shifted directly into Medical. Jason, a nearby med-tech, and Dira hefted the admiral’s not-so insubstantial girth into the closest MediPod. Somewhere in the back of his mind Jason was keeping track of the time elapsing. His father had been dead for close to seven minutes … plus or minus—well beyond the maximum allowance of five minutes.

  As Jason stared down at his father’s face, visible through the MediPod’s small porthole, he silently wondered if now was the last time he’d be able to see him.

  Dira kept busy at the MediPod console. He saw her reposition one of the small display screens away out of his view.

  “No … that’s okay … I want to see it.”

  Dira tilted her head in a way that spoke volumes—saying, in effect, you won’t like what you see.

  She repositioned the angle of the display so Jason could again see the royal-blue virtual representation of the admiral’s body. A myriad of moving life-indicators, and other readouts, flashed across the screen at alarming rates. The one thing not moving, the one essential thing to show some movement, was still—his father’s heart.

  Dira, noting Jason’s expression, said, “We’ll just have to wait and see. There’s substantial internal injuries here. It looks as if various organs have been … individually targeted … and electrified. I’ve heard of this kind of invasive, selective-type torture before. Victims feel unbelievable levels of pain. If you’d gotten him here …” she paused while continuing to work at the console. “I’m sorry—”

  He cut her off, “You don’t have to say that for my benefit. I’m not a child. I can keep track of time and I know it’s been too long. He’s dead and he’s going to stay that way.”

  Dira crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at him. “So now you’re a doctor too? You’re going to start giving me the patient’s prognosis?”

  “Just stop it.” He turned to leave. “I need to make arrangements.”

  Dira’s words caught him before he left Medical: “And exactly when did you start keeping track of the elapsed time?”

  His temper flaring, Jason spun around, ready to unleash his anger. But Dira wasn’t even looking at him. She stood at the console, an almost placid expression on her face as she worked the controls. “Your father was administered to within that crucial five-minute period, or do you not remember I was there … attending to him? We got to him in time.” She slapped the side of the display screen so it swung around, now facing him. Irritated by her attitude at such a difficult time, what he saw on the screen didn’t register at first. “What?”

  “Look at the damn display!”

  Jason wondered how he could have missed it. Not only was it moving, steadily beating, the virtual representation of his father’s heart was bright red. He looked at Dira in wonder. “He’s alive?”

  “He’s alive.”

  * * *

  Boomer felt sick. Realization finally set in. Really set in. This wasn’t going to work. She was only ten years old and she’d been fooling herself into believing she’d be able to accomplish what they all expected of her. What was she supposed to do now? Pretend? Simply act as if she were on board with their stupid idea of her going up against this Lord Shakrim guy? He was going to kill her … rip her into little pieces, all the while laughing at her pathetic attempt to fight him. Oh sure … Aahil had made it clear: No one expects you to actually fight him … you only have to paralyze him with your enhancement shield until he can be taken prisoner. Really? That’s all? Okay then … fine … no problem!

  She watched as Aahil and Capri spoke in lowered tones in the near distance. She knew they were talking about her … how utterly crappy a job she’d done in her exercises. She’d yet to defeat anyone. She either ended up flat on her back, or on her bottom, every time. And she was sore. Her whole body was sore. She considered moving off the tree stump’s rough seat to the softer, pine-needle-covered ground below. She shifted her bottom, moving from one cheek to the next, but found no comfort on either.

  Aahil and Capri approached. They didn’t look happy with her. Boomer chewed at the inside of her lip and waited for them to come a bit closer. She’d come to a decision; she was going to let them know she was the wrong person for the job … they needed to find someone else.

  Aahil spoke before she could say anything. “Are you ready to continue?”

  “No.”

  Aahil and Capri exchanged a quick look. “Even before trying out that new shield?”

  “It’s just a shield … I’m just a kid … and I want to go home. You can’t make me stay here.”

  Aahil slowly nodded—seeming to be carefully considering her words. A hopeful sign. “I have to tell you something … um, something I’ve kept from you.”

  “What?”

  “Your training shield … the one you’ve been practicing with up until now …”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was set only to one-third power configuration. You were training at a substantial disadvantage from the start.”

  “It didn’t seem like it,” she said, not sure she was buying any of his confession.

  “You compensated for the deficiencies of the shield, Boomer. As hoped, you possess certain innate capabilities.”

  “I don’t know what innate means.”

  “It means natural … powers you already have but probably don’t know you have,” Capri clarified.

  Boomer shrugged. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. I’ve decided to go home. I want to go home.”

  Aahil looked bemused. His eyes moved toward Boomer’s feet and the enhancement shield he’d earlier given her. “Leaving a shield such as this one lying around on the ground is disrespectful to me, as well as to the shield itself.”

  Boomer flushed. She’d meant to put the thing back in its fancy box. To give it back to Aahil … she didn’t want it anymore. “Sorry … you can keep it.”

  He now held the shield in his hands, flipping it over with his fingers. He stopped and leaned down—the shield only inches from her face. He traced the ridge on the small inside flange, running around the inside perimeter of the weapon. “See here? This section with these tiny raised projections?”

  Boomer leaned in closer and furrowed her brow. “I see them … like little bumps.”

  “Run your fingertip along those bumps.”

  She raised her brow. This is getting stupid. She did as told, taking ahold of the edge of the shield in her left hand, then doing what Aahil requested. She moved her forefinger back and forth along the little bumps.

  “Oh my God!” Boomer stood, holding on to the shield. She continued to make power adjustments—feeling the difference. It was night and day. It was amazing. She looked up at Aahil, then to Capri. “You had me training with a … a toy!”

  “You needed to gain strength from your own innate powers … it would have been a mistake to have you rely solely on a shield so early on.”

  Boomer fitted the enhancement shield over her hand and onto her forearm. She set it to its maximum strength.

  “You may want to set that down a position or two, Boomer,” Aahil said.

  “I want to see what I can do with this thing.” She took up the Kahill Callan battle stance, and, bowing her head, smiled. Again, Aahil and Capri exchanged glances. Aahil shrugged and attacked without warning.

  Chapter 38

  Dacci System

  The Charm, Zoo Habitat 331

  _________________

  Things were already tense within the tight confines of the little vessel. Leon wanted to smack the condescending smile off Stalls’ face. It was as if the pirate had anticipated their arrival. Was expecting them. His hands had been bound without the slightest resistance. The guy was a psycho, no doubt about it. He was going to try to screw them all—the very first op
portunity—it was only a matter of when.

  Stalls sat next to Bristol, three seats up from Leon, within the Charm’s narrow cabin. He saw Hanna, seated to his left, one row ahead. Her eyes were on Stalls as well. Her expression said it all: she wanted to kill the bastard. What in hell had he done to her? Whatever she planned to do back, Leon wasn’t going to get in her way … hell, he’d even supply the weapon—one of those big multi-guns should do the trick.

  Leon saw that they’d reached the habitat’s portal, leading back into the Minian. Again, he looked toward Stalls. This is really a bad idea.

  * * *

  Five hours later, after an earlier long hot shower, Leon was rousted from a far-too-brief catnap. Sleepy-eyed and disoriented, he told the AI to send whoever it was away. Apparently she didn’t take orders from guest passengers, because the energy hatch to his small quarters vanished as a sole military man strode in.

  “Rizzo … what are you doing here? Don’t you ever sleep, man?”

  “We’ll sleep when we’re dead … time to go.”

  Leon sat up and ran his fingers through his tousled hair as Rizzo stood silently in front of him. He looked like a younger version of the captain … kinda acted like him, too. “Okay … I’m ready … where are we going?”

  “To your ship.”

  That put a smile on Leon’s face. Finally. “It’s a fair distance away … how we getting to it? Shuttle? Maybe that perky Lieutenant Commander Grimes can pilot us.” Leon pulled on his left, then right, boot. He stood and gestured with a hand toward the still-open hatch: “Lead on,” he said, with an exaggerated smile.

  Three long corridors and two DeckPorts later, they arrived at the flight deck. Considering the size of the ship, it was a massive space, spanning the Minian’s width, with gargantuan-sized arched bay doors on both port and starboard sides.