Star Watch

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “It’s fine. So who’s watching little Michael?”

  “A close friend. He’s in good hands. I didn’t think I should bring him here … probably should have left Mollie home, as well. But—”

  “Don’t worry about it. Make yourself comfortable here on the Minian, too, as long as you like.”

  She nodded, again looking sheepish. “Sorry about the whole … kiss thing.”

  Jason brought two fingers up to his ear. “I’m being hailed … I have to go.”

  Chapter 40

  Dacci System

  Planet Harpaign, Ancient Subterranean Ruins

  _________________

  Palms flat on the gritty stone surface, Lord Vikor Shakrim leaned down further and kissed the ancient artifact. Naked, and on his knees, his head bowed—prone and submissive—Shakrim presented himself to his Master … and waited.

  Eventually the true darkness came. Hot—with the smell of spoiled meat—it flowed all over him like a shroud: down his back and buttocks, over his head and down his arms and legs. It enveloped him in totality.

  Illumination came from one flickering candle. The subterranean vault rested a hundred feet below the surface of Harpaign—or most of it did. The chiseled stone tablet, lying horizontal, was like flooring in the vault. The last third of the tablet floor was missing; only a jagged, uneven edge remained. Shakrim hadn’t needed it. Everything he required to call up Rom Dasticon was already present, as foretold in these ancient tablet writings … as was he, Lord Vikor Shakrim, and his approaching destiny.

  Shakrim, seated, felt his Master’s all-powerful Sachem presence and let his shoulders rise up—his back becoming perfectly erect. The vault, with its stone walls and ceiling, became nothing more than a swirling gray mist. The lone candle flickered out while an amber glow, from a new encircling fire, reflected high up on the walls around him.

  Rom Dasticon suddenly stood before him, and Lord Vikor Shakrim again bowed his head.

  “Stand, my son … stand and converse with me a while.”

  Shakrim did as he was told. Dasticon stood three paces in front of him, his overwhelming presence making it hard for Shakrim to breathe, to comprehend. The all-powerful Sachem was old; he looked as old and withered as the ancient tablet lying beneath their feet. His long robe was brown and simple … a nomad’s attire. Thin, twisted, angular fingers pulled back his hood, letting it droop onto his back, and exposing a long, narrow face. His dark sunken cheeks, with exaggerated folds and wrinkles, covering millenniums of time, sagged his ancient, grayed, flesh. But the ravages of time stopped there. His blue and intelligent eyes glistened, reflecting the dancing light from the surrounding flames.

  Dasticon began to walk the perimeter of their misty-gray surroundings, appearing in deep thought, his fingers steepled together, as though in prayer. “You have made much progress, my son. You honor me with your actions … your devotion.”

  Shakrim absorbed his master’s praise and felt his heart rate elevate—all sense of time and space merging into one. “I serve only to please. Even now, my Lord, my ships and soldiers are poised to attack. Then … I will open the conduit between our realms. Soon, you will move between all realms of reality with the same ease as walking through a door. I will provide access to all realms … I do this for you, dear Master.”

  Dasticon abruptly halted and looked directly at Shakrim. Eyes that were calm just moments earlier now burned with fury. “You? You think it is you … and not me, who does all this? Your ego has truly gotten the best of you, Shakrim!” With the speed of someone much younger, Dasticon leapt across the space separating them. Startled, Shakrim drew in the stench of his master’s bitter, foul, breath. Dasticon’s face, contorted in rage, was up close; his eyes bored deeply into his very soul. A claw-like hand moved near Shakrim’s left cheek. He felt fingertips faintly touching his skin. Suddenly, smoke rose into the air and a horrific, agonizing pain seared him as Dasticon’s long discolored fingernails plunged deep into his cheek … making deep, black, columned tracks as he slowly raked his fingers down … down … down … finally stopping at the base of Shakrim’s neck.

  Shakrim had not moved, had not made a sound. He stood perfectly still while Dasticon admired his handiwork—drawing in the last vestiges of Shakrim’s still-smoldering, burnt, flesh.

  “I must take possession of the magical chariot … the vessel named Minian, within the next full rise and fall of the sun. Is that understood, my son?”

  “We are ready to attack, Rom Dasticon … I will not fail you. The ship is as good as yours.”

  Smiling, Dasticon gave Shakrim an almost affectionate pat upon his now-ruined face. He vanished, along with the mist and fire. The vault appeared now as it first was. The candle, relit, again flickered and danced in the darkness.

  * * *

  High above the vault’s tablet floor, up on one of the rock-walled ledges, standing perfectly still, hidden within a deep-shadowed crevice, stood a lone observer. The observer watched as Lord Vikor Shakrim now looked up into the darkness, as if searching for something … was seeking him out. Shakrim’s face, caught in the dancing light of the candle below, exhibited the dark deep tracks upon his cheek and neck. Ricket stepped farther back into the crevice and phase-shifted away.

  Chapter 41

  Dacci System

  The Minian, Mess

  _________________

  Jason and Nan entered the Minian’s mess, along with Mollie, who was being a motor-mouth—something to do with the Zoo habitats and being reunited with Raja the elephant. Nan literally walked right into Dira, apparently just on her way out. The two hugged and promised to catch up later. Mollie and Dira exchanged smiles, but Jason received nary a glance. Dira passed by him without the slightest acknowledgment he even existed.

  “I’m sorry,” Nan said, as the three got into a short line in front of one of the food replicators. “I’m sure to her it must look like we’re … I don’t know … a family again,” Nan said.

  “It’s fine, I’ll talk to her,” Jason said, doing his best to sound unconcerned.

  Mollie, the first to reach the replicator, filled a tray to an amount bordering on obscene.

  “That’s too much, Mollie. Why make such a pig of yourself … it’s not like you can’t come back for more if you really need to,” Nan said.

  Mollie shrugged and headed off to an empty table.

  By the time Jason and Nan joined Mollie, she was nearly finished eating.

  “I don’t know where she puts it all,” Nan said to Jason, sitting down.

  Jason shrugged. “At that age they’re never still … they’re calorie-burning machines.”

  The three sat side-by-side, on the same side of the table, with their backs to the entrance. So when someone came up behind Mollie, placing two hands over her eyes, it took all three by surprise.

  “Guess who?”

  Jason and Nan spun around as Mollie grabbed on to Boomer’s wrists.

  Mollie pulled her sister’s hands away and laughed out loud when she saw Boomer. “You didn’t surprise me; I knew you were there the whole time.”

  “Liar … none of you knew I was here.”

  Jason was relieved to see her … seeing that she was safe, and back on board the Minian. He watched as Nan hugged Boomer tight, rocking her back and forth. Suddenly Nan pushed Boomer away at arm’s length—her face flushed with anger. “Do you know how much trouble you are in? How your selfish actions affect everyone else? Do you have any idea how scared I was?”

  Boomer didn’t answer. The corners of her mouth turned down and she was on the verge of tears. Again, Boomer was their little girl. She slowly nodded—looking guilty and ashamed. Once Nan had released her hands from her shoulders, she pulled her in again for another tight embrace. Boomer tapped her father on the shoulder, signaling him to scoot down so she could sit between them. She was dressed in her typical spacer’s jumpsuit attire. He continued to stare at her—perhaps to confirm she was still the same child she’d always been.<
br />
  She glanced up at Jason and smiled. “What? Are you going to yell at me too?”

  * * *

  Jason walked around the perimeter of the SpaceRunner, admiring Leon’s recently retrieved spacecraft. It was somewhat larger than he’d expected, but it also didn’t look like a black market trader vessel someone like Mr. Pike would be captaining. As if on cue, the ship’s appearance suddenly changed: Its glistening, highly reflective hull … a real jewel of a ship … had morphed into what might best be described as an unremarkable, battered, old space jalopy. Jason smiled as he reached up and ran his hand over what looked to be a charred, fairly deep, plasma crater. It was perfectly smooth—the hull only appeared to be damaged.

  Leon came down the gangway in three long strides. “Well … what do you think?”

  “I think that’s a useful feature,” Jason replied, suddenly becoming serious. “Look … I don’t know you … not really … and that makes me nervous. You’re taking on an invaluable cargo here, Mr. Pike. The most valuable cargo.” Jason stared toward the bow of the vessel where a group of people had begun to assemble. Boomer was standing next to her mother and talking to Hanna. Somewhere out of view, inside the ship, Jason heard someone loudly cursing.

  Leon shook his head. “Bristol … he’s quite a character. But he knows his shit … got a feeling he already knows the propulsion system on the SpaceRunner better than I do.”

  “I guarantee he does,” Jason said.

  Leon gestured toward Boomer. “I’ll watch out for her. I give you my word on that.”

  Jason brought his full attention over to Leon. “Know this. If anything happens to my daughter, I’ll track you down and kill you with my bare hands. You can take that to the bank.” Jason didn’t wait for a reply, leaving Leon standing bemused beneath his ship. Jason headed toward the near-complete assembly of team participants.

  Mollie and Boomer were playing—clapping each other’s hands in a faster and faster, back-and-forth, routine that made everyone laugh. Boomer was the first to screw up.

  “You did it wrong!” Boomer barked.

  “Shut up! You’re a sore loser,” Mollie barked back.

  Nan rolled her eyes as the girls started playing again. “Tell me we’re not making the biggest mistake of our lives, Jason.”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did,” he replied.

  Hanna said, “Leon’s a good guy. Rough around the edges, but a good guy. He saved my life on more than one occasion.”

  The last of the team was arriving. Stalls had his hands bound in front of him and Jason also noticed the thin silver band around Stalls’ left wrist. From what Ricket had previously told him, the custom-made tracker would be impossible to remove. It could also deliver a lethal electrical voltage that would stop Stalls’ heart immediately from virtually anywhere across the galaxy. He wore an identical band on his right ankle, if one wasn’t enough deterrent.

  The two girls stopped playing and watched as Rizzo escorted the now all-too-familiar pirate toward the SpaceRunner.

  Stalls, all smiles and looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world, focused his attention on only one person: Nan. “I’m truly touched … here you are … the beautiful … splendid creature … that you are … and you’re here to see me off.”

  Nan’s eyes went wide as she struggled to get the words out, “What … what the hell is he doing here?”

  Jason froze. She didn’t know Stalls was part of the mission and would be on the same ship. And how could she? He hadn’t told her. Hadn’t told her their daughter would be traveling alongside the very person who had, on multiple occasions, tried to kill each one of them, and who’d vowed that someday, he would finish what he had started.

  “No … this isn’t going to happen! Jason, you SOB, tell me this isn’t going to happen!”

  “I don’t like it any more than you. But he’s the only way they’ll be able to gain access into Dacci space … to get close enough to Lord Shakrim.”

  Nan continued staring at Jason in angry exasperation.

  “Rizzo’s never leaving her side. And don’t forget, at this point Boomer could turn him inside out on her own, if it comes down to that.”

  Nan closed her eyes, inhaled, letting her rage out slowly. “This keeps getting better and better.”

  “If there was any other way—”

  Nan brought up a hand. “Just shut up, Jason. Just shut up.”

  * * *

  It felt good to be back in the pilot’s seat. Leon completed his pre-flight checklist and everything seemed to be operational. There were several new additions to the cockpit’s forward console. Earlier, Bristol had configured the newly installed phase-shift system, as well as the required, beefed-up, deep-space communications system.

  “How familiar are you with this vessel, mecher?”

  Trommy5, who’d repeatedly been told to speak only when spoken to, and was seated in the copilot’s seat, answered with a surprising, all too welcome, economy of words. “I am programmed to pilot similar vessels, but not this specific model.”

  “Well, I’ve provided you direct access to Miranda … the ship’s AI. In your downtime, I expect you to tap in and get fully acquainted with this ship’s operation. It’s probably best if I’m not the only one who can pilot her for this mission.”

  “Yes, Captain Pike.”

  Leon watched as the tall robot went quiet—already interfacing with Miranda—and pulling necessary data from her vast storage core.

  Leon took hold of the controls and felt the SpaceRunner’s drive revving up as the vessel lifted off the flight deck. He saw on the display that the Minian’s AI had provided clearance to exit through the portside bay opening. He eased the ship forward and within five seconds was crossing through the invisible energy field separating ship environment from the total vacuum of deep space.

  The SpaceRunner, now locked on course for the Dacci system, traveled through space at a mere fraction of the speed she was capable of. From here on out, they had to avoid doing anything that would cause suspicion.

  Leon got up and left the bridge, with Trommy5 still sitting quietly in the copilot’s seat. He exited through the opened hatchway and walked up a small stairway where another hatchway automatically opened on his approach. The SpaceRunner’s semi-circular main cabin contained everyone who was part of the mission. Bristol sat alone, tinkering with some unknown piece of equipment on his lap, while Hanna and Boomer, chatting, sat next to each other. Rizzo and Stalls, seated across from one another, were not speaking nor looking particularly happy with each other’s company. Rizzo was the only one wearing an initialized battle suit—the muzzle of his multi-gun pointed directly at Stalls’ chest.

  Leon sat down next to Rizzo. “Let’s go over the scenario one more time.”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Leon.

  “We already did this,” Hanna said. “I’m the captain’s loving and adoring wife.”

  “I’m their bratty kid,” Boomer volunteered.

  “I’m the captain’s partner,” Rizzo said.

  “I’m a crewmember,” Bristol said, yawning hugely.

  All eyes went to Stalls. “I’m a passenger … a simple trader, hitching a ride into the Dacci system to sell my recently-acquired supply of Targonian spirits … a known favorite of the Lord Shakrim.”

  “And I’m the captain of this ship and also a fellow interstellar trader,” Leon said.

  Stalls smirked. “There’s no guarantee I’ll get clearance to enter their system … if I do, we won’t get far, looking like this … dressed like this.”

  Hanna pulled a large duffle bag onto her lap and unzipped it. One by one she brought out various articles of clothing and tossed them to those around her.

  Stalls held up his new clothes and nodded appreciably. “I couldn’t have selected better myself.”

  “Your typical attire is well documented. We simply replicated the clothes,” Hanna said.

  Leon looked at Stalls’ fancy black tr
ousers and frilly, white, button-down shirt. An outfit he wouldn’t be caught dead in, but to each his own.

  Bristol held up his uniform. “What the hell is this? Some kind of joke?”

  Hanna seemed to struggle in keeping a straight face. “It’s a simple spacer’s jumpsuit … what’s the big deal?”

  “It’s bright red … who wears a fucking bright red jumpsuit?”

  “Santa Claus does,” Boomer said, with a giggle.

  Leon stood. “Let’s get changed and prepare for what’s coming next. Stalls … fifteen minutes and you’re making that call. If the Sahhrain don’t buy your act, you’ll be of no use to us. I have advanced permission to throw you out the airlock.”

  Chapter 42

  Dacci System

  Planet Harpaign, Ancient Surface Ruins

  _________________

  Ricket, hiding on the surface of Harpaign, watched as Lord Shakrim returned to the Assailant, took off, and headed back into space. Three miles away was the wreckage of his Pharlom fighter—its broken wing, and failing aerodynamic structure had made any kind of atmospheric flight virtually impossible. In retrospect, after the rescue of the admiral, he now realized he should have told the captain his plans to stop off on Harpaign before returning to the Minian.

  Fortunately, he was able to get close enough to his intended surface destination, phase-shifting out of the cockpit, mere seconds before the fighter crashed.

  Ricket also knew he needed to contact the captain and relay what he’d learned—where they were most vulnerable from attack. He briefly wondered why both communications, and most of his suit’s sensors capabilities, were so completely disrupted here, while the ability to phase-shift seemed unaffected.

  Ricket continued to stare into the hazy sky above him, knowing full well he wouldn’t be leaving this desolate world in the same manner the Assailant had.

  Soon after he’d phase-shifted to this site from approximately one mile out, he’d spotted the parked Assailant and knew he had found Lord Shakrim. Then, he’d made his way below ground, utilizing a combination of climbing and phase-shifting—basically trial and error—until he found the Sahhrain leader far beneath the surface within the sacred subterranean vault. Between the strange effects this planet probably played on Shakrim’s normally high, acutely aware psychic senses, not to mention Ricket’s own advanced Caldurian battle suit, which concealed his presence from view, Ricket hadn’t been detected by Shakrim.