Boomer (Star Watch Book 3)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Foreword
Prologue
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
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Acknowledgments
Other books by MWM
Copyright
BOOMER
Book Three of the Star Watch series
Written By
Mark Wayne McGinnis
Foreword
Quick Tip 1:
For those using web-enabled e-readers, or have access to the web via a PC,
you can now refer back to the author’s website for illustrated floor
plans of The Lilly’s and the Minian’s various decks and compartments,
as well as those of another vessel called the Parcical.
More ship diagrams will be added over time. Throughout this book,
the various little icons (such as the one below) are provided as a quick reminder of this
option—simply click on the ship icon to jump to the Explore The Ships website diagrams:
Quick Tip 2:
After seven Scrapyard Ship books and three Star Watch books, there’s a ton of
character names, various alien star systems and planet names, not to mention
all the series-specific SciFi terms and phrases … well, help is here! On the
Mark Wayne McGinnis website there’s a complete
Glossary of Terms for your reference—click the icon below:
Prologue
Legs outstretched, Boomer sat on a layer of accumulated black ash. The ground was still warm beneath her. She just needed to quickly catch her breath—a moment, or two. Nighttime’s darkness had turned to dawn—a narrow band of scarlet was breaching the far-off horizon. She waved away a fluttering, glowing ember. Looking at her soot-blackened hand, she noted she was missing the tip of one finger—her pinkie. She examined the cauterized stub as if it were an inanimate thing … something apart from herself. She looked up, now that the fallen forms around her were taking on shape in the early light, and silently acknowledged those dead. They were all dead. She surveyed the surrounding battlefield and the recently fallen. The impact of what she was seeing, she knew, was being internally compartmentalized. She wasn’t ready to acknowledge the loss of those she cared about. Not yet, anyway. Looking around her, she saw the bloodied—more often blackened—smoldering bodies. Death lay everywhere. And now the stink of death was filling the morning air in this ancient place—recently so beautiful, with its endless amber desert dunes and meticulously preserved ruins. Built by a people who’d warned this day would come. Apparently … no one had listened.
Boomer rested her open hand on the cool, triangular-shaped metal strapped to her forearm. She fingered the lines on its engraved surface and let them speak to her: Deek mog Mirrah—lor eej Pol … Strength of Spirit will vanquish all enemies. She almost laughed out loud but a tear inexplicably fell onto the surface of her enhancement shield. With the heel of her palm she ground its moisture into the black soot.
She felt subtle vibrations beneath her. They’re coming for me. Without looking down, she reached for the small metallic device on her belt and depressed the two inset tabs. Three times she repeated the same action and three times nothing happened. The SuitPac device was dead anyway—her battle suit’s auxiliary power completely exhausted. “Screw it … the thing just gets in my way.”
She stood, keeping her eyes fixed on the sky’s ever-growing color band—now pink and amber and more beautiful than anything she’d ever witnessed. It’s a good day to die. She turned to face the approaching column of Sahhrain warriors, who moved ahead with steady, unhurried purpose. Harpaign’s morning sun washed over the backs and sides of the warriors, shimmering off their metallic breastplates and flowing capes. The sight was both beautiful and horrible. Her eyes easily settled on Lord Zintar Shakrim. Bigger than expected, he was a hell of a lot bigger than his brother, Vikor.
Shit.
Chapter 1
“Why am I even here?”
“Oh, come on … how can you ask that?”
“It’s not like we were close. I haven’t seen her in … what? Three years?”
Jason tightened his jaw. It was two years since he’d last seen Boomer. He’d been the one to encourage her to go. If only he could do things differently—do things all over again.
Mollie said, “I’m missing finals this week. You know that … right?”
“I don’t care; you can make them up.”
Mollie continued to stare straight ahead, out the forward observation window. “It’s not like high school. In college certain expectations have to be met. Grades matter.”
“So does attending your sister’s funeral … or whatever they call it on Harpaign.”
Jason knew Mollie well enough to know she was dealing with Boomer’s death in her own way, by acting indifferent—deflecting. The truth was, Boomer wasn’t actually her sister. She wasn’t, in fact, even a different person. They shared the same DNA. Their bond was profound and Mollie, he knew, was as devastated by Boomer’s loss as he was.
He glanced over to her, noting the physical resemblance between both daughters, but he had to look for it. Mollie, now sixteen, was as near a polar opposite to Boomer as one could imagine. Mollie’s brown hair, streaked with wheat-colored highlights, was worn long and straight, reaching down past the middle of her back. Fashion-conscious, she was dressed in a crisp, white button-down shirt tucked into a short gray skirt. Refined and proper, she intended to be a lawyer, like her mother. Boomer, on the other hand—at least the last time he’d seen her—had her hair dyed black and cut short and was wearing oversized camo-pants and a black, torn, AC/DC T-shirt.
“You’re sure Mom’s going to be there?”
“She’s probably already there by now. Why don’t you NanoText her and see for yourself?” Jason said as he entered the necessary code to call up an interchange wormhole.
Mollie raised her chin and took in her surroundings. “This is new.”
“Perk of the job,” Jason said. Actually, Stellar, a fifty-five-foot-long space yacht, was built to his own specifications. It was a luxury transport vessel that made extended space travel more comfortable. With the galaxy enjoying relative peace fo
r the last year, Jason was spending more and more time on diplomatic missions. At forty-five, he was still in his prime as a commander … as fleet Omni … but he did enjoy, occasionally, the softer bed and plush-cushioned seating the Stellar afforded.
“It’s nice … I guess. A little swanky.” Mollie let out a long breath, using manicured fingernails to pull non-existent lint from her skirt. “I thought I’d see Dira here. She still on Jhardon?”
He nodded. About to ask her about school, Jason noticed she’d just plugged ear buds into her ears and was scrolling through what seemed to be an endless list of songs or playlists on her iPhone. Adding to that, she’d slightly turned away—an indication further conversation was over.
Soon, Jason became lost in his own thoughts. Has it really been two years? He unconsciously nodded. It was hard to believe that nearly five years had passed since he’d taken on the role of Omni, the U.S. space fleet’s supreme commander position. Boomer had been at his side through what must have been a hundred Star Watch missions. She’d been a warrior in every sense of the word. He overheard more than once that she was a badass and even far worse things than that. It was common knowledge: Not only was she the Omni’s daughter, she was the daughter of the former President of the United States. Make a pass at her and risk a slow torturous death—from Traveler, a seven-foot-tall rhino-warrior, or from Jason’s best friend and fellow Navy SEAL, Billy Hernandez, or from a slew of others, who protected Boomer as if she were part of their own family. So any ill-advised romantic advances, or overtures, had not been a problem. But even at fourteen, the last time he’d seen his daughter, she was not interested in boys. Kahill Callan pretty much occupied the entirety of her personal universe. Boomer was a Tahli warrior—a master of that Blues ancient martial arts since she was eleven years old. She was tough—had a no-nonsense, no bullshit attitude, and her departure left a void on board the Parcical when she went off to complete her training elsewhere. But there had been vulnerability there too. As accomplished and fearsome a killer as Boomer had become, still his daughter was vulnerable in other ways, perhaps even more so than Mollie. Inside, she possessed a childlike innocence that was in stark opposition to the badass demeanor she tried to exude outwardly.
And now she was dead. Jason closed his eyes and willed himself to hold back the tears—search for something … anything … else to think about. They were entering the interchange wormhole. He made a few unnecessary adjustments to the controls and chewed at the inside of his cheek. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mollie looking at him over her shoulder. Just as quickly, they were already emerging from the wormhole, where no less than twenty imposing Blues’ warships were within visual range.
A small Craing man entered the bridge. “Captain, shall I request permission—”
Jason cut him off with a slight wave of his hand: “No … that’s okay, Ricket, the AI’s already taken care of that.”
For the first time in more than an hour Mollie smiled, then concern filled her eyes. “Hi, Ricket. It’s good to see you. You look …”
Ricket’s face brightened seeing Mollie and he hurried to her side. He placed a hand on her arm and said, “I’ve made some adjustments to my physiology. I didn’t anticipate how dramatic the repercussions from doing so might be physically. Is it disturbing?”
“Disturbing? To me?” she laughed, and before he could react, she flung her arms around him and pulled him in for a hug. “I love you, Ricket … there’s absolutely nothing you could ever do that would ever disturb me.”
It was good to see Mollie smile. Apparently, only her parents were on the receiving end of her perpetual cold treatment. Once released from her embrace, Ricket, blushing and obviously flustered, smiled and looked awkward.
“Ricket, can you let the others know we’ve entered the Dacci system and we’ll be saddling up to the StarDome within the next ten minutes?”
“Yes, Captain.” Ricket left the small bridge and Jason turned his attention to the distant space structure. The Blues had completed construction on the StarDome less than a year earlier. With Lord Vikor Shakrim long dead, and the subsequent defeat of the Sahhrain, the Blues had flourished. The StarDome—a vast space station in the Dacci system—was both a military stronghold and a legislative capital. Hundreds of thousands of beings lived and worked there.
But now the nearby, sand-colored planet, lying just beyond it, consumed all Jason’s attention. Harpaign.
“Is that where it happened?” asked Mollie. “Where she … where her body is?”
Jason turned toward Mollie and nodded. “That’s Harpaign, and yes—that’s where your sister’s body is being held.”
Mollie’s eyes were fixed on the bright planet. “I hate this place. Why did she ever have to come here?”
“She had a connection with this planet that went far beyond my, or anyone else’s, understanding. In some ways she was more a Blues than a human. Besides, except for the Parcical, this planet was her home.”
Mollie’s face darkened and there was a coldness in her voice Jason had never heard before. “Let’s just get this over with. I don’t want to be here.”
Chapter 2
Positioned snuggly in the Stellar’s StarDome berth, Jason put the yacht’s systems to sleep. He rose to his feet, and saw Mollie waited for him at the bridge hatchway. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder, and he saw what looked to be the top edge of a photograph, peeking out from one of the bag’s numerous front pockets. Jason gestured toward it with his chin. “May I?”
Mollie shrugged indifference, and he plucked it free from the pocket. It was a photograph of Mollie and Boomer together. He instantly recognized the background—their home back on Earth—the family scrapyard. His father’s latest project, an old Skylark, was still in the midst of repair work at that time.
“This photo has to be four years old,” Jason said.
“Closer to five,” she corrected.
Laughing, both girls—about twelve years old—were wearing shorts and T-shirts and had their arms casually slung over each other’s shoulders. They were covered from head to toe in brightly colored splotches of paint. Their grandfather thought it a good idea to buy them paint guns and use the scrapyard as a battlefield. Jason remembered the day the picture was taken—how much fun they had and how both girls received a myriad of cuts and bruises on their legs and arms. Scolding his father for letting the girls use the scrapyard as a playground, his father sloughed it off saying, “You grew up playing in the damn scrapyard … didn’t you turn out okay?”
“We better go, Dad,” Mollie said, pulling the picture from his fingers and tucking it back inside its pocket on her backpack. They entered the main cabin, appointed more like a lavish living room than a spacecraft, which held sectional leather, couch-like, seating; indirect lighting; and wraparound observation windows on both its port and starboard sides. Ten or more passengers were making this solemn journey on board the Stellar. It had been quite some time since all of them had been together in one location. Traveler loomed over everyone and looked uncomfortable amongst, with the exception of Ricket, the humanoids. He spent most of his time these days, when back on Earth, in an area allocated to other rhino-warriors in North Korea. He’d avoided taking any direct leadership position up to this point, but Jason suspected that could be changing.
Jason watched Mollie approach Traveler, taking hold of his hand. Together, they headed out of the vessel.
“Swanky.”
Jason turned—it was Billy Hernandez, referring to the plush accommodations inside the main cabin. He ran several fingers over the top of a leather seat, then over an embossed Mercedes Benz symbol. “Guess it was only a matter of time,” he said with a wry grin—the laugh lines on his face briefly coming to light. Like Jason, he was wearing his dress reds. Red was the official color of all U.S. fleet officer uniforms these days and Billy wore his well.
An unlit cigar hung from Billy’s lips and his expression turned serious. “You’re not alone here, Cap … w
e’re all hurting. Not like you … I know that … but just know, her loss …”
Jason nodded and put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “I know, my friend. Thank you.
“Countless times a day I find myself thinking about it. Shit, it’s the worst kind of gut punch,” Jason said, not wanting to talk any more about it. He saw Orion talking to Captain Perkins on the other side of the cabin and subtly nodded to her. Her eyes flicked toward Billy and she shook her head. She and Billy had been inseparable for years, but now, even getting them to stay in the same room together took something like this to happen. Jason knew Orion would wait for him to finish conversing with Billy before she’d approach.
He shook Billy’s hand. “I’ll catch you later, Billy. Let me make the rounds … I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to catch up with everyone at the service.”
“What’s that going to be … um … like? Do you know?” Billy asked.
“Not sure. The Blues have their own deep-rooted spiritual beliefs. We’ll just have to go along for the ride.” Jason gave Billy a pat on the back and moved off.
Orion, like Billy and Ricket, was among the crew he saw on a daily basis. Stationed on the Parcical, they each could have moved on to higher officer positions anywhere in the fleet, but apparently they were content right where they were. Secretly, Jason suspected that Billy and Orion didn’t want to venture too far away from one another—somehow hoping things could be reconciled between them—though neither would ever admit to that.
Orion opened her arms and pulled Jason in for a hug. He felt the strength in her arms—felt the flexing of her biceps beneath her uniform. Although she looked African-American, she wasn’t actually from Earth. Gunny Orion was once a sports star on her home planet of Tarkin.
They separated and she continued to gaze at Jason with compassion. Her face was intricately tattooed, covered with minute geometric symbols. From what Billy had attested to him in a pub on a return visit to Trom—when they both were inebriated—there wasn’t an inch on her body that was not similarly marked. And Billy had checked and rechecked that fact.