Boomer (Star Watch Book 3) Page 4

  Jason felt his chest begin to restrict, finding it hard to breathe. It was time to come to terms with the harsh reality that his daughter was dead. Accept it, as Nan and Mollie had. He looked over to Mollie, ready to be there for her; provide her all the loving support she needed. What he didn’t expect to see in that moment was what showed on her face: A broad, confident, smile.

  “She’s not dead … Dad.”

  Chapter 6

  Two weeks earlier …

  Carmotta’s scream threw her off balance. Boomer’s natural instinct was to rescue her friend. What then? Rescue her, only to fight her again later on?

  The stocky female before her hadn’t moved from her perch amongst the rocky shards. Smiling, she beckoned Boomer forward with an inward waving gesture. “I am Latchki … the opponent who ends your quest for the Goldwon,” she chided.

  Boomer returned her own gesture—one far less friendly, which instigated a ferocious round of distortion waves in her direction. She blocked the first round but misjudged where the second round would hit, and took the full breadth of Latchki’s energy punch to her solar plexus. Boomer stumbled and nearly passed out. Crap that hurts.

  Shaking it off, Boomer kept moving around the lower perimeter of the rocks—her eyes constantly scanning for each potential safe haven landing spot. She’d counted four so far and committed them to memory. She was well aware that one mistake … one misjudgment … would mean a certain, painful, death.

  “Come on, little Calhoom, don’t be afraid. I will kill you fast. No need for the alternative pain you’ll face if you make this difficult for me.”

  There’s that word again … Calhoom. She didn’t know precisely what it meant but she’d let the obviously derogatory term get under her skin. A handful of young Blues Tahli warriors spent time in the infirmary recently—all regretting they’d called her that same stupid word. She threw her pratta-shaft and saw Latchki casually block it with her shield.

  Boomer had now spied five isolated safe regions, some no wider than a few inches, located throughout the rock tower. She came around from the back of the tower and made eye contact with the stocky girl, who then fired off three quick distortion wave bursts. Boomer used her shield to fire off her own deflecting salvos, then abruptly went airborne, using her shield to propel herself thirty feet up onto the tower—ten feet behind, and to the right, of her opponent. She precariously landed on one foot—all there was room for—between a series of razor-sharp spikes. Again, she used distortion waves, to help her maintain balance, while staying consciously aware of her opponent, now turning in her direction.

  Boomer, slow to make a move, took a glancing blow to her upper shoulder. It was enough to throw her off balance and she fell backward, toward five, or more, upward-pointed rocky spikes. Spinning around, the highest of the skewer-like rock spikes impaled her upper thigh. By sheer good fortune, she was able to grasp ahold of the next spike an inch before it entered her left eye socket. She couldn’t adequately use her shield since she was holding on to the spike with the same hand. Cheers from fifty thousand Blues erupted—clearly anticipating her imminent demise.

  Laughter, then a light-hearted song came up from below: “Calhoom … Calhoom … the Calhoom’s going to diiiiiiee …”

  Boomer was stuck. The white-hot blinding pain in her leg made it nearly impossible to think, or to move, and she was losing blood. The first of Latchki’s distortion waves began to pound against Boomer’s unprotected back, and she felt the skin there start to blister. A truckload of MarGiline’s makeup’s not going to hide that scarring. Tears filled her eyes and she clenched her teeth—not wanting to give her opponent the pleasure of hearing her scream. In an all-or-nothing effort, Boomer wrenched her skewered leg sideways and felt the spike snap in half. She was free—but her fleeting strength had nearly dissipated.

  “Hey—Thunder thighs! Sing that song again … will you?” Boomer yelled from the tower.

  She heard her laugh again and then there it was … that same stupid song.

  It did the trick. Infuriated, Boomer, her fist still tightly wrapped around the spike a mere inch from her face, thrust her arm downward, then propelled herself backward, away from the spike, and into a sideways spin. At last, she was now able to use her shield. In less than a second she managed to stand vertically again, even on the leg still impaled with a broken-off rock spike. Boomer did her best to recall each one of the other safe havens she’d noted, then made her next move. Using intense violet distortion waves, she propelled herself upward, over the head of her opponent, and landed on a slanted plateau of rock just wide enough for both feet. She’d caught Latchki off guard. With anger unbridled, Boomer let go with a battery of violet—now fringed with red—distortion waves, directing them toward Latchki’s head.

  Boomer quickly took to the air again, heading for her next safe haven. Solely from memory, she landed with her legs apart—coming down on two separate, narrow, flat outcroppings. Shield up and ready for her next attack, Boomer hesitated. Latchki’s face looked decimated—her nose was virtually non-existent—her lips an oozing pulp mess. One eye was seared shut while the other held Boomer’s stare. Latchki tried to say something … wobbled … and Boomer knew, beyond any doubt, she purposely let herself fall forward. A four-foot-tall shard of rock entered her chest, killing her instantly. The yelling crowd went quiet.

  Before Boomer could fully digest what just happened, she heard Carmotta’s voice off in the distance, taunting her opponent. Words that surprisingly comforted Boomer, in light of what had just occurred.

  Something flashed above her and she turned toward the middle of the stadium. There, high above on the center pedestal, sun rays struck the small statue in just the right way. Its glittering reflection reminded Boomer of why she was there. I haven’t forgotten about you, little Goldwon. Don’t worry—I’ll be up there with you … soon.

  Boomer heard the distant Shintuco Cat’s roar—loud enough to drown out the erupting cheers of the audience. Boomer dreaded going near that end of the stadium—because of the big cat, for sure; but even more so—Drom was there.

  First things first: Boomer inspected the damage to her thigh. The tip of the rock spike was still imbedded, at least several inches deep. It hurt, but hadn’t incapacitated her so far. Best to leave it be for now. For all she knew, she’d completely bleed out if she pulled it free.

  * * *

  Maneuvering toward the south end of the stadium, she noticed several contestants’ banners had been pulled down from their pedestals: Clive Sha’s, Latchki’s, and three others. They were all dead. Both Drom’s and Carmotta’s, plus two others, and her own, still remained up. Five down … four to go.

  Farther down from the quicksand-like dunes, on the same side of the stadium, was another death-defying zone—The Pendulums. Looking between the tall, swinging back and forth, half-circular, honed blades—no opponents could be seen nearby. The closer she came to them the more she heard their swooping sounds and felt the rushing of air on her skin. Some of the swinging blades nearly touched the ground, while others were closer to head-level; all of them, probably close to fifteen total, moved independently of one another. Boomer came to an abrupt stop, catching sight of something she’d not anticipated to find there—a twenty-foot-tall, un-climbable, glass-like panel. The whole area to the right of the wall obstacle was considered out of bounds. To get to the next zone, Drom’s zone, she’d need to move through the myriad of swinging pendulums. Boomer contemplated turning completely back around—retracing her steps, going counter-clockwise, around the stadium. But in doing that she knew she’d only have to face other obstacles. And, not to forget, her friend, Carmotta, too … eventually. No. She’d face this obstacle head on, and persevere.

  But she couldn’t see how to do it. Come on … come on! There has to be a way through the blades by timing my advances, she thought. Right? Boomer’s eyes followed the rhythm of the long swinging blades, watching for openings—where and when she’d need to hold up. The roars co
ming from the Shintuco Cat tugged at her concentration: Twice she lost focus and needed to start over. What the hell is that? She thought she could see movement, on the far side of the zone. Boomer twice visualized her progression through the maze of blades, and realized there wasn’t any way to move forward without being split in half. Frustrated, she stomped her foot. “Damn!”

  Then she heard his voice—barely audible above the yowl of the big cat and the cheering crowd. “Come on, figure it out … you can move sideways too … not only forward.”

  She recognized Drom’s voice. It was Drom she’d seen moving around on the obstacle’s other side. Of course, why hadn’t she thought of that? She went back over her mental steps-counting, only this time, when there was no clear way to proceed forward, she looked instead for ways to move sideways. Yes! That’s it!

  Boomer by now knew the rhythm of each blade. Knew the beats to count—whether to hold up or go on. She waited for the first two outer opposing blades to cross then jumped. She was in! She counted four beats and jumped forward again, now crouching low, for the next swinging pendulum hung a foot and a half lower than the last. Hold five beats, then rolling, head-over-heels, forward, she stood up straight, in the middle of the obstacle. It seemed darker and cooler there, where all forward movement was impossible. She counted eight beats then sidestepped three times and halted. Again, ducking low, Boomer froze. Here, the blades in front of her were all smeared with blood … dripping with blood. She became aware of other objects … grizzly things … spread over the ground. Body parts. She knew that losing her concentration and focus now, missing a count, would be the end of her. Three beats … four beats … she jumped forward, immediately sidestepping to the right. She saw the head-height pendulum blade swinging toward her head and leaned back an inch, holding her breath. Shingggg—several strands of her hair flew into the air and drifted around her. That was way too close. She jumped forward and … oh my God, I’ve lost count … I’ve completely, fucking, lost count! Her breaths expelled fast and short. The pendulums seemed to have increased speed and were zipping around her on all sides. Oh God, I’m trapped here. Think! Then she thought of something … something divergent. Two of the swinging pendulums, the ones forward and to her right, were significantly smaller. Certainly just as sharp and lethal, but they weighed far less than the other blades. There didn’t seem to be another course of action—could she do it?

  Boomer closed her eyes and, using baskile, relaxed and let the world around her fade away into the ether. The sounds of the big cat, the crowd, and the rhythmic swooping of the blades became muted, then drummed into silence. Now, only the two, small, swinging pendulums remained in her consciousness. She saw them clearly and let all fear … all dread … dissipate away. When she was ready, she raised her enhancement shield—pointing its face toward where the pendulum blades would cross in front of her—and fired off a massive, bright-scarlet-colored stream of distortion waves.

  The abrupt, very loud clanging of metal hitting metal startled her from her deep meditation. The swinging pendulums continued to move in their deathly trajectories—except for the two smaller blades, both destroyed. As easily as walking through a doorway, Boomer stepped forward and to the side into the next zone, to a stunned, silent, arena.

  Apparently waiting for her, Drom casually stood there, using his upright pratta-shaft to support his weight. Blood covered much of his body. Boomer was unsure how much was his, or if the blood belonged to his recent opponents. What was left of a shredded one … or maybe two, dismembered Tahli warriors, lay behind at the feeding big cat’s feet. She saw Drom’s crooked smile … a smile that conveyed both relief and awe she’d managed to survive her own fearsome obstacle.

  “I wouldn’t be turning my back on that beast if I were you,” Boomer said, gesturing toward the snarling Shintuco Cat behind him.

  Drom gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “He and I have come to an agreement.”

  “Yeah? And what’s that?”

  “If he keeps his distance I won’t keep aiming distortion waves at his testicles.”

  Boomer nodded and slowly turned in a circle. One by one, she noted the home banners missing from some pedestals. Her gaze stopped, spotting the symbol of a bright-blue palm on a field of black. He said, “I guess it’s down to just the three of us, kid.”

  Boomer was about to respond that’s the way I’d hoped it would be—but she never had the chance. It started as a vibration—then a rumble. The ground beneath them began shaking. Someone in the crowd screamed—something about a warship. But Boomer had already seen it: Massive and ominous, it slowly moved into view as it crested over the top of the stadium. Only then did it fire off its big plasma cannons. The nearby south section of the stands went up in a fireball, and with it—thousands of Blues’ lives.

  Chapter 7

  Jason continued to stare at his daughter. He knew this was an emotional time for her—in spite of her obvious put on nonchalance. “Look, Mollie, I know this is a difficult time for you … it is for all of us.”

  “You know, Dad, I was afraid to come here,” Mollie said.

  Jason slowly nodded, not sure where she was going with that comment. “Of course you were.”

  “I knew I’d be able to feel her last moments … maybe even see her death,” Mollie said. “The thought of it scared me … terrified me. It’s happened before—too many times to count—those constant life and death situations. It’s why I hate her. Hate her for the connection I have with her and what I’ve had to …” Mollie’s voice trailed off.

  Jason was aware the girls were bonded, possibly like no other two people in history, but he hadn’t been aware that their bond was on such a deep, inner, level. He looked at Mollie with new compassion. Her strange tie, connection, to Boomer, of all people—one who repeatedly threw herself into dangerous, death-defying situations. Having to experience such perils, even though secondhand, would be miserable.

  “You never told me,” he said.

  “Yes, I did. You and Mom just never listened. But it’s gotten stronger over the last few years. I’d be sitting in class, taking a test or something, and all of a sudden I’m seeing what Boomer’s seeing—a huge Jonga-beast chasing after her, or she’s caught in a maze of swinging pendulums. Each time she’s about to die, it’s almost as if she’s telling me goodbye! God, I hate her!”

  Jason watched as tears streamed down his daughter’s cheeks. She wiped them away with a swipe of one hand. Mollie looked out to the battlefield, pointing to an area Teardrop had hovered over just moments before. “She was there. I saw her look at her hand … noticing the missing stub of a finger. It was her pinkie. Go ahead—check it out and see for yourself.”

  Mollie and Jason turned toward Ricket, who told them, “I would first have to covertly access the Blues’ StarDome network … locate the database and find Boomer’s—”

  Mollie cut him off, “Hack in, Ricket. Just do it!”

  Ricket hesitated and looked up at Jason. It was tantamount to an act of war to breach another sovereign’s network system. With that said, Ricket was no ordinary systems engineer. It would be a walk in the park for him to hack in and not leave a traceable trail. Jason lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “Do it.”

  “It is done,” Ricket said a moment later. He brought up his virtual notepad, expanding a virtual form image before them.

  Mollie let out a groan as she took in the projected image of a blackened, completely charred body, lying upon a metallic-surfaced table.

  “This is one of three database morgue images allocated to the female Boomer Reynolds. It matches the height and estimated weight of Boomer before she was struck by a powerful plasma blast. There were no viable DNA, or other viable organic substances, to confirm that this is truly her body, with the exception of …” Ricket switched to the next image, providing them a close up of a severed finger tip, “this fingertip, found beneath the charred body. DNA and other identifiers confirm this was indeed a section of Boomer’s finger.�
�� He changed to the last image, showing a large, nearly black, pool of congealed blood. “Nearby the body was this excessive amount of blood … also confirmed to be of Boomer’s DNA. So an assumption was made—the body’s identity was solely linked to the fingertip and the blood.” Ricket brought up the 3D image of the charred body again then manipulated the image—flipping the body onto its side. He next zoomed in on the body’s charred left-hand fingers. Ricket shrugged and smiled, letting the hovering image speak for itself. Although obviously charred, the pinkie’s fingertip was still present. Ricket then flipped the image the opposite way, zooming in on the body’s charred right-hand fingers. There, too, the pinkie’s fingertip could be seen still attached.

  Both Mollie and Ricket looked to Jason. The implications were enormous. His daughter quite possibly was still alive.

  “Mollie, have you had any … other visions or impressions since then?” Jason watched as she mentally searched through recent memories.

  “I’m not sure … maybe. More often, it’s her strong emotions—like fear or excitement or anger—whatever she’s feeling at the time. For anything visual … well, something epic has to be going on. Still, with all that said, I think she’s alive.”

  Jason was being hailed.

  “Go for …”

  “Where are you? Damn it, Jason, it’s your daughter’s funeral service. I can’t believe this … that you’d miss—”

  He interrupted Nan’s tirade. “Boomer’s not dead.”

  Nan continued, “I don’t know if this is some kind of denial … or maybe guilt you’re feeling, but this is unconscionable! Wait … what did you just say?”