Boomer (Star Watch Book 3) Page 7

  Boomer, falling fast and trying to bring her own shield to bear—caught sight of Carmotta’s astonished expression—one, in that instant, already acknowledging her defeat by a higher-skilled opponent. It was evident that Carmotta knew only one thing remained: Her opponent’s killing strike.

  It was something Boomer would never forget: A momentary second when the Sahhrain combatant hesitated, then smiled. A smile that said volumes—perhaps mutual respect for another Kahill Callan master whose training might be superior to his own.

  In a move of desperation, Boomer dove toward Carmotta—either to knock her out of the way or to shield her friend from harm, whichever came first—but her action was in vain.

  He fired. His shield’s distortion waves were bright scarlet in color—a torrent of thunderous, glowing energy. Horrified, Boomer watched as Carmotta suddenly burst into a white-hot fireball. Still high in mid-air, there was nothing Boomer could do but propel herself away from the blazing heat. In a blur—the Sahhrain warrior was gone from where he’d last stood.

  Boomer landed, readying for another attack, but an attack never came. He was already gone. Reluctantly, she brought her eyes back to her friend. Carmotta had died instantly, even before a scream reached the young Blues warrior’s lips. Tears filled Boomer’s eyes and she was finding it hard to breathe. I’m so sorry, Carmotta!

  She sensed movement—an incoming spear. Only partially blocking its trajectory, pain erupted first in Boomer’s hand and then in her lower back—a glancing blow from a pratta-shaft. It was enough to jar her from the horror of what had just occurred—the loss of her best friend. She glanced down at her bleeding hand. A finger was missing.

  In the distance, the Sahhrain warrior moved with purpose toward an awaiting dune-skipper … a speedy one-man craft—popular transportation these days across Harpaign’s vast deserts. As he gained elevation he banked and headed for the center of the arena. He was on a quest to find the Goldwon. Boomer tracked him with her eyes for several seconds and vowed, one day, she’d have her revenge.

  She reached back and felt the gaping, open wound; copious amounts of blood began to flow freely down her legs. Instinctively, she reached for her SuitPac device to reinitialize her battle suit. Thanks to her suit’s tech, and her own internal nanites, she knew she’d recover fine.

  The raging battle around her continued on. In the distance, Boomer could see Drom, still holding his own. Prince Aqeel was there, too, fighting valiantly alongside three, white-robed, elders. But there were still easily ten Sahhrain warriors to every Blues.

  She kept seeing Carmotta’s horrified face in those last seconds of her life. Stop! She pushed her emotions down—buried the sorrow—the loss that was on the verge of overwhelming her. As she reassessed the battlefield before her, she felt a detached—almost robot-like—calm come over her. She headed toward a group of approaching enemy combatants coming toward her and, one-by-one, committed to destroy them … destroy them all.

  Simultaneously firing off integrated plasma guns, she dispatched lethal bolts, sequencing them with a myriad of Kahill Callan Jarta moves. She spent as much time in the air as she did on the ground. Always moving—spinning—cartwheeling—while being nearly impossible to be targeted by the enemy.

  Day had turned to night—how many hours had passed while fighting in near total darkness? Time had lost all meaning—primal action and reaction held the entirety of her focus, until the repetitive alarms and verbal warnings from her HUD ceased, and her combat suit, utilizing the last of its completely drained power reserves, retracted back into its SuitPac.

  At some level, Boomer was aware she’d killed scores and scores of Sahhrain. It was getting lighter again. The lifeless bodies, some stacked two or three deep, had become a grotesque, and obscene, reflection of her inner turmoil.

  Chest heaving, Boomer gasped for breath and lowered herself to her knees, utterly exhausted and totally spent. Suddenly, she jerked her head to the left, but could see no one there. Her adrenalin—artificially still amped-up via her internal nanites—had yet to normalize. Jittery, she was still in battle mode.

  Dawn eased into the harsh Harpaign landscape. The silence was startling. Slowly, she took in the carnage, turning 360-degrees around. There was no one—not a single Blues or Sahhrain warrior still on his feet. No movement—even the air was perfectly still. With that knowledge came the realization that Drom, Prince Aqeel, and even the elders, were probably dead.

  Feeling light-headed and nauseous, Boomer eased herself down to the ash-colored ground. A deep sadness crept over her, such as she’d never experienced before. Emotions she’d repressed about Carmotta were back tenfold. She freely wept until the tears no longer came. What now?

  Bringing her hand up, she contemplated the loss of her pinkie, at least a good portion of it gone during her battle with the Sahhrain in black. She wondered if a MediPod might fix that. Would she even get the chance to find out?

  Glancing up, she wasn’t aware the huge vessel had returned. Had it ever left? Through teary, blurred, vision she contemplated her fate. Maybe I too should have died here, along with my friends.

  A column of fresh Sahhrain warriors began making their way slowly through the distant sands …

  Chapter 12

  Having tried to re-initialize her battle suit without success, Boomer wearily stood up, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. She was prepared to die. She’d already sent many of the enemy to an early grave, and she knew, eventually, her time too would come. That was a warrior’s life—the life she had chosen.

  Her eyes moved toward the hulking, unmistakable figure at the head of the approaching column. He towered over all the other Sahhrain warriors, who marched in step behind him.

  “So you’re Zintar,” Boomer said out loud. At one time, she’d come up against Zintar’s smaller brother—the infamous Lord Vikor Shakrim. A horrific battle flashed into Boomer’s mind, back to five years earlier, when she and her father fought together, side by side, within a virtual habitat nearly identical to Harpaign. Lord Vikor Shakrim not only outsmarted them then, he’d come close to defeating them both, utilizing his mastery of Sahhrain Kahill Callan. In the end, Lord Vikor had been killed—but at a high cost. Many Blues warriors and U.S. fleet Sharks perished that day also.

  A chill ran through Boomer as she observed the dark and foreboding Lord Zintar Shakrim. He radiated something primal—almost beastly. Methodically moving closer, she noted he was easily eight feet tall.

  Although she’d never actually laid eyes on Zintar before, she had seen a statue of him on the planet Dacci, years earlier, before her training began. She didn’t know much about this Sahhrain leader other than he’d become the immediate successor to his brother, Vikor. The truth was, she didn’t know too much about such things, as interaction with events outside her small, protective world was strictly forbidden. Fleetingly, she allowed herself to revel now, knowing those days were behind her. Her training was complete—she’d survived the trials. Is it really true? Am I now the Goldwon victor? Her heart rate jumped, thinking of her father and mother, then of Mollie. For the first time in many months, she let herself remember them—along with a life she once cherished. A way of life she’d said goodbye to five years ago. Watching the ever-growing procession of warriors now approaching, all hope of seeing them again vanished. More than likely she would die today. She forced herself to stay focused on the here and now.

  Boomer walked toward her steadily advancing adversaries, coming to a halt atop the highest sand dune of the battlefield. She wanted Lord Zintar Shakrim to see her—to fully comprehend all that happened today: That Master Tahhrim Dol, a Tahli warrior—perhaps known to him as Boomer—was the same girl who, at eleven years old, had sent his wretched brother straight to hell. And she was there now, standing right before him.

  She felt his eyes on her. Felt him sizing her up. He held up a hand and those behind him came to a halt. What came next was unexpected: Lowering his other hand he fiddled with something
on his belt. Boomer watched as segment by segment his bulk became completely enshrouded within a combat suit.

  Outside of the U.S. fleet, she was fairly certain such technology was highly uncommon—certainly not available within the Dacci system, and definitely not with the Sahhrain, who were put on a tight technological leash after their defeat.

  Boomer reached for her SuitPac device. She pinched the two inset tabs and, again, her own combat suit would not initialize.

  “Fine … then I will die like a true Tahli warrior. You better have brought your A-game on, big guy, because I’m not going down without taking a shitload of you with me.”

  Something was happening: What began as a low hum, like the sound of an approaching insect, grew louder—sounding less and less bug-like. Boomer turned to see three rapidly approaching dune-skippers. Two were single-man crafts, and one was larger—a three-man model.

  Boomer froze, wide-eyed, as realization set in: It was Drom! Standing at the controls of the leading, low-flying dune-skipper, the wind in his hair and a smile on his face, he looked as happy to see her as she was to see him. Speeding along on a dune-skipper right behind him was another Tahli warrior. Off to his left were three white-robed elders, each hanging on for dear life, riding in an open dune-truck—bigger and wider—but similar to the other two dune-skipper crafts.

  Boomer looked back, seeing a billowing, kicked up, dust cloud forming. The column of Sahhrain was now at full advance and she recognized someone—Carmotta’s killer. So he survived the night’s battle. Quickly pulling away from the Sahhrain behind him, and straddling his own dune-skipper, the black-clad Sahhrain Tahli warrior was accelerating fast.

  “Hurry! Get on!”

  Boomer turned in time to see Drom almost upon her, barely slowing. At the last moment he leaned out and extended his arm. She ran toward him, took his hand, and jumped on behind him. She noticed he was wearing his Shaddick—bloodstains from his back’s wounds had seeped through the thin material. As he kicked the throttle forward, the engine whirled into a higher pitch, and gained speed. With a quick look over her shoulder, Boomer noted their accompanying dune-skipper and dune-truck were right behind them. The one piloted by the Blues male she didn’t know, while three Council Elders, on the larger dune-truck, she recognized—but even more important, she saw Elder Pauli, who had been her most influential mentor over the past two years. She gave Boomer a reassuring nod before looking away.

  “Where is the Goldwon?” Drom asked, craning his neck to look back at her, his face full of concern. “Tell me! Where’s the satchel Prince Aqeel gave you?”

  “I … I hid it. So they couldn’t get to it,” Boomer said, gesturing back toward the distant Sahhrain ship.

  Drom turned the dune-skipper sharply left and Boomer, arms gripped around his waist, pulled herself in closer. She pointed over his shoulder. “Go that way.” She’d kept an eye on the trailing Sahhrain, riding on the dune-skipper behind them. “We’re being followed!”

  Drom glanced back at her with an annoyed expression, implying that she was saying the ridiculously obvious.

  Boomer stood up on tiptoes to get closer to his ear. “Look, only I can get to it. This dune-skipper won’t be—” The wind in their faces made it hard to hear.

  “What are you talking about?” Drom asked, irritably.

  Once again, Boomer tried her SuitPac. Instantly relieved, she felt the suit expanding over the contours of her body. She yelled, “Just keep going straight. Don’t worry, I’ll find you.” With that, she used her enhancement shield to propel herself upward—back-flipping over the small convoy. She scooted down behind a rise in the dunes and hugged the sand.

  In less than a minute, their pursuing dune-skipper was upon her. Again, Boomer propelled herself into the air, simultaneously firing off both integrated plasma guns. The Sahhrain’s dune-skipper exploded in a ball of fire and the black-clad Sahhrain rider was thrown off. It wasn’t the right time to reconvene their earlier battle; she phase-shifted away.

  * * *

  In a bright white flash Boomer returned to her favorite underground hiding place. For months she’d been coming there alone—always by foot, since she didn’t have access to her combat suit. Getting there entailed taking a treacherous, five-mile-long trek. There were few places she could find solitude on Harpaign—where she could be alone with her own thoughts. Carmotta brought her there a year ago, to the shore of the underground salted lake. There was even a beach, of sorts. Crystal stalactites hung from the cavern ceiling above—composed of some strange mineral, they glowed continuously, somewhat like the silent flickering of a thousand candles. Below, the sea reflected shades of yellow and amber. The magical surroundings never ceased to take her breath away. Once, Boomer had fantasized about bringing Drom there. She pushed the thought away … he doesn’t think of me that way.

  The satchel was where she’d left it, nestled deep into a crook between two rocks. She lifted it out and felt the heft of the Goldwon within. With the strap secured over her shoulder, she phase-shifted to the one place she hoped to find Drom.

  A moment later, she stood atop the tall, center tower, back inside the mostly destroyed stadium. The wind had come up, and even through her combat suit she felt it buffeting her back and legs. The Sahhrain warship still dominated the distant skyline and too many warriors to count moved about the arena directly below her. Undoubtedly, they were searching for the very item she possessed, hidden within her satchel. Why?

  Turning around twice, Boomer’s eyes finally locked on to three, fast-moving, dune-skipper vehicles. They were about two miles away. She knew she could have more easily used her HUD sensors to find them but she was out of practice relying on technology. Smiling inwardly, she phase-shifted.

  Boomer appeared behind Drom without him noticing. She retracted her battle suit then put her arms around his waist. He didn’t react to her sudden presence, other than saying, “You know, that’s a bit creepy … popping up like that, so unexpectedly.”

  “Sorry if I frightened you,” Boomer said, bemused.

  “Hey … come on! You didn’t frighten me.”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she concentrated on the distant horizon. She was well aware her lack of a response would only annoy him more. She liked that she could tease him in this way, but a part of her wondered if there couldn’t be something more. She was like a child in his eyes, she knew, but suddenly that was not nearly enough.

  Chapter 13

  Present day …

  It was a prearranged understanding that the center area of the Stellar’s passenger cabin was its phase-shift zone. Hang around that part of the ship overly long and you might find yourself inadvertently, and violently, thrown aside when crewmembers phase-shifting in showed up there unexpectedly.

  The small assault team arrived all at once, accompanied by Prince Aqeel’s constant, agonized screams. As the prince writhed in Traveler’s arms, the flustered rhino-warrior looked to Jason for direction.

  “Follow me,” Jason said, heading for the Stellar’s closest DeckPort, one of the many modifications Ricket had made to the ship’s standard factory-design configurations. Of Caldurian technology, DeckPorts allowed one to walk into an elevator-sized energy field and walk out another, like going through a doorway.

  Mollie came running from her cabin, located on the forward section of Deck Two. Wide-eyed, she took in the horrific sight—the unrecognizable form in Traveler’s arms.

  “Where’s Ricket?” Jason asked, running aft. Traveller followed, holding Prince Aqeel, in close pursuit.

  Mollie said, “He’s in …”

  “I am here, Captain,” Ricket said, peeking his head out, cutting Mollie off mid-sentence. Jason held back at the hatchway, pointing into the small medical compartment, as Traveler hurried inside. Noticing that the MediPod’s clamshell lid was already open, he laid the prince within it and stood back.

  Ricket made several last-minute setting adjustments to the pod’s control panel before the clamshell began to
close. They all watched as the lid sealed, making a sucking thump. Immediately, a slow-spinning, bright blue 3D representation of the prince’s anatomy was viewable, hovering above the MediPod.

  Jason watched Aqeel’s virtual image—his red, color-coded, rapidly beating heart—and wondered if they’d gotten him there in time. Through the pod’s window, the mostly blackened and charred figure looked more like a piece of burnt firewood than a living being.

  “We must let him be. This will be a longer process than typical, Captain,” Ricket said.

  Jason nodded back. “Okay … let’s all give the prince some privacy.” He then brought two fingers up to his ear; he was being hailed.

  “Go ahead, Gunny.”

  “Cap … not sure what you guys did back on StarDome, but we’re being ordered to hold our position. Blues’ command dispatched a handful of Arrow fighters.”

  “Yeah well … it’s more like Sahhrain command than Blues … I’m guessing. Where are we positioned right now?”

  “As instructed, we’ve pulled back from the station. We’re about four hundred and fifty miles out.”

  “I’m on my way up.”

  “Are we to engage the fighters?”

  “Hold on … I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  As Jason entered the Stellar’s small bridge, Hanna got up from the co-pilot seat to move to a seat behind and across from Orion at her tactical station. Jason filled her vacated seat and nodded toward Leon, seated at the helm’s controls.

  Orion said, “They’re almost upon us, Cap … they’re locked on, weapons hot.”

  “We need you on comms now, Hanna.”

  “I’m already on it, Captain.” A moment later, she reported, “We have an incoming, high-priority hail from the lead fighter. It’s for the captain of this vessel.”