Boomer (Star Watch Book 3) Page 8

  Jason spun around to look at Hanna and hesitated, contemplating his next decision.

  “Another hail’s coming in,” Hanna said. “It’s a long-range communiqué from Liberty Station.”

  Jason, expecting blowback from his decision to grab the prince, knew it was either go ahead and reply to the communiqué, or kiss goodbye a chance of finding out what actually happened to Boomer. Even with that urgency in mind, instigating interstellar friction with the Blues was not a good idea. “Who is it?”

  “Admiral Stark,” Hanna told him, providing a sympathetic shrug.

  Stark wanted Jason’s job—there were no two ways about it. He wanted to become the fleet’s Omni. Demands on the Star Watch fleet to attend to conflicts spanning to the farthest reaches of the galaxy led Stark, for some time now, to vocally state that a centralized command structure was needed within the Sol System. More times than Jason cared to remember, the two had butted heads. But mostly they differed on command methodologies. As far as Stark was concerned, there was no place for Captain Reynolds’s often reactionary, often violent, tactics, when faced with alien disagreements. These were modern times and Jason’s antiquated, even rogue, gunslinger-style mindset was a thing of the past. Disputes today should be handled through properly conducted negotiations.

  Jason tried explaining to Stark that his diplomacy-first methodology was simply unrealistic—that the Craing Emperor Quorp, and the evil Ot-Mul, had nearly destroyed Earth. And that the pirate, Captain Stalls, and even more recently, Lord Vikor Shakrim, if initially left unchecked, easily would have invaded Sol System. None of those leaders had had the proclivity for, or interest in, civil negotiation. Jason said there was only one way to deal with their type of aggression—defeat them fast or die trying—but his words fell on deaf ears.

  Admiral Stark had many friends within the U.S. fleet and was a growing political influence within the Alliance of planets. For five years, with the exception of smaller flare-ups, recent times had been good. Commercialization of space was going full throttle and money was being made—hand over fist. As far as Stark was concerned, it was long past time for the Reynolds’ father and son leadership legacy in space to end.

  How soon they forget, Jason thought. He let out a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “Put him through,” Jason said flatly.

  “Captain Reynolds, good to see you looking so well,” Admiral Stark said. He, like Jason, was wearing his dress reds. Jason took in Stark’s round face, his round rosy cheeks, atop his roundish, squatty, body. The man’s demeanor was all about big smiles and hearty pats on the back—his slow Southern drawl exuding friendliness and likability. And it was all bullshit.

  “Captain Reynolds.”

  “It’s Omni Reynolds, Admiral.”

  The admiral wobbled his head back and forth as if he’d forgotten something trivial. “Yes, yes, of course, Omni Reynolds. Um … we’ve received several urgent, and quite disturbing communiqués from the Dacci system. Actually, from the Blues high command there. That is where you currently are positioned … am I correct?”

  Stark knew perfectly well where the Stellar was situated. Beyond a doubt, he was personally tracking their exact coordinates within Dacci space.

  “Apparently someone … an assault team, of sorts … has broken into a secure area of the StarDome and …” the admiral looked away momentarily, as though reading the report verbatim, “and absconded with an important prisoner.” He looked back with a perplexed expression. “It mentions specifically that one of the intruders was definitely a rhino-warrior.”

  Jason kept his expression impassive. “Admiral Stark, I do not report to you. Are you aware of that?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “And I am sure you understand that there are high-level decisions being made that do not always involve you.”

  “I suppose. But as the ranking officer on Liberty Station—”

  “Look, I’m here to attend the memorial service of my deceased daughter. Were you aware of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do I need to return there and do your job for you, Admiral?”

  “No … of course not, sir.”

  “Even now, in this most upsetting time, can’t you manage up a little diplomatic wrangling? Hell, I thought you were all about diplomacy. You acknowledged you’re not privy to all my decision making, so I’m sure you wouldn’t deliberately throw a fellow officer—your commanding officer—under the proverbial bus now, would you? Especially in light of the fact that you don’t exactly know what’s transpiring in the Dacci system.”

  “What is it you would like me to do, Omni Reynolds?”

  “Do what you’re best at, Admiral. Pile on the bullshit and keep the Blues placated while I conduct important U.S. fleet business. You’ll be brought up to speed … in good time.”

  “Yes, Omni.”

  Jason nodded in Hanna’s direction and she cut the connection.

  “Not bad, Captain,” Leon said, looking impressed.

  “Well, Admiral Stark’s not the only one who can pile on the bullshit.”

  “There are five Blues drawback fighters now positioned around the Stellar, Cap,” Orion said.

  “They’re still hailing us, too,” Hanna added. “Threatening to fire on us if we don’t accompany them back to StarDome.”

  Jason was tempted to simply phase-shift three thousand miles away and be done with it. The issue was, the Stellar was not supposed to possess such capability. There were only a few vessels known to have that advanced Caldurian technology—most notably, the vessels that comprised Star Watch, twelve including the Parcical, plus the SpaceRunner. He’d protected knowledge of this technology from outsiders, along with other Caldurian tech, because of its far-reaching level of advancement.

  The ability to move about in space in the blink of an eye, or anywhere, within several thousands of miles, was an immensely powerful tool, but also provided a powerful weapon. A weapon he would far rather control today than be pitted against later on. Numerous clandestine attempts to replicate the onboard Caldurian phase-shift synthesizers had failed. There were only two, possibly three, individuals capable of understanding the principles at work with this Caldurian technology—Ricket, Bristol, and perhaps Granger, who was, in fact, an actual Caldurian. All were loyal to Jason. But showing his hand right now, his own hypocrisy, wasn’t really desirable.

  “What do you want to do, Cap?” Orion asked.

  “Phase-shift us as far away from here as possible.”

  Chapter 14

  Rizzo and Billy played cards on the starboard side of the cabin while Traveler, sprawled out on one of the couches, lay sleeping.

  Jason and Mollie, sitting off by themselves, watched Prince Aqeel enter the main cabin through the DeckPort, with Ricket by his side. He was wearing a plain white Shadick that Ricket manufactured for him via their onboard replicator. He looked confused and hesitant as he took in the ship’s environment and those seated around the cabin. His eyes suddenly locked on to Jason, spurring relieved recognition.

  “Is that you, Captain Reynolds?”

  Jason stood and approached the prince. “Prince Aqeel, let me help you to a seat.”

  “I’m fine … just a little unsteady on my legs.”

  Jason guided the Blues prince over to the same group of seats and helped him sit down. Again, Aqeel took in the surroundings. “I’m sorry … I’m at a loss. Where exactly am I? Why am I here?”

  Before Jason could answer, the prince took in an excited breath—his eyes went wide as they settled on Mollie. “Young Master Tahhrim Dol!”

  Mollie’s reaction was a quick furrowing of her brow.

  “This is Mollie,” said Jason. “My other daughter. They are … nearly identical in appearance.”

  “So not a Tahli warrior then?”

  “No,” Jason said. “She’s enrolled in a university on Earth.”

  “She must begin her training. Already old to begin doing so.”

  Jason and Mollie e
xchanged a look. “She is not—”

  “I’m not Boomer,” Mollie interjected, indignantly. “I don’t do everything she does … we’re actually two separate people … in case you haven’t noticed.”

  The prince nodded, although clearly not accepting her response.

  “Prince Aqeel, are you up to a few questions? It’s imperative we learn what happened on Harpaign. What happened to Boomer … to Master Tahhrim Dol.” The prince suddenly jerked upright, concern filling his eyes. “The Goldwon!”

  “Please … easy now, Prince Aqeel. Your body has undergone much trauma,” Ricket interjected.

  “Don’t you understand? Everything, and I mean everything, depends on the whereabouts of the Goldwon effigy!”

  Jason watched the prince as recollection of recent events came back to him.

  “The trials … I should never have allowed the actual Goldwon effigy to be used.”

  “Can you start at the beginning? Just take us through everything that happened.”

  The prince, still lost in thought, his eyes unfocussed and moving about, seemed to be searching his memories. Eventually, he nodded, then said, “It was the Goldwon Trials—a competition, a race to the finish, as well as a graduation ceremony, for those Tahli warriors who had completed years of training. The victor is the Goldwon.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Jason asked.

  “To have completed the years of training … for one to be inducted into the Goldwon Trials, is quite rare. So rare, that there are only a few participants still alive within the Dacci system. Less than one hundred, and many of those graduated Goldwon Warriors are elderly now. Actual winners? … the Goldwons … a mere handful.

  “They are considered Lords and are given ultimate admiration and respect.”

  “Talk to me about the competition … the trials as you call them.”

  “As a Tahli warrior, Boomer had to defeat nine other Tahli warriors, also young—the very best competitors within the Dacci system, while traversing through extremely hazardous obstacle zones. Only then could she claim the Goldwon effigy … the ancient sacred statue, situated high up on an obsidian tower.”

  “Boomer competed to be a Lord?” Mollie asked skeptically.

  Aqeel stared back at Mollie. “Competed and prevailed.”

  “She won? Like … the whole shebang?” she said.

  “Boomer is the Goldwon.”

  “So what happened, what went wrong?” Jason asked, urging to stay on track.

  “The trials were concluding. Out of ten competitors, only three Tahli warriors remained active.”

  “What happened to the other seven?” Mollie asked.

  Aqeel shrugged. “Severe enough injuries to take them out of competition, and Drench, of course: those that surrendered,” he said.

  “What happened?” Jason prompted.

  “It was then that the Sahhrain warship—a Vastma-class ship … a massive vessel—approached Capital City. It hovered by the arena.” Moisture filled the prince’s eyes. “It began firing its powerful weapons. The destruction, the loss of life, was terrible.”

  “What were they after? Why attack a stadium … an innocent crowd? Why not a military installation … or hell, why not StarDome?”

  Aqeel leaned back, looking defeated. He also seemed ashamed. “For five years, the constant presence of the Allied command … the U.S. fleet … within the Dacci system, imposing its strict new laws and regulations, has been tremendously burdensome. Although the Alliance’s impetus was to limit the Sahhrain’s ability to wage war again, side effects affected the Blues too, perhaps as much as they did the Sahhrain. It wasn’t long before resentment grew. Resentment turned to hatred. Soon, the Blues realized there were far more similarities between their culture and the Sahhrain’s, than with that of the oppressive Alliance. Memories are short, Captain Reynolds.” He looked at Jason and shook his head. “I suspected the Sahhrain were inveigling themselves into Blues politics, and even into the military. And why wouldn’t they? With the Blues’ newfound wealth—new construction contracts awarded on a daily basis—the Sahhrain became the Blues’ new best friends.”

  “And you stood by and said nothing?”

  “The Council of One—the elders—were the only ones to vehemently oppose the Sahhrain’s presence. Personally, I stayed clear of politics, but I regret that now.”

  “So how does that tie in with the Goldwon, with them wanting that statue-thing?” Mollie asked the prince.

  He looked at her, then over to Jason. “You are familiar with Glist?”

  “Sure, it’s what enhancement shields are comprised of.”

  “Among other things, yes. It has incredible … magical, if you will, properties. It is what the Goldwon is comprised of.”

  Jason nodded, prompting the prince to move things along.

  “Over the last few years, much attention … a resurgence … has been placed on antiquities—on both the Blues’ and Sahhrain’s heritage. On Harpaign, excavation of ancient ruins turned up the lost Dacci scriptures—an amazing, and profound, find. From those writings we discovered there were actually four effigies: The Palwon, the Nordwon, the Lortwon, and the Goldwon.

  “When fitted together, the wons produce distortion waves of magnificent power: Powerful enough to breach the very fabric of reality. A virtual bridge to other dimensions.”

  Jason was suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He didn’t like the direction their conversation was going.

  Aqeel continued, “By your expression, you know what I’m going to say next.”

  “Rom Dasticon.”

  “There was a time, thousands of years ago, when he straddled this realm, as well as others, Captain Reynolds. It is now the dream of the Sahhrain, and of many Blues today, to again bring forth Dasticon’s dark power. A power believed to be a birthright among Dacci brethren … a power that will elevate their place within the universe. With darkness, Rom Dasticon will take ahold of this realm. This is no fable deity or religious imagining, as so many—even among the Sahhrain and the Blues—believe. Rom Dasticon is real—the true Sachem—and the surviving brother of Lord Vikor Shakrim, Lord Zintar Shakrim, will stop at nothing to find, and bring together, the four wons.”

  “Why not simply destroy the one you already had, the Goldwon, and be done with it?” Mollie asked.

  Prince Aqeel replied, “The Glist castings … the won effigies … are impervious. They cannot be destroyed.”

  Jason looked toward Ricket and raised his brow, questioning.

  “It is possible, Captain. I would need to examine an actual statue to be certain. There are ancient fables, or tales, concerning Glist, once mined on the planet, Dacci. It speaks of an alchemy process … the transference of one type of mineral, Glist, into another.”

  Aqeel continued, “The statues are indestructible, take my word for that, Captain. With that in mind, they were separated from each other—here within the Dacci system—then each hidden and placed where no individual can get near them.”

  “How was that accomplished?” Jason asked.

  “It is what the Goldwon trials were originally based on: insurmountable obstacles. Obstacles that make even the current zones of the Goldwon trials look childish … simple.”

  “How would anyone know where to look for them? The other wons?”

  “Three weeks ago, within the grounds of Capital City, another tablet was uncovered. It was a map … of sorts. It showed the location of the hidden wons—all were hidden here, within the Dacci system. The tablet was held, or secreted, by the Council of One.”

  “Let me guess, it was stolen.”

  Aqeel nodded. “We suspect by the Tahli ministry. They have far-reaching ties to Rom Dasticon that are not acknowledged openly. Using their Tahli powers, only they have the capability to breach our formidable security system.”

  “Sounds like you need to find the other wons, fast … before Lord Zintar Shakrim does,” Mollie said.

  The prince gave Mollie a long, intense stare. �
�That is what I intended Boomer, our young Goldwon Tahhrim Dol, to do. Unfortunately, she met her demise at the hands of the Sahhrain … on the battlefields of Capital City.”

  Jason and Ricket looked at one another.

  Mollie said, “You’re wrong. She’s alive. That I’m sure of. If you ask me … she’s looking for them right now … those other statues.”

  Chapter 15

  Tossing and turning, Lord Zintar Shakrim was having another sleepless night. He belched and passed gas in unison, evoking an appreciative smile. Within moments, a sleepy, irritated groan spewed forth from one of his wives—he wasn’t sure which one.

  He patted his ample belly and debated if he should just get up. His mind wandered. After years of planning and preparation, he could see events—once no more than distant hopes or dreams—now coming to fruition. His anticipation of what lay ahead had grown these last few weeks. So much had transpired. It wasn’t all about revenge; he hoped he was better than that. It was about righting a wrong—about setting in motion a new chain of events that would alter the destiny of a strong, proud, people … his people: the Sahhrain. And to think that all had nearly been lost, only five years earlier. Vikor had been an idiot. An idiot, but still his brother, and after his humiliating defeat there needed to be an accounting.

  Zintar’s mind flashed to the battlefield of Harpaign’s Capital City. Of the figure standing upon the dune crest. From small girl to young Kahill Callan warrior, she had blossomed. Even at a distance he saw … felt her haughtiness. She was the fly in the ointment. Had her presence here been foreseen—chiseled into uncovered ancient tablets? Tablets that had been immediately destroyed—turned to dust.

  Zintar stared up at the ceiling, listening to the almost imperceptible hum of the ship’s six powerful Nauticus drives. Drives that allowed his Vastma-class command ship to travel at unheard of speeds. Maybe his ship didn’t possess the capability to phase-shift, or call up an interchange wormhole—crossing vast distances of space in the blink of an eye—something Star Watch vessels were easily capable of doing, thanks to their Caldurian technology. Just the same, this latest technology, Nauticus, was far and above anything the Sahhrain had been capable of producing on their own. He supposed he’d have to acknowledge that the Blues were instrumental in that regard. They were a means to an end. Their emerging technical prowess was more than a little impressive. But did they really think all would be forgotten? That siding with the Alliance over their fellow Dacci brethren would ever be forgiven? Very soon, that inequity would be remedied—the Alliance would fall, and the Blues right along with them.