Boomer stopped and listened, turning her head this way and that, trying to decipher the direction from which the noise had originated. There it was again … a rustling sort of sound. One thing was definite … she wasn’t alone. “Hello?” … silence … In the totally oppressive blackness, Boomer thought she sensed movement off to her left. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? Her increasing heart rhythm pounded in her chest—in her ears—to the point trying to listen for anything else was futile. Boomer took another step and then another. Startled, Boomer froze in place. The table was moving, a rocking motion. Before she could pull away, a hand grabbed her wrist. Boomer screamed into the darkness—a scream like none other in the history of all screams across the universe. She used her free hand to pull back her captive arm.
“Let me go! Get away from me!”
“Boomer, it’s me … Priscilla.” Her voice was weak and there was something else. There was sadness in her tone.
“Petty Officer Miller?”
“Yes, it’s me. Stop screaming, Boomer.”
“How did you … I didn’t hear you come back in.” Boomer used her hands to feel around the top of the table and then touched Miller’s legs; patting her, she realized her clothes weren’t right. They were undone, open in places. Miller pushed her hands away.
“It’s okay, Boomer. Just don’t—”
“What did he do to you?” At that moment all fear evaporated. Anger, rage, turned the room’s blackness into vivid red. Boomer wasn’t exactly sure what Stalls had done to Miller but she knew it was invasive … something horrible.
“I’m going to kill him!” Boomer took a deep breath and screamed out, “I’m going to kill you, Stalls!”
The laughter was deep and menacing. Boomer turned toward the sound.
Miller’s voice came up from the table. Weakly, she said, “Careful, Boomer … he can see us; he’s wearing some kind of NVD.”
“A what?”
“A night vision device.” Miller’s voice was slurred and barely audible.
Boomer had her back to the rustling sound behind her, where she knew Stalls was watching them. She understood this was all about him getting even with her father. He was torturing them. Stalls’ hatred seemed to fill the room. She’d heard it in his laughter. She gave Miller’s arm a gentle squeeze and stepped away from the table. Again, she closed her eyes and called up the teachings she’d learned from Petty Officer Woodrow. She heard his voice in her head: you need to calm your nerves … slow your breathing … She could do that. How many times had she practiced these types of scenarios with him? Even the total darkness was familiar. Stalls was now moving closer. Boomer heard his approaching footfalls. What happened next came naturally, from countless practiced repetitions. She pulled the knife from her pocket as she spun to her left. The knife felt familiar in her hand as she clasped the blade firmly between her fingers. Woodrow had explained the principle—how using her body’s own centrifugal power, combined with the uncoiling sweep of her arm, would provide tremendous force … terms she didn’t fully understand. But she didn’t need to think further about what had become as natural a movement to her as walking or running. By the time Boomer spun around, releasing the knife at just the right moment, she already knew its intended trajectory would be right on. Practiced confidence, Woodrow had called it. There, in the split second it took for her to hear that all-too-familiar thump sound … the sound of a knife driving home into its intended target … Boomer was anything but still. She went low and headed for the only escape. She didn’t want to leave Miller, but she figured if he survived the attack, the best thing she could do would be to draw him away.
By the sounds of his gasp and subsequent scream, Stalls wasn’t dead. He was injured, but definitely not dead. Zombie-like, with her arms outstretched before her, Boomer ran full out in the opposite direction. She silently prayed she was moving in the right direction, toward the hatch. She careened into something hard, her head hitting a metal surface, and she fell down to the deck. She wondered if she’d lost consciousness. How much time had elapsed, with Stalls alive in the room, somewhere near?
Crawling, Boomer reached into the darkness with an outstretched hand. Totally disoriented, she had no idea which direction was which … where was the hatch? Where was Stalls? In a half crawl, half reaching out motion, her fingertips grazed something. Something fleshy. She gasped. Had she just touched Stalls’ face? Was he there, in front of her?
“You little bitch. I’m going to slit your throat. I’m going to make you suffer.”
Stalls’ voice was raspy and coming from behind her but getting closer. He was still a threat. The good news was he was obviously in pain. He was also on the other side of the room. With that knowledge, Boomer continued to reach out in front. She discovered she’d come across a stack of bodies. Her hand landed fully on the face of whatever it was—not human, not rhino-warrior. A face having multiple mouths and at least five or six eyes. She recalled having seen these bodies earlier, when the lights were still on. She needed to move. The hatch wasn’t even near here. Crap! Oh God, where was it? Oh yeah, over there, to the right. She had to move her feet and run.
The sound of Stalls’ voice changed everything. She was beyond scared. Boomer was certain she had just moments to live. Running now, it was just a matter of seconds before she would careen into another table … more bodies. The instant her hands touched its surface she knew she’d reached the hatch. Having spent significant time on board other Craing vessels, she also knew how the latching mechanism worked. If it was locked, she knew her fate would be sealed. But with a quick turn of the inset mechanism the hatch opened.
Going from the pitch-blackness of the galley into the bright lights of the corridor beyond made seeing a problem. But she heard the sound of running feet. With a quick glance over her shoulder she saw Stalls appear out of the darkness. In a split second she took him in. Yes, her knife had found its mark. The area of his upper left chest was a bloody mess. He also had something on his forehead … that NVD thing Miller was talking about. There was another thing Boomer noticed before closing the hatch: Miller, half-dressed, was crawling off the table.
Using both hands, Boomer slammed the hatch shut. There was a way to lock these things, but Boomer had never needed to do so. She inspected the inset ratchet-type mechanism. Okay, to open it you turn the thing to the right. So how do you lock it?
Stalls was now at the hatch. Boomer saw the mechanism start to turn and she used both hands, all her strength, to turn the handle back in the opposite direction. Something clicked. Now nothing moved. I’ve done it! Boomer thought. The hatch was locked. Boomer took two tentative steps backward. Was that pounding she was hearing from the other side? Tears filled her eyes. She’d just locked Miller inside with that monster.
Chapter 9
Jason figured Boomer should now be well within range. He used his NanoCom to hail her.
“Stalls is chasing me!” she excitedly whispered in rapid short breaths.
“We’re close, sweetie. Tell me what’s happening. Has he hurt you?”
“No, I’m okay. But he hurt Petty Officer Miller.”
“Is she still alive?”
“I think so. I had to leave her in the ship’s galley.”
“That’s okay. We’ll get her out of there. Right now you need to tell me exactly where you are.”
“I’m on one of the lower decks, looking for a place to hide. Where have you been, Dad?”
“I’m sorry, Boomer … it took us a while to find you. You sound out of breath. What’s going on?”
“I’m still running. Stalls is really, really mad. I threw a knife at him and I hurt him.”
“Wait … you threw … Seriously?”
“He’s a bad man,” she said defensively.
“You did the right thing and you’re right, he’s a bad man. Listen. Find a good place to hide and keep out of sight. I’ll find you.”
“Okay, I will. And we need to help Petty Officer Miller, too.”
“Don’t worry, I’m coming.”
Jason cut the connection and realized everyone on the bridge was staring at him. Having heard only his side of the conversation, they were anxiously waiting to hear what was going on.
“Gunny, can you determine which of the three ships Boomer is on?”
“Already have her location pinpointed, Cap. She’s on that middle ship, in the aft section of deck two.”
There was a schematic of a heavy cruiser on the display, showing multiple life icons. As the Gunny indicated, Boomer’s bright green icon was on the move on deck two, at the rear of the ship. There were approximately thirty other icons on board; most were either on the bridge or in the engineering sections. There was also another green icon several decks higher, mid-ship, which was probably Miller’s life icon.
“Cap, the other two warships have the same comparably minimal crew members,” Orion added.
Jason, now on his feet and looking at the ship’s schematic, saw Billy enter the bridge.
“A little birdy told me there might be an opportunity for a little whoop-ass,” Billy said, looking at the diagram on the display.
“Put together three small teams. Plan to phase-shift shuttles on board each of the Craing ships and take control of their bridges. We want those ships, as well as their crew, left intact, Billy.”
“And what are you planning on doing during all this?” Billy asked.
“You’ll hold your attack until I give the order. I need to take care of Stalls.”
“By yourself? I don’t think that’s a goo—”
“It’s not open for discussion, Billy,” Jason interrupted. “If I don’t surprise Stalls, he could kill Boomer out of pure spite.”
Seaman Gordon had two fingers up to his ear and his voice was elevated—he looked scared. “Yes, sir … right away, sir,” Gordon said to whoever he was speaking to on his comms channel.
“What is it, Gordon?” Jason asked, already moving toward the exit.
“Two incoming hails, sir. That was Admiral Reynolds. He says the Vanguard fleet will enter Earth’s orbit within ninety minutes. He told me to tell you, his words, get your damn captain’s ass back here, now!”
“And the second hail?”
“It’s Captain Stalls. He’s still waiting to talk to you.”
Jason looked to Billy. “Remember, your three teams are to wait for my command before you go … Orion, roust the XO from his beauty sleep and call down to the flight deck. I want the Pacesetter prepped and ready for flight by the time I get down there.” Jason turned to the comms station. “Seaman Gordon, go ahead, forward Captain Stalls to my NanoCom.”
Jason left the bridge and ran for the nearest DeckPort. En route, he triggered the SuitPac device at his belt and felt the hardened battle suit expand and take shape around his body. The helmet was the last segment to take shape. He took in the HUD information and saw that Gunny had already pre-loaded phase-shift coordinates for the Pacesetter, as well as for the Craing warship’s schematics. He found Boomer’s life icon … she’d moved up from deck level two to level three. She also wasn’t moving.
Jason entered the flight deck to find two hotshot fighter pilots, Lieutenants Miller and Grimes, waiting for him.
Grimes spoke up first. “Let me pilot you in, sir.”
“Billy will need three shuttle pilots—you can pilot one of those.”
Ten more sleepy-eyed pilots entered the flight deck, each in one stage, or another, of suiting- up.
“We’re more than covered in that regard, Captain.” Grimes handed him a multi-gun, which he took, checking both its power levels and settings via his own HUD.
“Fine, let’s hurry up,” Jason said, not losing a step on his way toward the dark red, already powered up, two-seater Pacesetter fighter idling in the center of the flight deck. Jason climbed the inset ladder and stowed his multi-gun within the fighter’s storage locker when he noticed that Grimes had already activated her own SuitPac and was waiting for him to get out of her way. Smart-ass … She passed Jason her own multi-gun to stow. He hurried into the rear cockpit position, while Grimes took the forward seat.
“I have the ship’s layout and your daughter’s most current location, Captain,” Grimes said. “There’s a hold area on that level, no more than fifty yards from her icon.”
Jason saw the hold area she was talking about. It was smaller than he liked and even though it was the closest, he’d purposely discounted it for that reason. “That’s a tight fit, Lieutenant.”
“Not for me, sir.”
“Let’s do it.”
“We’ll need three separate phase-shifts getting there, sir.”
“We’re wasting time, Grimes! Let’s move it along.”
The weight of the situation, everything happening, was making him impatient and irritable. Earth was soon to be literally surrounded by seven planet-killing dreadnaughts, yet here Jason was, planning to conduct a difficult excursion elsewhere. Yes, it was to save his daughter. But he knew his priorities were ridiculously out of line; the fate of one little girl shouldn’t outweigh the plight of billions. His mind went to Mollie and Nan, and then to the unborn son Nan carried in her womb.
The bright lights and increasing sound of whirling-up drive engines on the flight deck disappeared. There were three consecutive flashes, once out in open space, before the Pacesetter settled within the dark confines of the Craing warship’s third level hold.
Jason studied his HUD. The two green icons were now virtually right next to each other. Stalls had found his daughter. Jason hailed her.
“Boomer! Captain Stalls is very close to you.”
What Jason got in response was a NanoText message. Boomer’s physiology was still being recognized as Mollie:
Crew Mollie Reynolds:
Dad! He’s got me. Where are you?
Capt. Jason Reynolds:
I’m here on board, close by.
Grimes had already initiated the raising of the Pacesetter’s canopy. He gave her a couple of quick pats on her shoulder and scurried out of the cockpit, heading down the ladder. “Stay with the Pacesetter unless you hear otherwise.”
He retrieved his multi-gun and made his way down to the deck.
Capt. Jason Reynolds:
Boomer. I’m coming … what’s he doing now?
Crew Mollie Reynolds:
He’s standing at one of the ship’s intercom panels. He’s talking to someone. Dad, he has a knife to my neck.
Capt. Jason Reynolds:
Just stay still. I’ll be there in a few seconds.
Crew Mollie Reynolds:
Wait … you’re here? Like right now?
Capt. Jason Reynolds:
Yep. Like right now.
Jason glanced at his HUD readout. Earlier, while in the Pacesetter, he’d set a mission countdown timer for ninety minutes—a quarter of that had now ticked by—he calculated he still had time to take care of Stalls and get back to Earth—well before the Vanguard fleet arrived.
Jason figured now would be a good time to open the channel to Stalls. “Captain Stalls, this is Captain Reynolds. I apologize for the wait. But getting all your demands met has taken me longer than I figured on.”
“I warned you, Reynolds. Unfortunately, I’m already holding a blade to your daughter’s throat. I was trying to decide: do I slit her neck from right to left, or should I slice it left to right … being ambidextrous, it makes either one an option. What do you think I should do?”
“So, more of your game playing. Don’t you tire of it, Stalls?” Jason asked, sounding cool and collected while in reality he was having a hard time keeping the mental vision of his little girl’s throat being cut out of his mind.
Jason heard him exhale. “Do you have everything I requested? The ships … my beautiful Nan, and you, ready to lay down your life?”
Jason didn’t answer right away. Instead he phase-shifted onto level three. He’d purposely placed himself at an intersecting corridor that put him out of si
ght from where his HUD indicated Stalls was still positioned, in front of an intercom.
“Nan is en route. As for the ten warships, they’ll be here within the hour,” Jason lied.
“That wasn’t our agreement, Reynolds!”
“Two hours was always an impossible timeframe. Just be content everything is going your way. You’re getting what you want. The good news for you is … I’m here alone.”
Jason couldn’t chance Stalls making good on his promise to cut Boomer’s throat. He retracted his SuitPac, placed his multi-gun on the deck, and walked around the corner with his hands held high. Stalls stood thirty paces away, leaning against a bulkhead with the edge of a knife pointed at the middle of Boomer’s neck. His other hand held a plasma pistol. Startled, Stalls looked toward Jason as he advanced. He looked confused at first, then angry. He brought up his pistol and pointed it toward Jason’s head. “Stop right there.”
Jason did as he was told and raised his hands. “I see you’ve had a little accident. Cut yourself shaving, or did that nine-year-old girl get the best of you?”
Stalls looked down at his bloodied shirt. “I assure you it looks far worse than it is.”
“Uh huh … sure.” Jason watched Boomer’s face. She was doing all she could to stay brave. But she was terrified. Her eyes were pleading with Jason to save her. “This is between you and me, Stalls. You can see I’m unarmed. If you want me to make good on your demands, you’ll have to let my daughter go … right now … this second.”
Stalls smiled and looked down at Boomer. He tilted his head, as if getting a better perspective, then repositioned his knife to where it hovered just millimeters above her carotid artery. Jason slowly moved his hands over his SuitPac device, but realized in the time it would take him to trigger the device, accessing its integrated weapons system, two to three seconds would pass, minimum, and Boomer would be dead.
The Great Space (Scrapyard Ship Book 6) Page 5