Boomer (Star Watch Book 3)

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  But before attempting that feat, one first had to defeat all of the other nine contestants. In a perfect situation, no one would die today. There was no dishonor in leaving due to injury, or even by Drench, for that matter. But surrender, at some point, would be forced onto most contestants in order for only one combatant to prevail. Either that or fight to the death, which was rarely the case. But are these warriors different? Would they carry things too far? Boomer briefly wondered. How would she personally react in that kind of situation? Was she willing to stake her life on winning at all costs? How important was victory to her? At the end of the course—if indeed one even survived it—the sole victor would stand tall on that center pedestal. Then, no longer a mere Tahli warrior, he or she would be proclaimed the Goldwon. Boomer, perhaps for the first time, realized then how much she wanted … needed … to become the Goldwon.

  The trumpets sounded again. Boomer found the blaring irritating and narrowed her eyes in the direction of the horn-blowers below her. They were all waiting for the last of the official observers to take their seats—first came the ten Tahli ministry members, filing in now, wearing long, hooded, black robes. One by one they took their seats near the top row of the stadium.

  Eventually, the Council of One—dressed similarly in hooded robes, but in spectacularly gleaming white ones—entered and waved to the heightened, cheering crowd. Boomer was well aware those Blues elders were capable of looking virtually any age—young or old—like shape-shifters. She found it interesting that currently they each appeared very old. Were they revealing their true state of being today?

  One of the elders remained standing, and the crowd’s enthusiasm hushed down to a low murmur. Although she spoke to the full stadium in a normal tone of voice, Boomer, and everyone there, could still hear her every word. She spoke in their native Dacci—relating the history of the impending tournament. She spoke of the honor of becoming a Goldwon, and then of the two previous ceremonies where virtually every contestant suffered harm of some sort—some seriously, and several were even killed—either by another opponent or via one of the treacherous stadium obstacles. The elder, whom Boomer recognized as Lord Manna, raised both her hands, palms outstretched, and commenced saying holy words Boomer did not understand, in an ancient dialect foreign to her.

  Boomer’s thoughts wandered unchecked for several seconds, which nearly cost her her life. Once the elder took her seat, the graduation completion ceremonies immediately commenced—no final blast from the horns, no drum beating, no hitting of a gong.

  Carmotta was the first to fire off violet distortion waves from her outstretched enhancement shield. The spectacular bright waves crossed the stadium at close to the speed of light and hit Boomer directly in the chest. Nearly catapulted off from her perch atop the pedestal, Boomer landed on her back, and was propelled to its very edge. Her clawed fingertips grabbed for something—anything—to gain purchase. She knew that falling from the far side of a pedestal instantly disqualified a warrior from further competing in the challenge.

  Boomer’s head and upper shoulders slid over the far side of the pedestal before she was able to maneuver her own shield. Pointing it backward, she fired a wide swath of distortion waves over her head to slow further forward momentum. She came to a precarious halt, nearly at the tipping point of going head-over-heels backward. Heart pounding in her chest, she had to smile at Carmotta’s clever strategy to take her out so early in the competition. Boomer next used strategically pointed waves to elevate herself up onto her feet and spied her friend crouched several hundred feet across from her. Both smiled.

  Carmotta jumped down from her crystal perch to the floor of the stadium and was immediately engaged in battle with another young Tahli warrior. As much as Boomer wanted to watch her friend fight for her life, she had a dire engagement of her own to attend to. A small tornado of spinning sand particles began to take shape directly below her, atop the sand dunes. Just as suddenly, its movement began to slow. In its dissipating wake, Boomer recognized warrior Clive Sha, from the farthest planet away within the Dacci system. He now stood upon the highest dune, his feet submerged beneath several inches of sand. Beginning to sink into the sand, he cleverly used his shield to hover in place, instead of attempting to run across the shifting sand.

  “Get down here!” His words were snarled in hatred as he beckoned her using a curt gesture to come down. She’d heard about him from Carmotta. Clive Sha, apparently one of her most adamant denouncers, had argued Boomer did not belong there—was unworthy of the honor of becoming a Goldwon Warrior.

  An advantage Boomer did have over the other contestants was her years of battle experience. From the age of eight on she’d faced multiple adversaries—often forced to kill to stay alive. She doubted any of the others were as battle-hardened as she.

  He stared up at her with contempt—waiting for her to meet him in battle down on the sand. Instead, with lightning speed, she thrust her pratta-shaft downward in his direction and watched as its point disappeared into the sand between his feet. Eyes open wide, he jumped back—then stumbled and fell backward onto the sand. He flailed desperately but, in an instant, his body started to disappear beneath the sea of sand. In moments, his screams were drowned out beneath its surface. Lighter than Clive—and sinking at a slower rate—Master Sahhselies’ pratta-shaft was still visible.

  Boomer jumped down from the pedestal, directly onto where she guessed Clive Sha’s now-submerged, hidden legs were buried. Landing directly atop them, she had just enough support to avoid getting sucked under. She used her enhancement shield to keep her body elevated. Then, in one fluid motion, she thrust a hand into the sand, reaching down for Clive Sha. Her fingers touched his matted thick hair and, in a single move, she both grabbed and hauled him upward.

  As the top half of his body rose out of the sand Clive Sha desperately coughed and gasped. Boomer, still standing on his legs and holding his head up by his dreadlocks, waited for him to stop coughing. His eyes met hers in a stare filled with hatred.

  “Say it! Say the word, Sha,” Boomer ordered, just loud enough for him to hear her.

  His voice, barely a croak, said, “I’ll say it, but you’ll see, nobody here today … nobody will accept surrender when your turn comes. Your death is a forgone conclusion.”

  She waited.

  “Drench! Drench,” he yelled, loud enough for those in the nearby stands to hear.

  Boomer, increasing power to her shield, pulled Sha up and out of the deadly quicksand. She dropped his body, unceremoniously, onto nearby solid ground then turned her back on him, the first contestant to formally give up. She wondered if it was true. Had the others made some kind of secret agreement? Would any surrender from her be ignored? Surely Carmotta and Drom would never go along with such a thing. Or would they?

  The first defeated Tahli warrior was dragged from the stadium floor by Sahhrain guards to a flurry of boos and hisses. She suspected the catcalls were aimed more toward her than Clive Sha. Boomer knew she was not popular. Well, screw them … screw them all!

  New cheers emanated from the seats. Boomer realized they were in response to what just occurred across the stadium floor, where Carmotta had vanquished her own combatant. Apparently, she’d been watching Boomer while her left foot held steady upon her prone opponent’s throat. One quick thrust and a crushed larynx would be the result. Apparently, her opponent chose to shout Drench, instead. The crowd cheered and soon more guards were dispatched to escort another Tahli Warrior from the trials.

  Carmotta and Boomer quickly saluted each other before each turned to face her next battle challenge.

  Boomer stopped and appraised what lay ahead. She did not know her name—had never seen the stocky female before today. Somehow she’d managed to navigate upward to a flat section within the rock tower—the tower of sword-like blades. Startled, Boomer heard a distant scream. Though out of view, she knew it came from Carmotta.

  Chapter 5

  Present day.

  Jason f
irst wanted to visit where it all had come down—where his daughter, and so many others, had been killed. No … slaughtered. Checking his internal nano-devices he noted it was 12:40, Earth Pacific Time. He had over an hour before Boomer’s memorial services would commence. Initially, the Blues’ security official, Magistrate Peele, was not receptive to non-nationals visiting the still-under-investigation battle scene. “You do realize that the Blues are suddenly at a state of war. I’m sure you understand, Omni Reynolds. We cannot have the area tainted by outsiders tromping around down there.”

  Jason had abruptly disconnected linkup with that intergalactic communication channel. It took less than two minutes, speaking directly to the brother of the injured Prince Aqeel, a Blues dignitary in his own right with substantial influence, for all such restrictions to be waived. The unspoken reality, and one not lost on the prince, was that Jason and the U.S. fleet had literally saved the Blues from an assured mass extinction, at the hands of the Sahhrain, a mere five years ago. The prince and his brother owed him—hell, every living Blues citizen owed him.

  The wide, bus-like, shuttle dropped down from Harpaign’s higher atmosphere at a seemingly lackadaisical pace. Quelling his impatience, Jason steadily watched the nearing planet’s surface come into view below them. Everywhere were the same, mile-after-mile, orange-colored sand dunes—all the way across to the far horizon.

  He felt a tap on his shoulder. “There!” Mollie said, an outstretched finger pointing off to the right. “Is that it? Those are the Capital Ruins … right?”

  He squinted against the harsh bright sunlight and nodded, then shrugged. Harpaign had hundreds—thousands even—of ruins since new excavation programs were enacted over the past few years.

  Ricket, now standing at the same observation window, said, “Those are indeed the Capital Ruins, Captain.”

  Jason kept his eyes on the approaching devastation. The ancient city, small in terms of most sprawling, modern-day metropolises, would normally be scarcely distinguishable from the area’s surrounding sandy landscape. But now, with so many of its stone structures both pitted and scorched black, the terrain seemed almost moon-like, with countless craters of varying sizes scattered about. It obviously was the site of an epic-level attack.

  Jason heard Mollie’s rapid intake of air and turned to see her staring wide-eyed, her hands covering her mouth, and an expression of disbelief on her face as she scanned the rapidly approaching carnage below them. “No one could survive that,” she said with chilling finality.

  The truth was, apparently some had: Those sitting at the north end of the stadium, including the dark-robed Tahli ministry members. They were protected by powerful, albeit localized, shield projectors. Although initially designed to shield against attacks instigated inside the stadium itself, the shields did offer sufficient early protection from incoming enemy plasma blasts for some. They escaped to a hidden subterranean vault beneath the stadium, hiding there in safety, while the world above them became decimated—first aerially, by a formidable Sahhrain warship; then by two ground garrisons of Sahhrain warriors.

  It took substantial willpower for Jason to unclench his white-knuckled fists. He looked forward to meeting the cowards, those hiding beneath the city while tens of thousands, including his daughter, were being butchered above.

  Vibrations from the shuttle’s large downward-pointing thrusters rumbled through the craft as everyone prepared to disembark. Jason stayed at the window, watching the group of Blues emissaries standing beneath a poled tarp. One by one, they left the comfort of their shady confine to welcome their arrival.

  “I’ve seen that face before,” Mollie said, glancing up. She’d stayed next to her father, waiting for him. “You want to kill them.”

  Jason pulled his heated glare toward those outside the shuttle away. He nodded. “Every fucking last one of them.”

  * * *

  Everyone moved out of the sun, now standing sheltered beneath the tarp’s cover. There were six Blues officials, sporting sidearms on their belts. The one who seemed to be in charge wore a uniform that reminded Jason of a janitor’s ill-fitting overalls. He mumbled something, then bowed his head at the assemblage of ten foreigners standing before him. Pacing back and forth, the long-faced Blues official had elongated ears and two puckering, wrinkled lips. He briefly hesitated as he approached Traveler, who towered, like a perfectly sculpted statue, over him. Regaining his composure, he said, “I am Storvan. I am chief of security for all the Blues antiquities within the Dacci system.” He looked back and forth at their unimpressed blank faces. “Please listen carefully. You must stay within the cordoned-off areas at all times. You must not touch anything. You must not take anything from the battle site. Anyone who deviates from those guidelines will be arrested and taken back to the StarDome, where you will be prosecuted. If these conditions are understood—”

  This is bullshit! Jason took a quick step forward, his hands already clenched into two vise-like fists. Then, abruptly, a voice came from the back of the group.

  “I have a question.”

  Everyone, including Jason, turned. Leon Pike moved up to the front—his eyes on Jason as he spoke to Storvan. “Um … would it be possible to interview some of the survivors?”

  Storvan, who’d recoiled at Jason’s approach, turned his eyes toward Leon. “No. That will not be possible. They are very busy now, dealing with far more important …”

  Jason appreciated Leon’s attempt to mollify the situation, but he’d had enough. Again, he stepped forward, this time taking the Blues official by surprise, and grabbed a fistful of fabric beneath his pointy chin. He pulled him closer—their faces inches apart. “Listen to me carefully. My name is Jason Reynolds … perhaps you’ve heard of me? You can address me as Omni or Captain—either will suffice. Just recently, the Blues … those exclusive of the Dacci System … renewed their inclusion with the Alliance, of which I am the military commander—in charge over millions of planetary bodies. I am taking command of this site and you, Mr. Storvan, will do exactly what I tell you to do. You will instruct your people to bend over backwards to appease our every request.” Ending on that note, Jason’s brows rose questioningly.

  Storvan’s eyes shifted left, then right. No one was coming to his defense. He nodded twice. Jason released his grip and smoothed down the wrinkles. “Very good. I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly from here on out. Now stop wasting our time. Take us into the city’s battlegrounds.”

  * * *

  Jason broke them up into four smaller teams: Traveler, Leon and Hanna were in group one; Billy and Rizzo in group two; and Orion and Perkins in group three. Mollie, along with her ever-present hovering droid, Teardrop, and Ricket, were with him in group four.

  “What are we looking for, Cap?” Billy asked, as they headed off toward the ancient city.

  Jason shrugged. “Answers. Over the next hour I want to piece together what really happened here. Our own evaluation, not what the Blues are spoon-feeding us.”

  Each team had commandeered one of Storvan’s security men. Storvan, surprisingly, stayed with Jason and his group. As they entered through the city’s high walls, sooty smoke still hung in the air, plus the putrid stench of rotting, charred, flesh. The four groups split up, heading off in different directions. Jason glanced over to Mollie, the least dressed for such rough surroundings. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was more engaged now than when she first arrived to board the Stellar earlier.

  Mollie, addressing Storvan, asked, “Can you take us to the battlefield … the one where …” She let her words trail off.

  The security man looked to Jason for approval before detouring them to the right, away from the nearly-leveled stadium, a quarter of a mile away to their left.

  It took them less than ten minutes to reach the battlefield. They didn’t need Storvan to say anything. What looked like bright-red twine was stretched between makeshift wooden poles, intended to keep one from entering any further onto the actual battlefield. Jas
on held up, looking across acres upon acres of what must have been a long, and horrific, encounter. Though their dead bodies had been carted away still remnants of their fight remained: broken and splintered pratta-shafts, dented and bloodied breastplates, scorched blast marks on the sand. Blood—now turned the color of dark rust—was everywhere.

  Ricket began to fiddle with the droid. He opened a small panel on its triangular torso and made some kind of intricate adjustment within it. A moment later, he closed the panel and, after exchanging subtle nods with Jason, turned back to Teardrop. The droid quickly rose higher in the air before crossing over and into the battlefield. Jason flashed the security guard a stern glance that said don’t say a word.

  Immediately, Teardrop dropped to within inches of the ground and moved back and forth, in what seemed a pre-programmed pattern. It soon began traversing the cordoned-off area at incredible speeds.

  “What’s Teardrop doing, Dad?” Mollie asked.

  “Full spectrum scans.”

  “He’s looking for her DNA … isn’t he?”

  Jason held her eyes a moment, but didn’t answer.

  Teardrop suddenly halted, one hundred yards away from their position—moving in a spherical range of ten or so feet.

  Ricket, two fingers up to his ear, said in a soft voice full of compassion, “It has been confirmed. Her DNA—significant amounts of it—is present there.”

  Jason had been informed of the very same thing some days earlier. What they suspected was that Boomer’s charred body had been collected and moved to a nearby, temporary morgue setup. The body was beyond recognition—beyond retrieving DNA samples from, though the dried pool of blood was another matter, where part of a finger was also found.