Boomer (Star Watch Book 3)

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “We’re going to be here a while. Why don’t you sit down … cool your jets?”

  Rogna gave Boomer a confused expression, but she eventually sat down, her back resting against the hive. Gain joined Boomer at the ledge. “Have you ever wondered why they went to all this trouble?”

  “They?”

  “I don’t know … the ancients. Why not just bury those things, the statues, in a deep hole someplace; put an X on a map and be done with it? Why go to all this trouble?”

  “I thought of that too,” Boomer said. “All I can come up with is they wanted to ensure that the right person, or type of person, retrieved the effigies. Someone they felt worthy of possessing them, or something like that.”

  “You mean like you,” Gain said flatly.

  “No! It could be Drom … or you,” Boomer replied.

  Gain didn’t seem particularly satisfied with her response, but turned, pointing toward Drom, and said, “Look … he’s starting.”

  Drom stood up on a rock platform ledge in front of a gap, about six feet in front of a series of individual, three-foot-square, rocks—set up to look like a checkerboard—sixteen cut rocks placed in a four-by-four design.

  “How does he know which rock to jump to?”

  “I don’t know,” Boomer said.

  Drom leapt and landed on a rock in the row closest to him. Immediately he knelt as the rock began to wobble from side to side. Other rocks within the checkerboard series also began to move. First, a rock in the farthest row from Drom completely flipped over—somehow pivoting on a hidden center rod. Then a rock began to spin in the second row, another in the third row. Soon, all the stones were flipping over, then flipping back. There seemed to be no rhyme, or apparent reason, to when they would flip.

  Drom glanced up toward Boomer. “Suggestions?” he asked worriedly.

  “Jump atop rocks that just flipped over … they don’t seem to spin more than once.”

  Drom, watching the rock next to him flip over, sidestepped onto it. But moving then onto the next rock changed everything. With a horrendous crack, two rocks turned sideways and smashed together—held still a moment—then flipped again, perfectly fitting back into the checkerboard’s overall design.

  “Get between two of those rocks and you’ll be flattened!” Rogna said. She’d moved to sit on the hive ledge, letting her feet hang over the side.

  Drom jumped to another rock and steadied himself, watching for some place to jump to next. “This isn’t making any sense!” he said, sounding frustrated.

  Suddenly the rock he stood upon upended, along with the one adjacent to it. Ready for it, Drom used his enhancement shield to propel himself into the air as the two rocks crashed together. Momentarily, he stood on their upended sides before jumping across to a rock in the third row.

  “Nice move!” Boomer said. She saw a bemused smile appear on Drom’s face.

  “I think I’ve got this one figured out, but I’m not real sure what the point is. Definitely don’t want to be hopping rock to rock all day.”

  Again, the rock he was standing upon upended, along with the one next to it. He propelled himself upward, just high enough to avoid his legs getting smashed together.

  “That was close,” Rogna said.

  “Maybe you need to put full weight down on every square … every stone,” Gain suggested.

  Drom jumped onto a new square, then onto another. “How would it know which stones I’ve jumped onto?”

  “Your weight. I can see the rocks settle a bit lower, maybe an inch or two, each time you land on one. Somehow it’s tracking your progress.”

  “I think the rocks are flipping faster now,” Rogna said. “And Drom’s getting tired … look how he’s huffing and puffing.”

  “You okay, Drom?” Boomer asked.

  He didn’t answer. Between stones flipping over, as well as crashing together, Drom was constantly on the move. One miscalculation and he’d be crushed. Boomer refrained from asking further questions so he wouldn’t lose concentration.

  The shifting rocks were a constant blur of motion. The clashing of stones as they slammed together was so loud Rogna put her hands over her ears. “When is it going to end?”

  Boomer and Gain ignored her. Boomer moved nearer to the edge of the hive, mentally prepared to leap down and do something to help Drom. But, really, what can I do? He was moving so fast, a strange flow or rhythm to his jumping now. His breathing rate had settled down too. It almost seemed that he was enjoying the life and death aspect of the obstacle. Boomer contemplated whether or not she could have done as well, or even would have survived. She hoped so, but in all honesty, she wasn’t sure.

  And then the crashing sounds ceased—the stone checkerboard was still once more. Drom staggered and let himself fall onto his back, across two squares in the middle of the obstacle. He covered his face with an arm.

  “Two more to go …”

  “Thank you, Rogna, I don’t know what I’d do without your help,” Drom said, his words muffled behind his arm. He suddenly sat up, took a deep breath, then stood.

  Boomer pointed to a spot just ahead of him. “Over there. I think that’s a reset wheel.”

  Drom nodded and took a step, before suddenly flinching and coming to a standstill. One of the hovering pods had lowered down, hanging inches from his face. His face became contorted. In a flash, he offered up a certain Blues finger gesture that Boomer knew was synonymous with flipping it the bird.

  As quickly as the pod had arrived it was gone from their sight. Drom made his way toward the far side of the checkerboard, to once again stand on solid rock. He pushed aside several stalks of leafy green plants and found the metal reset wheel. Before turning it, he looked over to the next obstacle, then up at Boomer.

  “Any ideas about the next one?”

  “Not a clue. Well, other than there are a lot of little holes bored into that large rock slab.”

  “Holes?”

  “Each about the size of my fist. Must be several hundred of them.”

  Drom nodded, bringing his attention back to the reset wheel. Using both hands, putting his weight behind it, he spun the wheel clockwise until it no longer turned. Boomer heard an audible clank, even from her distance away. Apparently, the first obstacle had just reset, and the next was now engaged.

  “Want me to—”

  He cut her off, furrowed his brow, and shook his head. “Haven’t I proven myself yet?”

  “You have. I’m impressed,” Boomer said.

  “Me too,” Rogna said. “I thought for sure you were going to die on the last one.”

  “Why don’t you just shut up, Rogna,” Gain said, annoyed.

  Drom stood at the jump-off point to the next obstacle. He held up a foot and carefully, gently, stepped onto the surface, before slowly adding his full weight. Nothing. He then stepped all the way onto the large flat rock and again waited.

  “Maybe it’s broken. How old is that thing? I bet it’s broken,” Rogna said.

  Drom began to stroll around the surface of the obstacle. “Maybe I didn’t reset the wheel correctly. Or maybe she’s right. After a few thousands years, maybe these things need a tune-up.”

  The words had no sooner left his lips than the first metal spike flew up from the slab of rock he stood upon—out from one of the numerous bored-out holes. The sharp spear, about five feet long, vibrated for several seconds, before it descended, back down into its same hole.

  “Uh oh,” Rogna said.

  Drom stood, holding out his palms while carefully scanning the obstacle course around him.

  Boomer didn’t like what she was seeing at all. Should one of those spikes shoot up where he was standing, he wouldn’t have time to move and get out of the way.

  Drom took a leery step backward. The sound of metal engaging metal was so fast he didn’t have time to move. Another spear—this one directly beneath his right foot—shot up and cleaved his boot heel—practically slicing it in half. Blood poured down as he scre
amed and reached down to clutch his damaged foot.

  As the one spike descended, another shot up.

  Chapter 37

  Lord Zintar Shakrim leaned forward and watched the display closely, as the young Blues male screamed out—obviously in agony. In his peripheral vision, Zintar noticed Jarial, standing by his side, had looked away from the display in the same moment.

  “This brings back … not so welcome memories, my son?”

  Jarial, suddenly self-conscious, refocused his attention again on the events taking place on the surface of Draggim.

  “Those pods were an ingenious idea, Jarial,” Zintar said.

  The pod’s viewing perspective now showed a tight close-up of the Blues male—holding on to his leg and writhing in pain—just as a second spike popped up, mere inches from his head. Zintar knew that even watching it was tough on his son, who’d suffered defeat on the same obstacle course, but he needed to get over it. Although, from the accounting Zintar had received, his son experienced seven separate stab wounds. He lost so much blood he was hospitalized for six weeks, and would carry scars on his body the rest of his life—as well as endure a lingering amount of pain. Zintar thought about the never-completed hospital on the StarDome station. Supposedly there were advanced Caldurian medical pods there. Perhaps he’d mention this to his son—but a part of him had not forgiven him for his inability to complete the obstacle course.

  The injured Blues player, attempting to stand, rose to his hands and knees. As though attuned—somehow knowing it was the absolute best place to inflict damage—another spike shot up, directly below the young man’s abdomen. Even Zintar had to momentarily glance away. Looking back, he saw the shaft protruding from the young Blues’ gory back. Then, just as quickly, the spike descended back into the spear’s hole.

  “As much as it pleases me to see a Blues … any Blues … suffer, it is not in our best interest for them to fail here,” Zintar said.

  “The girl will take over. Perhaps she will be more successful,” Jarial said.

  For the hundredth time, Zintar contemplated how he might take possession of the two remaining won effigies, and forgo all this drama. “There has to be a better way …”

  “We already spoke about this, Father. There are two remaining wons. I’ve actually seen the won this team is attempting to retrieve. Remember, each course has its own fail-safe contraption—such as a ten-ton stone mounted above the effigy. Any attempt to circumvent these fail-safes and the player is killed … not to mention the course destroyed. I assure you, the ancients knew what they were doing. If you still want to gather all four effigies, then our current course of action is still best.”

  There was a bright flash and a human, hidden in a combat suit, appeared next to the young male. Another flash came and they both disappeared, leaving behind an obscene amount of blood.

  Brakken’s voice, emanating from the lower bridge deck, said, “Lord Shakrim, Fleet Commander Rolm requests your orders.”

  Zintar nodded and gestured toward the display. A round-faced Sahhrain officer appeared—his narrow forehead and large protruding ears gave him an almost comical appearance. But Commander Rolm was a proficient fleet officer, with many successful campaigns under his belt. He would be directing the attack, which was to be imminent.

  “Commander Rolm.”

  “Lord Shakrim … you requested an update, just as soon as the fleet was on the move.”

  Zintar would have preferred to have all four wons in his possession, thereby completing the bridge to Dasticon, but since their fleet assets had recently been discovered, he could not wait and chance losing any element of surprise. They must attack first, and most decisively. He felt the weight of the moment on his shoulders. From here on in, there would be no turning back. Success or failure—the very existence of his people came down to him uttering the following few words:

  “Commence the attack on the Sol System.”

  “Very good, Lord Shakrim. I will not disappoint you, my Lord. The Alliance has grown fat and complacent. Their defeat will be quick and absolute.” The display scene changed, back to a view of the bloodied rock.

  “Return to Draggim, then head toward … The Harpaign moon, Almand-CM5 … you need to find the last location before the others do so you can observe them as we are now. Jarial, contact me immediately when you find it … I will personally be the one to take the won from the human. I eagerly count the moments until I can crush her head, like a willow-nut, between my palms.” Zintar squeezed the heels of his palms together in a dramatic gesture.

  * * *

  Boomer cursed herself for reacting so slowly. She’d wasted precious moments—first speaking to Gain, telling him to wait for her and not attempt to complete the course on his own. By the time she’d then initiated her combat suit and phase-shifted over to Drom, another spike had already driven through his body.

  She phase-shifted them back to the Sahhrain gunship, then hurried him into the small medical bay and onto a gurney. A medical autobot was attending to him now, but Boomer knew Drom’s injuries were terrible, most likely terminal. What he needed was a MediPod. Damn! Why didn’t I think of that sooner! She wasn’t accustomed to being connected again with space life. She stepped into the passageway and hailed her father. The connection failed. She tried Orion and was instantly rewarded, hearing her voice come across loud and clear.

  “Go for Gunny … go ahead, Boomer.”

  “Gunny! I need your help! I have an injured … person. Where are you … where’s the Parcical, Orion?” A brief hesitation followed and Boomer feared they’d lost their NanoCom connection.

  “I’ve spotted you on sensors. We’re relatively close, Boomer. We’re here in the Dacci system, but well out of phase-shift range for you to use your combat suit. Also, we have numerous injured people on board already, coming up from the surface of Harpaign.”

  “Mollie! Is Mollie—”

  “No. She’s fine. And your father’s uninjured as well. Billy’s hurt … had both ears blown off.”

  It must have been the way Orion spoke that caused Boomer to laugh out loud. Nervous tension getting the best of her. “I’m so sorry …”

  “It’s OK, Boomer. He’s going to be fine.”

  “I really need help, Orion. Drom … my friend; he’s dying.”

  “Let me think.” Several moments passed before Gunny spoke again. “Okay, your father’s personal yacht has a MediPod on board. I think it’s been repaired. Maybe I can get Leon to—”

  “Repaired? Yacht? Whatever … yes … yes, contact Leon! You have my coordinates?” Boomer asked, exasperated.

  “I do but it’ll take a few minutes. And it will take multiple phase-shifts.”

  “Please hurry!”

  Boomer stepped back into the medical bay and watched as the medical bot frantically moved back around the gurney, which was now saturated with blood.

  “Do you even know what you are doing?” she asked.

  Although the bot did not respond, Boomer swore she heard it moan. She saw a myriad of medical stats on the lone display; one was registering Drom’s heartbeat. The bot began to make noises, appearing to have ceased taking further action, and was now looking at her.

  “What … what did you say?”

  The mechanical voice was tinny and sounded ridiculously old-fashioned: “There are insufficient blood supplies on board for this species.”

  “Can’t you synthesize more?” Boomer asked, looking at the slender-looking bot with apparent disdain.

  “This vessel is not equipped for advanced medical procedures.”

  “Just keep him alive. Do whatever’s needed to keep his heart beating. Do you understand?”

  “The organism has lost too much blood.”

  “How about a transfusion? I can bring up another Blues …” She stopped to accept an incoming hail. “Go for Boomer!”

  “Boomer, it’s Leon. Hanna and I are here. The Stellar is right off your starboard side.”

  * * *

&n
bsp; Within thirty seconds, Leon had lifted Drom’s body off the gurney and had, just as quickly, phase-shifted him away. Boomer moved over to the closest porthole window and saw the sleek space vessel moored alongside the gunship. Worried sick about Drom, she phase-shifted directly over to the craft, into what appeared to be a luxury cabin, with plush leather seating and sectional couches. Unobstructed observation windows, sited on both sides of the compartment, looked out to space. She disengaged her combat suit and spoke aloud. “Hello, anyone?”

  Hanna emerged from a forward compartment, which Boomer guessed was the bridge.

  “Boomer!” Hanna yelled. She had the same long blonde hair and a bright sunny smile. She ran up to Boomer and wrapped her in her arms. “We’ve missed you, girl! Your dad and Mollie will be so happy to see you.” Hanna released Boomer from her embrace and held her out at arm’s length. “Oh my God … you’re all grown up! And so pretty!”

  Boomer nodded, a little embarrassed. She hadn’t experienced much in the way of personal contact over the past two years. “Where’s Medical?”

  “Follow me,” Hanna said, heading for a DeckPort. This was quite a little ship … and it was her father’s!

  They emerged on a lower deck and Hanna half-ran, half-walked toward the stern. Up ahead, Leon was just stepping out from another compartment. Seeing their fast approach, he raised both palms. “Easy now. He’s in pretty bad shape. MediPods can only do so much.”

  Boomer knew exactly what a MediPod could do, having had her own life saved inside one at the age of eight. She entered the small medical compartment and approached the MediPod. Drom was on his back and looked to be sleeping. She studied the holographic display above and noted his heart-rate was slow—perhaps too slow?

  “Give it time,” Leon said behind her. “I think he’ll be fine.”

  Boomer turned around but caught the concern showing on both his and Hanna’s faces. “I need to get back to the surface. I must finish the course.”

  “We can take you. We’re not letting you out of our sight, Boomer.”