Star Watch

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “You could park an ocean liner in here … hell, several of them, end to end,” Leon remarked, taking in various individual spacecraft—hundreds of unmanned mini-fighter drones, their wings collapsed, secured in tight rows onto a bulkhead, reaching high above, and spanning multiple decks—also a complement of royal blue fighters, including several red ones. There were also a handful of shuttles—the Perilous was one, the smaller Charm another, secured off to the side. Maintenance drones, some robot-like, others cylindrical, hovered about or were speeding off somewhere—busy at work—doing whatever drones do to keep a fleet this size operational.

  Leon, seeing Rizzo had kept on walking while he ogled, scurried to catch up. The starboard bay doors were open to space, an energy field keeping the flight deck’s atmosphere contained within. Abruptly, Leon stopped in his tracks. There, situated in the middle of the flight deck, was his ship—the SpaceRunner.

  “I don’t understand … how is my ship here?” Leon asked, not sure if he should be happy to see it, or angry someone had piloted it here without his permission.

  “Didn’t you tell someone where it was hidden? How to override the ship’s security measures?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “You can’t provide that kind of information to Ricket, or even to Bristol, without them figuring out the rest. Apparently, they used a shuttle, one capable of phase-shifting, to fetch it … it was right where you said it would be. I thought you’d be happy to see it.”

  “I am … I guess. I just don’t like anyone else flying her.”

  “Uh huh. Well, when you can get over feeling violated maybe you can make sure it’s ready for our mission. There’s a lot hinging on this ship of yours being everything you say it is … fast and battle ready.” Rizzo turned back toward the SpaceRunner. “It’s not what I expected—”

  “What? You expected a tin can held together with bailing wire and duct tape?”

  Rizzo shrugged.

  Leon, not expecting an answer, walked around his ship, making sure there wasn’t new damage. In truth, it was the most beautiful vessel he’d ever seen. He remembered seeing it for the first time, when his then soon-to-be partner, Petty Officer Sean Doogin, brought him to its hiding place on Palis-Z, a wretched little planet where one could purchase virtually anything—if willing to pay the local space gypsies their exorbitant, over-inflated prices. The SpaceRunner had originally been a wealthy intergalactic trader’s personal star yacht. On the outside, it looked little different than it had back then; much of the hull was highly reflective, mirror-like, while other areas—design features, with textured, dark-gray panels—were, in reality, not design features at all. Depending on where one looked, either a rail cannon or a plasma gun lay hidden behind various slide-away panels—no less than eight in all. The ship looked surprisingly sleek and aerodynamic, considering its width. At one time, this rich trader’s space yacht had fifteen stateroom suites, plus a large storage hold running the length of the vessel below the ship’s deck. With the exception of spacious staterooms, the inside of the vessel bore little resemblance now to its former, luxurious, glory days. Excluding seven small quarters, and several heads, most of the SpaceRunner had been reconfigured, befitting the requirements of a trading vessel needing, oft times, to get away fast and/or defend itself. Leon reached up high and ran his palm along a portion of the hull. He liked the mirror-like finish. One of the most unique aspects of this ship was its capability to alter its outward appearance. Apparently the original owner’s wife wanted a ship that could match her daily attire … he wasn’t sure of the technology behind it, but all of the reflective hull siding could be altered to any number of colors or patterns—but there had also been another option, probably had been added by the husband. Leon called it ghetto-ship gray … when selected, the SpaceRunner looked thirty years older and battered—with simulated dents, scuffs and areas of mismatched paint repairs. For the kind of places Leon had typically been taking this ship, ghetto-ship gray was almost always the most appropriate.

  They came to a standstill at the bow of the vessel. Rizzo noted, “It’s a nice-looking ship … how does it do in planetary atmosphere?”

  “Cuts through the air like a knife.”

  “Well, it’ll be a lot faster now.”

  “Faster now? I don’t think so,” Leon said, not really sure what he was referring to.

  Rizzo walked beneath the ship’s portside toward the lowered gangway, approximately at the center point of the vessel. “Mind?” he asked, pointing upward.

  “Go ahead … seems everyone else has been on board anyway.”

  Leon followed Rizzo up the SpaceRunner’s gangway into what seemed like a comfortable vestibule, of sorts, but was, in fact, an airlock. The circular compartment had two opposing curved hatchways, one leading to sub-level hold areas, and the other back to Propulsion, where the vessel’s powerful antimatter drive was located. Before them, a curved ramp gracefully followed the curved contours of the bulkhead, and led to another curved hatchway, fifteen feet overhead, that was the egress into the main deck area above, on level one.

  The hatch leading into Propulsion was open and Leon could hear someone inside muttering something. In three strides, he crossed over the airlock compartment and rushed into the hatchway, where he found Bristol, standing on his tiptoes, using a tool of some kind.

  “What the hell are you doing to my ship?” Leon crossed the confined space, grabbed a fistful of Bristol’s jumpsuit, and threw him against a vertical support beam.

  “He’s doing what he’s been told to do,” Rizzo said behind him, “and you should be thanking him, not smacking him around.”

  “Thanking him for what? Nobody messes with my ship without my permission.”

  Bristol shoved back at Leon, causing him to take a short step back. “Hey, fuckwad … you don’t want phase-shift capability on this ship … fine with me. I’ll yank it back out.” Bristol headed back where he’d been … doing something.

  “You’re installing phase-shift capability? No shit? How much is that going to cost me?”

  Rizzo said, “Do your job right and we’ll call it even … how ’bout that?”

  Leon nodded and looked at Bristol. “Sorry … didn’t mean to—”

  “Don’t you have something else to do? I’d like to finish this and get some sleep.”

  Leon and Rizzo left Propulsion. Leon headed up the ramp; the level one hatchway opened as he approached. Curious to see what else they’d done to his ship, he made his way forward toward the bow. The bridge interior was approximately the size of two side-by-side minivans and easily spanned upward ten feet. He entered the bridge’s rear hatchway, with Rizzo two steps behind. Leon again stopped dead in his tracks.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Pike. If you remember, my name is Trommy5.”

  Leon simply stared at the metallic robot. The mecher was seated in the copilot’s seat, in front of the controls.

  “I know who you are … what are you doing here?”

  “I have been assigned to you. I am your automated mecher unit … I am at your disposal for whatever functions you deem necessary.”

  Leon turned back to stare at Rizzo, who held up both palms in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me … this wasn’t my idea. I don’t think anybody knew what to do with him. You brought him on board the Minian … so he’s all yours.”

  Trommy5 cautiously stood up—reaching for the seat-back with one hand to steady itself. “I’ve been instructed to tell you the others will be here shortly. We only await the one called Boomer to arrive back on the Minian … then we’ll be on our way.”

  Chapter 39

  Dacci System

  The Minian, Bridge

  _________________

  Jason watched the overhead wrap-around display as the stream of warships methodically emerged, one after another, from three separate, simultaneously generated, interchange wormholes. He had mixed feelings about their arrival. In on
e sense this fleet of two hundred Allied warships would go a long way in curbing outright attacks by the Sahhrain, but in another—it emphasized the fact that Star Watch could not handle the situation on its own.

  “Captain, your presence is requested in the flight bay.”

  Jason glanced up to the display and saw that a white U.S. heavy cruiser had just entered the flight bay and was setting down on the flight deck.

  Jason looked over to Seaman Gordon with a sideways glance. “Who the hell gave them permission to come aboard my ship? I don’t have time to entertain fleet commanders … not now … not with everything going on. Send them away—”

  “Captain … I don’t think you want to do that,” Orion interrupted, turning in her seat to face him. “You’re outranked on this one, Cap.”

  Jason let out a breath and stood. “Fine … I’ll get rid of him. Somebody find my XO. I’ll hand over whoever this is to Perkins … he can give him a tour of the ship.”

  * * *

  Two minutes later, Jason entered the flight bay. Crew personnel were already coming down the large, bug-shaped cruiser’s gangway. Jason looked for the ranking officer, thinking, he’s probably another admiral. Perhaps hearing of his father’s near-death situation, someone was looking to elevate his own position. Then he saw her running down the gangway: Four-foot-something, wearing a bright yellow sundress, Mollie yelled at a junior officer crewmember to get out of her way. Several paces behind her was her ever-faithful droid, Teardrop. Last to appear was Mollie’s mother, Nan—his ex-wife.

  Out of breath and all smiles, Mollie ran into Jason’s open arms. He picked her up and hugged her tight. “What are you doing here … little one?”

  “Okay, okay … you can put me down now, Dad!”

  Jason did as told.

  “I think Mom wants to talk to you … I don’t know, ask her.”

  Nan walked right by him, muttering, “Not here … and we’re taking your quarters … ten minutes.”

  Jason called after her, “Where’s my son?”

  “Back in D.C.”

  Mollie smiled up at Jason and scurried after her mother, with Teardrop close on their heels.

  * * *

  As the still-acting President of the United States, Nan certainly outranked him. Nan’s sudden appearance took Jason by surprise, and he guessed that was her intention. About to enter his own captain’s quarters, he paused at the hatch: “AI, please let the president know I’m here.”

  A moment later, as the hatch de-energized, Mollie stood inside to greet him. “Can I go play?”

  “Hello to you, too,” Jason said, stepping into his suite. He saw no sign of Nan.

  “Can I?”

  “Um … what does your mother say?”

  “She didn’t. Teardrop will be with me … it looks just like The Lilly … well, kinda … a lot bigger.”

  “Fine … stay out of trouble. Why don’t you go see Dira … the AI will direct you—”

  But Mollie was already out the hatch and running down the corridor.

  “Go with her … keep an eye on her.”

  “Yes, Captain Reynolds.” Teardrop quickly hovered out into the corridor.

  Jason heard noises coming from deeper inside his quarters. He found Nan in there, hanging up clothes in his closet. She’d changed out of her navy pantsuit into faded jeans and a pink pullover sweater. Her long auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail.

  “Staying long?” Jason asked.

  She didn’t look up from what she was doing. “No … maybe a few days … I don’t know.”

  “Well, what’s going on here?”

  She stopped and glowered at him. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  He saw she was angry. No, not angry. Furious. “What’s going on … what’s the matter, Nan?”

  “Maybe you can tell me where my daughter is?”

  “She just left—” Jason cut his words short. She wasn’t referring to Mollie. “What have you heard?”

  “Only that she was in some kind of training … training to go up against some kind of mass-murdering monster. That she isn’t even on this ship!”

  “Where did you get this information?”

  “Who gives a shit where I got the information from? Is it true? Have you gotten my daughter involved in something no ten-year-old should even remotely be doing?”

  “Look … it’s complicated. It’s not like that. At least, not entirely.”

  Nan looked to be on the verge of punching him in the face.

  He continued, “You need to know that I was just as upset by all this—”

  “Upset? That’s how you’re phrasing this? Of course I’m fucking upset!”

  “Just let me finish!” Jason stopped and tried to find a way to explain something he knew he wouldn’t be able to explain satisfactorily—most of all, because she was right. There was no way to defend something he never should have allowed to happen in the first place.

  “Boomer is not even remotely like Mollie. They may share the same DNA, but that’s where all similarities stop. She’s …” he searched for the appropriate word, “she’s a warrior.”

  “Come on … she’s ten, Jason!”

  “Do you have any inkling of the things our ten-year-old daughter has accomplished over the last year and a half? How many lives she’s saved? Hell, Boomer was sneaking out to learn close-contact martial-art techniques a mere week after she’d come on board The Lilly. If you remember, she even helped rescue you from the Craing not so long ago. Yes … in many ways she’s a ten-year-old child. And though that part of her, happily, still exists, a warrior-persona resides within her, too. She lives for adventure … I couldn’t change that part of her no matter what I tried. She’d hate me for trying.”

  “You think I don’t know she’s different? That I haven’t seen it for myself?” Nan asked. “Don’t get me started on the trouble she caused back at the White House. But what you’re permitting her to do … letting her go up against this alien nutcase, just doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “What you … and I, too, until recently, didn’t know, is that Boomer has certain … um … other abilities.”

  “What kind of abilities?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’ve seen her … watched her train. She’s amazing. Hell, it’s almost supernatural, what the kid can do.”

  “You make her sound like some kind of freak, Jason.”

  “Not a freak … not at all. She’s special and only someone truly special, with her kind of abilities, will be able to get close enough to Shakrim … subdue him, until he can be taken into custody by my forces.”

  “I’ve been briefed on Lord Vikor Shakrim. I know he’s a bad one and his dark intentions could easily escalate into the next interplanetary war.”

  “Then you know he’ll never be apprehended by conventional means. His intuitive capabilities will allow him to escape … only to continue, probably, with greater force later on.”

  “And you’re saying Boomer has these same capabilities?”

  “That’s where she is now. She’s being trained … learning to fight him at this same skill level. It was either consent to her training, or ready the Allied forces for the next, all too soon, interstellar war.”

  “So our daughter becomes the sacrificial lamb?”

  Jason shrugged. “As if you or I could stop her anyway. If it’s not this it will be something else. That ship’s already sailed, so to speak. I’ve come to the harsh realization that it’s probably best if she’s prepared for what lies ahead. If that involves training by a group of nomad warrior masters, then so be it.”

  Jason saw most of Nan’s anger draining away. He suspected she, too, was fully aware who and what Boomer, in both body and spirit, had become.

  Nan sat down on the edge of the bed and looked toward the observation window. Her eyes were wet; a deep sadness, conflicting inner turmoil, weighed on her shoulders. Jason sat down next to her, put an arm around her, and pulled her close.

 
; “I promise you, she’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to our baby, Nan.”

  She nodded and looked up at him. They stayed there, eyes locked on each other for several seconds. He watched as her eyes searched his and then she kissed him. Her lips were soft and sweet and he found himself kissing her back—pulling her body in closer. Memories of their past passion—their love for one another—rushed back in a flood of bittersweet memories.

  She pulled away and stood. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  Jason didn’t know why she’d kissed him either, or why he’d kissed her back, and probably wouldn’t have stopped there. His mind flashed to Dira and a wave of guilt washed over him.

  Nan stood at the window, looking out. “I’m no longer the president.”

  “What? You’re no longer …”

  “You and I both knew it would be a temporary position, at best. I never wanted that responsibility and was probably ill-equipped for it, anyway.”

  “So who’s taking over the presidency?”

  Nan turned to him and smiled. “Howard’s coming around.”

  “As in President Howard Ross?” Jason said. The president had been taken by the molt weevils, wrapped inside a cocoon like millions of others in Washington D.C. Last he’d heard, doctors were less than optimistic about his cognitive abilities returning to normal.

  “So that’s it? He’s in perfect health and back in the White House, running the country as if nothing has happened?”

  “As you know, the rest of his family did not fare as well. He’s alone, but wanted to move in right away. Truth is, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

  “Where did you go?”

  Nan pursed her lips, looking a bit sheepish. “I thought maybe we’d stay at the scrapyard house.”

  Jason raised his eyebrows.

  “It would be temporary … while I figure out what I’m going to do next. You’ll be here in space for a while, right? Hope it’s okay?”