StarPassage: Honor and Mercy

By Clark Rich Burbidge

The third book in the popular YA time travel adventure series, StarPassage, presents a challenging and unexpected twist on the first two books. Mike longs to help a struggling new patient who may hold dangerous secrets. An evil Tracker has escaped to the present, bringing with him tyrannical plans to enslave

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clark Rich Burbidge
• Release date: Jun 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218223816

Clark Rich Burbidge

Clark Burbidge was born and raised in the high mountain valleys of the Rockies. He earned an MBA from the University of Southern California and a BS degree from the University of Utah. Clark spent 35 years in the banking, investment banking and corporate finance professions. He has ten published books including the middle reader/teen Giants in the Land trilogy of which this is the second. Nine of his books have been awarded gold medals by the Mom's Choice International association as top in category including each book in this trilogy. Clark and his wife, Leah, live near Salt Lake City, Utah, where they enjoy their blended family of ten children and eleven grandchildren.

Book preview

Other Books by Clark Rich Burbidge

Fiction: Gold Medal Award-Winning Young Adult Trilogy:

StarPassage: Book One – The Relic

StarPassage: Book Two – Heroes and Martyrs

StarPassage: Book Four – Cyber Plague

Fiction: Gold Medal Award-Winning

Young Adult/Middle Reader Trilogy:

Giants in the Land: Book One – The Way of Things

Giants in the Land: Book Two – The Prodigals

Giants in the Land: Book Three – The Cavern of Promise

Fiction: Gold Medal Award-Winning Family Christmas

Picture Book:

A Piece of Silver: A Story of Christ

Non-Fiction:

Life on the Narrow Path: A Mountain Biker’s Guide to Spiritual Growth in Troubled Times

Gold Medal Award winning Family Book

with Leah D. Burbidge:

Living in the Family Blender:

١٠ Principles of a Successful Blended Family

Websites:

www.starpassagebook.com

www.giantsinthelandbook.com

www.apieceofsilver.com

Like my Facebook page and catch all the news at:

www.facebook.com/clarkrburbidge

Dedication

To Victor and Hope and Howie and Ellie,

two couples who have known

and given both mercy and honor.

"To every man there comes in his lifetime that

special moment when he is figuratively tapped on the shoulder

and offered a chance to do a very special thing, unique

to him and fitted to his talents. What a tragedy if that moment finds him unprepared or unqualified

for that which would be his finest hour."

—Winston Churchill

"God sees us as we truly are…His plan is to build us

into something far greater than what we were—far greater

than what we can ever imagine. With each step of faith on the

path of discipleship, we grow into the beings of eternal glory

and infinite joy we were designed to become."

—Dieter F. Uchtdorf

"God left the World unfinished for man to work

his skill upon. He left the electricity in the cloud, the oil in

the earth. He left the rivers unbridged and the forests unfelled

and the cities unbuilt. God gives to man the challenge

of raw materials, not the ease of finished things.

He leaves the pictures unpainted and the music unsung

and the problems unsolved, that man might know

the joys and glories of creation."

—Thomas S. Monson

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to the many individuals who have encouraged me to continue along this path of authorship. One never knows when putting the first foot down where it will lead, and in this case, it has become literally timeless to experience this adventure firsthand. The opportunity to blend current topics and contemporary individuals with historical places, events, and persons is magical to be sure. To engage in such fantasy is only possible because of real people who trusted me to complete the picture they could see only in part.

My deepest grattiude goes out to my original publisher who believed in the StarPassage Trilogy with a draft of only the first book and some brief explanation of where I thought the story would go. Bill, Tamara, Andy, Bev, and others who never wavered, I cannot express in words my gratitude for your trust. A special thank you to my editor Barbara. You never pull punches, yet respectfully and gently guide my hand to improve and set right all the little things. A special thank you to Robin Surface and Fideli Publishing for her faithful efforts in painstakingly preparing the book documents to meet the demanding requirements of InstagramSpark. It is always the small stuff that makes the big stuff work.

I also appreciate my dear friends at PR by the Book for their untiring efforts to teach this old dog new social media and publicity tricks and their patience as they are repeatedly reminded that I am a slow learner. Thank you to Karl Hepworth for his illustrations and cover art. The packaging does make a tremendous difference. Your work draws the reader in before the book is even opened.

A special thank you to Tyler Hanson, PT, DPT, OCS, his staff and patients Becky and Tommy at In Motion Physical Therapy who endured my presence and questions during a busy work schedule. It fascinated me to watch a dedicated group who make a difference every day for those recovering from injuries and corrective surgery. These are some of the many inspiring people who change lives, give hope, and support personal goal setting. It is always possible to move forward to a better place even if that better place isn’t the one you might have planned on.

No book or series can be effectively created from a single person’s experiences. Effective writing requires bouncing ideas and characters off various individuals. It also requires fearless friends who provide frank input and encouragement. Thanks to Alan Peterson, Travis and Shaunna Burbidge, Win Jones, Shauntae Browning, and Jordan Germaine for their frequent exercise of patience as I shared with them ideas or passages from the book. In many instances, they had no idea they were being used to test such elements or characters. Sometimes the uninformed conversation or the gut reaction to an idea provides the most honest and instructive insight.

To the four individuals who inspired the title for Book Three, Victor Wilcox, Hope Wilson, and Howie and Ellie Burbidge. Both couples have endured the horrific rigors of cancer and its equally daunting treatment. Victor lost his battle in September 2016 but remained cheerful and an inspiration to the end. Howie, at this writing, appears to have beaten the disease, and our prayers are with him as he refocuses on life beyond the illness. Hope and Ellie provide the kind of examples of devotion and never-give-up faith that inspire all those with whom they come in contact. Our world needs more humans of such courage.

To my grandchildren, I hope you will one day enjoy reading the StarPassage series and perhaps feel a little bit of your grandpa’s spirit embedded in the pages along the way. Each character has been given some of my own personal traits or those of others I know well. Any time you read one of my books know Grandpa will be standing at your shoulder and smiling. Please understand my deep love for each of you and the irresistible temptation to pick character names that may seem familiar.

I feel like the most fortunate man in the universe. The chance meeting and subsequent marriage to my dearest love and best friend Leah has inspired my life. You bring light, joy, and unconditional love to every room and provide an example that blesses me, our children, and everyone you touch. Your contribution to this work is on every page, in every character, and motivates my hopeful and uplifting writing style. Thank you for patiently understanding my late-night flashes of inspiration and long stints in the recliner pounding away at the keyboard. Your input when I share ideas, characters, and raw thoughts is invaluable. Your kind encouragement keeps me going when struggling with a difficult obstacle. You are my one true love and eternal companion.

Finally, I must express my gratitude to my Father in Heaven for the inspiration I strongly feel in writing and life. I have witnessed miracles that stunned in their reality and effect. I have also endured struggles to understand your answers or to accept an answer that I would not have chosen. Yet, through it all, your patient guidance helped me become something more than I otherwise would have been.

The trials and challenges faced along the way often seem impossible to address. But I have never felt alone in doing so and remain standing, moving forward, and grateful. Because I am acutely aware that my education is far from complete, I pray that I will be open and willing to accept such continued guidance and growth. But my greater prayer at this point in life is that I may draw upon some of the lessons learned and pass them on to those who struggle along their respective paths. Every effort made to overcome is worth it. As long as there is life, there is hope. We are all hanging in there together.

Prologue

X Games

Ronnie loved the rush that came with every turn. A true adrenaline junkie, he got a buzz from danger and the very real possibility of injury. Moments of raw fear were part of the game, but he felt unafraid of his dangerous hobby. Ronnie had the same mindset as most extreme sports millennials. He never felt anything bad would happen. Oh, he’d been in some wrecks and sported a few scars. There had even been a broken hand and concussion he counted as badges of honor. But the serious stuff always happened to someone else. Ronnie had no doubt he’d be fine when the race finished. He never imagined this time would be different.

He set his four-foot-long board up on the center line at the top of the three-mile winding stretch of Mullholland Drive in the Santa Monica Mountains near Los Angeles. The board flexed under his weight, causing his skin to prickle as a rush of adrenaline peaked all his senses. Ronnie wasn’t careless. He had a solid helmet and some good slide gloves that would help him with control on the curves. The board reflected his free spirit, expertly painted marine blue with his favorite animals—sea turtles—swimming on the top.

He chuckled to himself. Sea turtles were so slow on land but in their liquid element they were quick, agile, and beautiful to watch. I am in my element and nobody can stay with me.

Underneath the board, between the wheeled trucks, lurked his alter ego—an incredible painting of a breeching Great White Shark. He and his board were in their element today. Fast and graceful like sea turtles in water, he whispered out loud. But eating up the competition like the Great White Shark remained his real goal.

Ronnie and two buddies were racing on The Snake today, a three-mile stretch of Mullholland Drive with twenty-one turns that tested both speed and skill. They would time themselves and stop the timer when each arrived at The Rock Shop, a usually crowded tourist stop and gathering place for cyclists and sports car enthusiasts who enjoyed driving the popular road. They would hit speeds of 20-plus mph on the straights and try to stay tight and fast in the curves. That’s what it took to win, and it beat skateboard parks hands down. Ronnie had drawn the second position, so he’d have someone ahead of him to gauge and chase. He liked that.

You ready, Dillon, Ronnie said to the first boarder.

Yep, Dillon called back, adjusting his motorcycle-like helmet and visor. You’d better be fast, or you’re toast.

Don’t worry, Ronnie shot back confidently. I count to five and that’s all the lead you get. I’ll let you know when to pull over so I can pass.

Hey! You both better be ready to get passed. Collin, a tall skinny kid with shoulder-length blond hair sticking out from under his helmet, called from the third position. I’m giving you both a head start for a reason. You’ll need it.

They all laughed and readied themselves for the ride of a lifetime. Ronnie sensed today could be a record day, something special.

Dillon, a five-foot-six weightlifter with a rock-hard physique, counted down as he rocked his board back and forth under his left foot. Running starts were not allowed—just a one-foot push. 3…2…1…go! Ronnie moved quickly to the starting line, counted to five, and launched. Good start! Already picked up a second on him.

Ronnie gained speed through the first turn and crouched low with hands extended for balance. He angled perfectly through the banked curve and felt it shoot him onto the brief straight. He stayed low to reduce wind resistance. Winning meant no stand-up easy ride; rather his knees would burn from deep bends by the time he got to The Rock Shop. Two…three…four curves, and he drew closer. Curves weren’t the only obstacles. Mullholland Drive was not an abandoned road. Cars, motorcycles, and bicycles still used both lanes, which upped the risk feeding Ronnie’s need for thrills.

Many of the curves were blind. Ronnie knew not to foolishly cross the center line to gain time. He was a lot of things, but none of them included careless or ignorant. A motorcycle or car would always win in a collision with a long-boarder. Ronnie’s senses stayed laser-focused as vehicles flashed by going the opposite direction.

As they passed the midway point, Ronnie sailed along at Dillon’s tail yelling, Time to let the big boy pass. Dillon responded by crouching lower and tightening his turns. Several of the curves were so sharp that they slid their back wheels sideways as they raced through. By turn fifteen, they crouched side by side, jockeying for the inside groove.

The two boarders flew out of the curve toward the next bend, and two things happened at the same time. Dillon won the inside for the next curve and remained about a half-board length ahead. He hit a patch of gravel-sized rocks and dirt that had fallen from the steep hillside just as he set up for the next bend. The tail of his board slipped sideways, blocking much of the road. This forced Ronnie wide at 20 mph on the slippery gravel-strewn curve. He leaned and put his inside hand on the ground to balance using his slide glove. But the combination of speed and the sharp angle produced momentum that prevented a controlled line through the curve.

Ronnie instinctively realized he couldn’t hold the line and bailed, launching sideways onto the pavement. He yelled, I got this! to let Dillon know he was down. He crossed the center line and half-rolled, half-slid toward the guardrail still feeling in control. The dirt shoulder slid beneath him, and his mouth began to form another I’m okay comment. Then, unexpectedly, Ronnie felt a sharp pain shoot through his body. His lower back collided squarely with one of the railroad tie posts supporting the guardrail. Momentum unnaturally curled his body around the post like boiled spaghetti before spinning him off the edge and down the ravine.

Ronnie heard himself scream as his feet trailed off the edge. His mind barely kept up as he bumped and bounced halfway down the sixty-foot rocky embankment before coming to an abrupt stop wedged awkwardly between a rock and large clump of sagebrush. He lay steeply angled on his back head down, toes four feet above. Somewhere deep in his mind he heard the words, That was totally gnarly. His eyes opened slowly to reveal fuzzy, dreamlike figures moving toward him. Still not understanding the gravity of his injuries, he considered popping up like a football running back that had just taken a crushing hit, causing the crowd to groan in pain. Ronnie felt surprise as his brain sent signals to move, which were met by complete non-response. Confused, he heard someone far away say, You okay?

Ronnie spoke a final thought in his darkening mind, but his mouth didn’t respond as all went black. I’m good—

Chapter I

Unexpected Rules

Clynt felt a tremor of excitement buzz through his body. He had waited for over a century for this moment. Every sleepless hour he had plotted and planned for the opportunity to regain his physical life. It all pointed to this moment. He couldn’t believe he actually stood in the Present Time ready to claim the victory due him. Overwhelmed with a hundred years of blocked emotion, he hissed, I’m free. It hardly seemed possible. Standing triumphant over Tim’s sleeping form, he’d finally won. Revenge on the Carson family would be sweet, and nobody could stop him. I’m free! His words burst out this time in a greedy yell. Get ready for the ride o’ yer life, boy.

He didn’t know how it worked yet, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered except what happened in the next few seconds. Would it hurt? It don’t matter what it feels like. No pain’s gonna stop me from gettin’ my life back.

Clynt hovered at the end of the bed. He closed his eyes and fell forward toward Tim, expecting something new and wonderful. Clynt’s ghostly shade met Tim’s body, causing Tim to stir. But Clynt’s form didn’t stop, continuing through like a child who lands in the water and sinks below the surface. Clynt felt nothing. Strange. Shoulda done somethin’.

He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion, realizing he had passed completely through Tim, the mattress, and frame. Initially confused at what greeted his view, he stared at the beams that supported the bedroom floor.

What’s happenin’ here? I’m inside the floor, he yelled and willed himself to rise back up into Tim’s bedroom. Clynt floated next to the bed. Musta missed him. He kept his eyes open this time and jumped onto the bed landing on Tim feet first.

Got ’em square. This time it’s gotta work!

His boots sank through into the floor leaving half of his body visible above Tim. Tim rolled over, eyes fluttering. The boy feels somethin’. Gonna wake him up if I ain’t careful.

What’d I do wrong? He tried to think. Clynt felt his frustration building toward explosion. He tried to calm himself. I’ve waited so long. Everything depends on this working. The explosion won out. Clynt howled at the ceiling, rose up, and tried a third and then a fourth time, yelling in anger with each failed attempt. Beaten, he sat down on the floor in the bedroom, shaking his head.

Come on, Clynt ol’ boy. Think. What’s the problem here?

He swayed and moaned in such a way that, could it have been heard, it would have been a perfect haunting sound track from a Hollywood movie. But Clynt wasn’t fully part of the Present Time so his rage went unnoticed. After several minutes, Clynt looked at the bed again. Astounded, he froze immediately. Tim was sitting up, looking around the room.

A panic-filled thought rushed through his mind like a runaway train. Does he know I’m here? Tim’s head swiveled back and forth. Clynt watched the boy closely for any sign of recognition.

Tim had enjoyed a deep peaceful rest until just a few moments before. He looked at the clock and realized he had only been asleep for an hour. Climbing into bed had been one of those perfect moments at the end of a hard day. It felt as if his pillow and sheets had reached out and pulled him in. After nearly being blown up when Krakatoa Island disappeared, a shower and soft mattress had never felt so nice. He knew he wouldn’t stir until morning. His dreams were calm and soothing. Suddenly, he felt a cold shudder pass through him as if an icy breeze had blown through an open window.

His mind fought its return to consciousness. It felt so comfortable. Then the icy breeze passed through him again and again. Each time it felt more solid until it became like ice water pouring through his chest. He opened his eyes and sat up in bed with a rapid heartbeat, trembling. Something is wrong. All his senses screamed warnings.

Who’s there? Tim said, alarmed. I know someone’s there.

No answer. The room felt as silent as a tomb. Brrrrrr… The temperature felt unusually cool. Maybe I left a window open?

With the recent break-in and kidnapping of Martie, his senses immediately dialed to max. Tim rolled to the edge of his bed and swung his feet over. He turned on the nightstand light, slid the drawer open, and grabbed the flashlight he had taken on his recent passage.

Tim walked around the room, checked the window, behind the door and any other hiding place his foggy mind could list. Then a new thought struck him. Martie, you messing with me again? It’s not funny. I need my sleep and so do you! Retracing his steps, Tim looked more carefully for anything out of place. Nothing. But something definitely seemed wrong. He knew it.

He walked down the hall to Martie’s room, but found her asleep. Returning to his room, he stood in the doorway, unconsciously scratching his head as if he were some befuddled cartoon character.

Martie’s asleep. Must have been a bad dream. Seemed so real. He took one more circuit around his room then knelt down, allowing the flashlight to play across the floor under the bed. Still nothing. He left the flashlight on the nightstand and crawled into bed. Strangest thing I’ve ever felt. The cold felt unnatural.

He shook his head and shuddered at the memory. Better settle down and have some good dreams, buddy, or you’re never gonna make it through school tomorrow.

Clynt watched, taking mental notes. He waited, unwilling to move for several minutes. When Tim’s breathing finally slipped into the rhythmic pattern of deep sleep, he felt safe.

Clynt had remained as still and silent as a deer clinging to its camouflage, even when Tim had walked through his ghostly form.

What does I need to do? I’m here so there’s gotta be a way. Think, boy!

He pounded his hand against his forehead as if to force some thought home. Then he stopped and stood. A yellow smile spread across his weathered face. Something new and delightful dawned in the dark corners of his twisted mind. I gots it. It’s gotta be the same as with bein’ a Tracker. You ain’t invited me, boy. I cain’t just push my way in lest I’s been invited.

Clynt walked around the bed, glaring at Tim, his rage barely controlled.

The rules—gots to get the hang o’ the rules. I’ll be finding someone who’ll invite me in, whose spirit ain’t strong, and who’s given up on their nothin’ life. Then I be comin’ back for Orion’s belt. That there star’ll free us all.

Clynt took three running steps, jumped, and disappeared through the second-floor window. He was getting used to the new rules, and he knew what he had to do next.

Chapter II

The Alley

Tim felt his bed shaking. His first thought— earthquake— produced an adrenaline rush, popping his eyes open and jumbling his senses as he attempted to process the cause of his disrupted sleep.

Tim, wake up. Tim, Martie said, apparently not for the first time.

Okay, okay, I’m awake. What’s the emergency?

You’ve gotta see this. She held the star so close to his face his eyes couldn’t focus.

Whoa, girl. Give me a second to get my eyes going, will ya?

Sorry. Martie stepped back. But you’ve gotta see the new writing on the star. I checked when I woke up this morning like I always do and look!

Tim rubbed his eyes as Martie handed him the star. Okay, what’ve we got? He looked more closely and read the writing.

A Tracker’s freedom brings unusual danger, check nearby alleys for that left by a stranger.

Does this mean what I think it means? Martie said.

It sounds like a Tracker has escaped to our time. How could that have happened? They didn’t get the star, so it’s impossible.

What about the Follow Stars?

We had four on the last passage, and we all came back.

But didn’t two of us hold the big star on the way back so one of the Follow Stars wasn’t used? Martie said.

Yeah, but that doesn’t mean the Trackers got it, Tim said. Although it was pretty crazy just before the eruption, so I guess it’s possible.

Do you think someone’s watching us? Martie shivered, looking around the room.

The rest of the message says something is in an alley close by, Tim said. There’s one across the street. Someone could watch our house from there.

We’ve gotta check it out. Do you think it’s safe to look?

Probably. The sun is up, and we can see the alley from the street. If it looks sketchy, we get someone else to go with us.

Martie had already dressed, so Tim quickly threw on a pair of pants, shirt, and jacket. They exited the back door of the house and carefully slid around the side until they could see into the alley across the street. It looked empty. They stepped into the open, moving quickly. Seeing nothing unusual, they crossed the street, ready to run if something moved.

Nobody’s here, and I don’t see any footprints either. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been watching, Martie said.

They stepped into the shade and looked around carefully. Maybe we misunderstood the star this time, Tim said.

Worth a look though, right? Martie said.

Yeah.

They rooted around in the bushes without any discovery. Tim had turned to leave when he heard Martie gasp. She stood as if frozen, staring at the ground. Martie, what is it?

We did lose one.

Tim followed her gaze and saw something shiny on the ground. They knelt at the same time. Tim reached out and picked it up. Oh man, this is really bad!

He uncoiled his fingers to reveal one of the Follow Stars. We must have dropped it during the earthquakes, Martie said. They looked at each other as a terrible thought dawned on both at the same time. In unison, they said, Clynt!

He’s here, Martie.

What makes you so sure?

I think that’s what I felt in my room last night.

What?

I woke up in the middle of the night and sensed someone there. It felt so strong, like a huge icicle went right through me. I got up and looked around.

I’ve heard the urban legend that when a ghost passes through you it produces a cold sensation. Did you find anything?

No, but someone was there. I know it. Must have been Clynt.

Makes sense he would come to our house first. Martie sounded alarmed. If he’s supposed to be able to take over your body, why didn’t he?

Not sure. Maybe there are rules for the Present Time that he doesn’t know about.

That’s possible.

Whatever he tried, it didn’t work, Tim said.

Are you sure? You’re not going to go Darth Vader on me, are you?

Come on, sis. I’d know if someone else were controlling things. I’m all alone in here.

Martie chuckled. Maybe he got inside your head and all the cobwebs and emptiness scared him away.

Tim couldn’t help smiling. Nice try, kid. Very funny. But this is really serious.

They walked back to the house and up the stairs to Tim’s room where Martie stopped and turned. Wait a minute, she said. The Trackers could only influence Donny because he had made his soul open to them through drugs, isolation, and depression.

"That’s right. Clynt keeps