Standish

by Donald B McFarlane

  It took Pollo and her band of Killians over three hours to cut their way straight down to deck two, and the main entrance to the rear medical bay. When the survivors started coming out, they were covered in large furs that the Kilians supplied them. Once clear of the ship, they were sat down on one of the long sledges that the Killians had arrived with, and once full, were taken off into the blizzard by their rescuers.

  Standish had used some of those three hours to return to her quarters on the ship. They were as mangled and damaged as the rest of the Laakari. She found a large duffle bag and stuffed all her personal items into it. It brought a smile to her face, even the simplest thing of being reunited with her dress uniform made her day a little less gloomy. The find of the day, however, was her digital recorder that had all her pictures on it. Photographs from home, photos from her training. An image of her with Num Blaz made her smile, but it was the series of pictures aboard the Sandura 26G station that made her happiest.

  Putting the recorder away, she looked around the destroyed room and picked up a few spare pieces of kit that belonged to Jae or Avi and stuck them in the duffle, then turned and left the room in the same dishevelled state she had found. Making her way back to the top of the ship, she saw Pollo standing alone with the senior medical officer.

  “The ship is clear, Rescue Tech.” The doctor said.

  Standish nodded and looked down at her forearm datapad, which confirmed that the ship was in fact cleared of all wounded personnel. Looking up, she handed her duffle bag to the doctor.

  “I have to do a final sweep.” She said.

  The doctor, covered in a giant bundle of fur, shook his head. “There isn’t anyone else alive on,” he looked up and down the length of what was the remaining half of the Laakari. “this ship.”

  Standish smiled, then flipped down her blast shield. “Regulations.”

  Taking a few steps towards the entry point, she looked back at Pollo. “Give me one hour, then I’ll be back.”

  Pollo nodded and gestured for Standish to get to her task.

  Looking into the snow-covered tool room, Standish hit her suits lights and jumped back inside the Laakari.

  It took less than an hour, just thirty-six minutes, to clear the entire ship. Standish went to every room, every chamber and checked for survivors, even though she knew she wouldn’t find any. With all the dead bodies she came across, she did her best to identify the deceased, and made a note of where they were on the ship, and in what condition they had been found. She knew that on a planet like Killious, the bodies would be preserved forever once the cold of the outside took hold of the ship.

  Returning to the surface, Standish found Pollo standing by herself, hands-on fur-covered hips, almost enjoying the cold wind that whipped through the air. Looking at Standish, Pollo didn’t say a word, she just jumped off the top of the ship, and walked to her sledge that was already covered in several centimetres of snow, and got ready for departure. Not wanting to linger, Standish quickly made a final entry in her logs: Laakari abandoned at crash site. She entered the date, the location, and the deceased crew members still on board. Closing the program, she jumped down and jogged over to the sledge.

  Pollo pointed to the front of the sledge, and Standish quickly sat herself down as instructed, and almost immediately, Pollo was off and running into the never-ending blizzard, and away from what was left of the Laakari.

  Three days later a shuttle from the massive Fifth Fleet headquarters in the mountains arrived at the village and collected the survivors of the Laakari. They were transported to the mountain retreat that acted as the regional command centre. There, everyone was debriefed, and given temporary billets until command could reassign them and decide what to do with them.

  Her fourth morning at the base had started like the previous three. She was the only Rescue Technician on the planet, so she had been invited to conduct physical training with a small detachment of Dynamic Operations personnel that were at the base. She was able to impress many of them with her athleticism and determination. They even went as far to tell her to try out for D-O one day. She told them she had been awarded a slot while back on Tekori, but she knew that the war had thrown a spanner in the works.

  After fitness every day, Standish joined the D-O team in weapons training. She learned a lot about shooting and weapons she wasn’t familiar with. After the range time, she accompanied them for the morning meal. It was there on the fourth morning that a squad of fleet security personnel approached their table and requested that Standish follow them. She was flattered when the D-O team leader sprang to his feet, demanding an explanation. The security personnel quickly assured the team leader that Standish was not under arrest or in any trouble. Satisfied, the team leader wished her well and told her to find him later in the day for some planned drinking frivolities.

  Standish took her tray of unfinished food to the depository, left it, then followed the security personnel through a labyrinth of corridors and tunnels until they emerged at a large lift bank, and took the first available transport to the top level of the facility. There, the head of the detachment informed Standish that she was on her own, and when the doors opened, she walked out alone off the lift.

  “Rescue Technician Val Standish?” The staff officer asked, a large datapad in his right hand, and a very judgemental look on his face.

  Standish came to attention. “Yes.”

  The staff officer, from a species that Standish had never encountered before, put his nose in the air and looked down it at the female standing before him. “Very well. Follow me.” He turned on his heels and started marching away, a delicate swagger to his walk.

  Standish quickly followed and tried to take in her surroundings. Everything, the walls, the flooring, the ceilings, was a dark gunmetal grey in colour and looked like marble.

  Reaching a set of doors, the staff officer stopped, spun around again, and took two steps closer to Standish, looking her up and down. “You look presentable. When you cross through these doors, you are expected to represent the finest aspects of the Rescue Technician branch.” He leaned in, “Do you understand me?”

  “Sir.” Standish replied, but she was still totally clueless where she was, and what she was doing there.

  When the doors opened, the staff officer stepped to one side and gestured for her to proceed inside. The room was poorly lit, and covered with marble. That was the first thing she noticed. The second thing she saw was an admiral sat behind a large black marble desk, with another admiral sitting behind it, and a third figure sat behind him. It was the most rank she had ever been in the presence of, but Standish continued walking forwards in a smart fashion until she was two metres in front of the large black marble desk, then she stopped, and waited.

  There was a pause after she stopped that felt like an eternity before any of the senior officers spoke. It gave her time to gather her thoughts, take a few deep breaths, and look around the room with her eyes. It was provided with a very minimal appointment, with almost no data screens, seats or other fixtures. Bare, to say the least. And even though Standish couldn’t tell the difference in temperature from the office to the different sections of the base, the room felt cold.

  Finally, the admiral addressed her.

  “Take a seat.” He said, toggling a nearly invisible switch on his desk, which produced a marble-covered seat rising up from the smooth and featureless floor. Standish looked behind her, then carefully lowered herself into the hard, cold chair.

  The admiral leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I am Admiral Zalenious, commander of Fifth Fleet, Technician Standish. I have been asked by Alliance Command to investigate the attack on Qera, and the subsequent battle in this system and look for things that we can learn. How to improve future engagements, if you understand.”

  Standish fidgeted in her seat. “Sir, I am not familiar with any Alliance.” She said in her best attempt at Universal. She knew she sounded like a country girl, and in the presence of su
ch a well-spoken individual, she tried to improve her elocution.

  The admiral nodded. “The Empire is dead, or at the very least, in critical condition. The Alliance is what we are calling the forces aligned against the Pohjois. The Alliance is comprised of the Etelainen worlds, and most of the Core worlds.” He shook his head. “But the Core is taking a pummeling at the moment.” The Admiral picked up a datapad. “What I wish to discuss with you is something rather sensitive.” He put the pad down. “I doubt you’ll understand this, but when bad things happen, it’s best if we put the blame, or shift attention, to someone and let them take the attention off the bigger picture.”

  Standish shook her head lightly and remained silent.

  “What I’m saying is, that sometimes, it’s best to distract the population from something horrible, and let them focus on something smaller.” He leaned back in his chair. “The attack on Qera was well planned, but it was a setback for the Alliance.” He looked up to the ceiling, which was also covered in gunmetal grey marble. After a moments pause, he looked back down to Standish. “The subsequent battle in this system was a draw, and that’s not the best result possible, so there are many unhappy, and scared citizens out there that want an explanation. An explanation of what went wrong.”

  Standish nodded. “What went wrong. Yes, Sir.” She wasn’t following him that well.

  The admiral leaned forward again and waved his hand back and forth. “Not what really went wrong, but they need something more individual to distract themselves from what, as you put it, really went wrong.”

  Standish took a deep breath and got a semblance of her confidence back. “Sir,” She sat up on her uncomfortable marble chair. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  The admiral let out a laugh and sat back once again. “Very well.” He looked at the Commodore on his left, who quickly handed him a datapad. “We need a scapegoat.” He leaned forward. “For the whole fucking affair.”

  Standish shook her head. “A scapegoat?” She had never heard the term before.

  “Yes. Someone for the public to focus on.”

  “For what happened at Qera?” Standish asked.

  “No. No.” He shook his head. “We just need to focus the public’s attention and anger towards one person. And they are the scapegoat.” He turned and looked at the Commodore. “Am I speaking with a child here?”

  Standish pursed her lips and gave it a moments thought. “And?”

  “Well, Technician, I would like to discuss the behaviour of Rescue Technician Avi aboard the Laakari.”

  “Avi’s alive?” Standish blurted out. It was the first she had heard of him since they parted ways on the Laakari.

  “For now.” The admiral said dryly. “Now, what is your account of his behaviour once the Laakari was hit, above Killious?”

  Standish recoiled in her chair at the question. She now understood what this was all about. “I lost track of Rescue Tech Avi after the Laakari was hit in orbit, Sir.” She said as convincingly as she could.

  The admiral nodded. “I can understand that. The Laakari took a considerable amount of damage. Things are bound to get confusing.” He nodded, and took a moment to look around the room. “So, when was the last time you saw Technician Avi?” The admiral crossed his arms on the table. “Would it surprise you that he was recovered in an escape pod shortly before the Laakari crashed on this planet’s surface?” The Admiral paused. “We have seen all the footage from your armour.”

  Standish remained silent.

  “I am sure that under the circumstances it must have been challenging in orbit, but for this to go better for the Alliance, it will be easier to pass the attention to Avi.” Zalenious tilted his head to one side. “Perhaps we can work out an arrangement.” He said.

  “Immediate transfer to Dynamic Operations training.” She blurted out loud.

  “Done.” The admiral smiled, and sat up, and quickly punched some keys on his desk, and within two minutes produced a thin piece of paper and held it in the air. “Transfer approved and confirmed by fleet command.” He said, putting the piece of paper on his desk. “Once D-O sets another school up, that is.”

  Standish rose to her feet, and stepped forward, and looked down at the piece of paper, and after a moment's hesitation, picked it up and read what was on it. Ten seconds later, her personal datapad that was in her cargo pocket vibrated. Pulling it out, she read the first line: Report to D-O training on Guhr 8-Nine at first availability, fleet command.

  The admiral smiled. “See, irrevocable.” He leaned forward, “You give me testimony against Avi, and we will have concluded our investigation. You can report to your training when Dynamic is operational again.”

  Standish took the piece of paper, folded it once, and then stuck it in her breast pocket. Taking two steps back, she came to attention. “Sir.” Thoughts raced through her mind.

  The admiral roared out of his seat. “We just made a deal!” He yelled, cutting off any attempt to back out of the deal.

  “Sir.” Standish replied. She didn’t want to betray her team-mate.

  “You are going to testify against Avi, Standish!” Zalenious roared. His fat face turning red.

  “Sir.” It was the vice-admiral sat behind Zalenious who finally spoke.

  Zalenious spun around in his chair.

  “We must acknowledge the young Tech’s loyalty to her team.” The vice admiral got up and walked around to the side of the desk. “But she must choose, honour or the contract she made with you.”

  Standish thought about the sheet of paper in her pocket, then thought about Avi. Fuck him. He had left her to die on the Laakari. She had joined the fleet to make it to Dynamic Operations, this was the chance she had been waiting for.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  The Fifth fleet commander smirked. “Excellent. The footage from both sets of armour will help convict him. You are dismissed.” The admiral said and waved Standish out of the room. “You’ll receive word from my office regarding your testimony.”

  Turning about, Standish quickly walked out of the large, cold office and immediately made her way back to the billeting area where she had been sent after being rescued from the Laakari. Once there, she pulled out her datapad and confirmed her orders to report to Guhr 8-Nine. Standish just had to wait for the training course to start. Smiling as she laid back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling that was hanging twenty metres above her. Avi had signed his own death warrant when he had abandoned his post aboard the Laakari, and any sympathy she had for him vanished when she thought of all the teammates she had lost, especially Jae who was missing in action. He deserved what he got.

  It took two days for the next set of orders to come through over her datapad. She was to board a transport to Mella II, deep in the heart of the Etelainen for an official debrief on the Qera attack, then a few stops throughout the rest of the Alliance, then she would head for Guhr 8-Nine where the Dynamic Operations branch had set up a new training school.

  36

  The Present

  Porth

  The list of ships for sale on the station wasn’t deep, but Standish had limited needs. A jump capable ship was what she needed, one that looked like a junker would be ideal. It didn’t take long to find something that would do the job.

  “You want how many credits?”

  The alien smiled with a mouth that seemed void of teeth. “Three-hundred-thousand.”

  She shook her head. “Fine.” She was being ripped off, but she was in a hurry.

  “What is the rent on that spot?” She asked, pointing at the ship she had arrived in.

  “Five hundred a day.” The hangar master replied.

  Standish transferred two thousand credits.

  “If I’m not back in four days, I’m not coming back.”

  37

  The Past

  Guhr 8-Nine

  After leaving Killious, Standish had been sent to Mella II to complete the fleet inquiry into the disaster
over Qera. Then she went to Tekori, which was still under the control of forces loyal to Princess Via and the Alliance, to go through Rescue Technician recertification. Her old senior instructor was still there and allowed her to focus almost all her energies on preparation for Dynamic Operations school. So, when she finally arrived on Guhr 8-Nine six months later, she was in the best shape of her life. Her arms were toned and fit, her abdominals were ripped, her leg muscles were thick and powerful. She looked like a beast.

  Standish had met up with some of the other prospects on Darjk. They weren’t told their final destination, wartime considerations and all, but she already knew where she was going. They were kept waiting for transport to the back-water world where their training would take place. Standish had done her best to take the measure of the other applicants to Dynamic Operations when she had arrived in the waiting lounge. She thought pretty highly of herself compared to the other characters that joined her. Some had combat experience, most didn’t, even though several were from combat-oriented positions, with just a few from service support roles.

  Guhr 8-Nine was cold. Dry. And fucking inhospitable. That was all Standish could say about the place. She and the group of one-hundred-thirty-two other candidates were dropped off on a landing pad that looked like it hadn’t been used that century on a planet that she had never of heard of in the middle of a blisteringly hot afternoon. There was nothing but flat desert running away from the landing pad as far as the eye could see. No buildings, nothing.

  After waiting for over an hour, a small combat shuttle appeared on the horizon and approached the landing pad on a low trajectory. The ship clearly wasn’t for the group of applicants since there would hardly be room for everyone and their kit in the camouflaged shuttle. When the engines shut off, the side hatch finally opened, and out stepped a rather unimpressive figure dressed in loose-fitting fatigues, combat boots, and with no rank or other patches to designate who or what unit he was from.