Standish

by Donald B McFarlane

  Standish sipped her drink, then sat back in her chair, and looked up at the blue sky overhead. Lots to think about, but one thing she could look forward to was going home. It had been too long.

  41

  The Present

  Porth

  Standish looked over the controls, then rechecked the jump computers. Everything was in the green. Time to go.

  “Porth control, this is vessel EX-137, request a slot in the jump-box.”

  “Understood 137. You are number three for box North One.”

  Standish keyed her mic once.

  After so many years of service, most of the tasks of flying a starship had become rote. It didn’t matter what make of craft it was, there were always enough similarities between operating systems. The same went for weapons and other kit. With enough experience, her eyes told her what she needed to know.

  Standish had survived for so long based on her physicality and skills, but now in the twilight of her career, she needed to rely on the experience that all those years of service had taught her.

  42

  The Past

  Guhr 8-Nine/Nadolo Prime

  Things moved quickly once the trainees returned to Guhr 8-Nine. Those that passed were sent to gather their personal belongings, then reported to the head of training operations for their assignments, where they were also presented with the Dynamic Operations fighting knife. Standish was the first in the door and informed that she was assigned to Beta One-One, a highly ranked team. She would join the team on Killious where the 5th Fleet was headquartered after leave on Nadolo Prime.

  Fucking Killious!

  The thought did not sit well with her. Standish did not like the idea of being on the same base as Admiral Zalenious, whose shit-list she had to still be on. She had been there too recently, and that visit was not one that she’d like to remember. Forget about the fact that she had been on a ship that had crashed onto the surface of the ice planet, she had also been dragged in front of a military tribunal. Standish had gotten what she wanted, immediate acceptance to Dynamic Operations training, and Avi, well, he had been executed live on a fleet-wide broadcast. It was meant to send a signal.

  There wasn’t much time for good-byes after receiving their assignments. The training staff were quick to transition out of the class to make room in the billets for the next. Standish thanked the instructors and gave her regards to the others that had passed the course with her. Once her travel arrangements had been confirmed, she went to a lounge that had been off-limits to them until they had graduated the course and waited anxiously for transport off-world.

  The closest world with a viable enough space station for all the newly badged D-O personnel to be deposited at was Darjk, only one light-year away. Once there, Standish had a scheduled ride as far as Tro Vaco IX, but from there she’d have to take her chances to get home. It didn’t help that Nadolo Prime was on the edge of the old Empire. She hadn’t been home for over four years now, and she was starting to wonder what may have changed over that time. She knew from the latest comms package she had received that her family was still alive, but specifics were in short supply.

  When the transport finally arrived, just an hour late, Standish took a final look back at the giant temple that had served as her home and her school for the last twelve months, then made her way onto the old clunker that would take her and the other graduates to Darjk.

  Getting to Darjk was easy. When they were dropped at the station, it reminded Standish of the station on AnBarn Central, and with her bag over one shoulder, she quickly confirmed that her connecting transport was on time, and as the graduates melted away into the crowds on the busy station, Standish made her way to the gate that her outbound transport was expected at, and waited.

  Thirty minutes before the transport was due to depart, the ship arrived, and its passengers disembarked into the station. They looked pleasant enough, which got Standish’s hopes up that this part of the journey would be reasonably comfortable. It was. The ship that she had been booked on was a modern commuter ship that made stops like clock-work from Darjk to Tro Vaco IX, both major trading destinations for the Karvidian mining company.

  The next three phases of the journey took four days and covered almost two thousand light-years, and that was when the trouble started. Dalania V was the last waypoint on Standish’s checklist on her way home, and the planet and the station in orbit were both shit holes. She was one light-year from home, and when the cargo doors opened onto an eerily quiet hangar bay, Standish took a deep breath, and stepped down from the old freighter, and gave a final look back at the ship's owner, who had a rifle pointed out at the empty hangar bay.

  Turning her attention back to the empty hangar, Standish tightened her grip on her bag and took a step away from the old freighter, but before she could get more than a metre away from the open hatch, the old shipper called out to her.

  “Kid.”

  Standish turned around just in time to see a pistol flying towards her in the air. Reaching out, she grabbed the weapon and quickly gave it a once-over.

  “It’s the best I can give you. Fifty round steel-needle-thread rounds, electronic firing mechanism.” The old skipper backed into his ship and closed the hatch.

  Looking back down at the weapon, Standish quickly looked for a safety, but couldn’t find one. She also spotted the clip, and the other vital components, the trigger and the opening at the end of the barrel. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she put the weapon into her jacket’s front pocket gently and headed towards the exit of the rust-covered hangar bay whose only notable features were empty cans and drums and other rubbish that had accumulated over the years.

  Reaching the hatch, Standish stuck her hand inside her jacket, and gripped the pistol firmly, her forefinger above the trigger. She didn’t know what to expect on the other side of the doors, but she was ready for anything, and the moment she pushed the hatch open, she was glad that she was on guard.

  The hangar adjoined a vast space that was over four hundred metres long, and fifty broad. It was packed with activity like every popular bazaar she had visited before, but this one had a dark edge to it. And by dark, it wasn’t the lighting that concerned her, it was what was being sold in the market. Everything from slaves to drugs to weapons to foods, with even what looked like sentient creatures skinned, hanging upside down, blood still dripping onto the floor behind the table of a grotesque looking butcher.

  Trying not to stare, Standish moved down the long corridor in search of information, but there seemed to be no notices or information on flights and apparently no law enforcement on the station, which she would have expected, and to make matters worse, all the signs were in Dalania, which she could not read. It was also evident to Standish that there were not many visitors to the station. Everyone in the market seemed to be wearing one of four colours, black, red, blue and yellow. Standish was confident that the colours didn’t represent what trade the individual was providing, but their meaning escaped her until she reached a large open area one-quarter of the way down the main chamber. A basic metal gate waist high was separating the first quarter from the second, and without thinking, Standish swung her leg over the gate, then brought her other leg over.

  That was a mistake, or at least it was an error in judgement on her part, which she immediately regretted. The moment her second foot touched down, she knew that she should have waited to observe what interactions took place at the gate before proceeding, but now it was too late. Almost instantly, seven large males in yellow clothing marched up to her led by a female who was also wearing yellow, topped off with a broad-brimmed yellow hat.

  “You!” The female jabbed her finger in Standish’s chest. “You not from around here.” She jabbed two more times. “You must pay taxes to cross from one section to another. What you got?” The woman was a strange-looking species. She had a large pair of eyes, and a transparent shirt on, through which Standish could see the creature’s internal organs, something she had not se
en before on any other lifeform.

  Standish took a step back until her legs bumped into the gate she had just stepped over and tightened her grip on the pistol.

  “What you got to pay?” The female stepped closer to Standish. “Maybe I let my men tax you?” The female smiled, revealing a filthy mouth missing half her teeth and a horrible odour. “You like that?” She took a step back. “Everyone on station knows that you cannot cross Yellow lines without payment.” She looked back at her men who nodded, then back to Standish. “So, bitch, you gonna pay me, or I let my men rape you?”

  The switch clicked in Standish’s head. She went from farm girl to killer without another thought. Training kicked in. She was in contact with the enemy. Time to act.

  Standish didn’t need to think about a reply. She quickly released her grip on her bag, letting it fall to the ground, at the same time, she pulled her right arm back, jerking the pistol out of her jacket pocket, then slammed it into the chest of the female that was standing before her with enough force to rip through the thin transparent membrane that covered her organs like it was nothing more than jelly.

  The female couldn’t even scream, she just went limp.

  Pulling the goo soaked weapon out, Standish moved towards the closest of the seven males and squeezed the trigger, unleashing a hail of tiny steel rounds that sliced through the victims head, punching nearly invisible pathways through his brain box.

  Shifting to the next male, she repeated the drill.

  By that time, the remaining five males started to move. They had been caught off guard, probably never expecting trouble. Knives were drawn, one of them even had an energy pistol.

  Standish moved to her left, making sure that all her opponents were to her front, firing off quick bursts, she dropped two more before the weapon stopped firing. It was either a jam, or she was out of ammo, no time to think about that.

  Dropping the pistol to the ground, Standish dove towards the closest male, a massive hulking beast. Rolling forward and staying down in a crouch, Standish thrust her elbow into the side of the male's knee, instantly tearing all the ligaments. Pushing up to her feet, Standish timed her rise perfectly with the dropping male and delivered a punch with her right fist to the back of the fat man's head, snapping his neck.

  As the heavy body hit the ground, only one of the two remaining fighters continued their attack, firing off a green charged laser blast towards Standish, but in his panic, he missed wildly.

  Rushing the man, Standish gripped the front of the weapon still in his hands, and forced it upwards to his chin, then used her other hand to suppress his finger. His face instantly vaporised in a flash of green energy.

  As the body dropped, Standish kept hold of the pistol and quickly scanned to the last male who was standing as far away inside the gated area as possible with his hands out to his side. He was begging for his life, and without giving it a second thought, Standish raised the weapon and shot him in the face.

  The body hit the ground with a thud.

  Bringing the pistol to her sternum, ready to engage the next attacker, Standish, turned around in a circle, looking for anyone else wearing yellow, and those she did spot were desperately trying to remove their yellow garments as fast as possible.

  Calming her breathing, Standish moved back to her bag, picked it up, and put it back on her shoulder, and walked to the gate at the beginning of the second quarter of the hallway and was met by a two-metre tall Tricarian male with no shirt on, but wearing black trousers and a black sash across his chest.

  Looking up at the male, Standish shrugged her shoulders, only to watch him open his side of the gate and usher her through. Once she had passed through the gate, the hallway erupted in a series of cheers and shouts as the massive chamber went back to business as usual.

  On the other side of the gate, Standish came face to face with a delicate-looking male dressed in all black wearing a floor-length black coat with a high collar that rose almost half a metre above his shoulders. He was by far the most immaculately and decadently dressed individual she had seen since arriving at the station.

  Stopping in her tracks, Standish stared at the male who put out his hand but said nothing. Guessing what he wanted, Standish handed him the blaster and watched as he passed it along to an underling.

  Opening his mouth, he spoke to Standish in a language she didn’t understand, then he tried again in Universal. “Can you understand me?” He asked.

  Standish nodded.

  “You seem lost.” He smiled, revealing teeth that looked like they had been filed down into sharp points.

  “I’m trying to book passage to Nadolo Prime.” She said, shouting to be heard over the racket of the bazaar.

  The male put his hands together at waist height and nodded his head. “Nadolo Prime.” He started to guide Standish away from the gate where she had committed her slaughtered as if nothing was wrong or out of place. “You are in luck, young one. Nadolo Prime is currently under the control of my clan. I,” he gestured flamboyantly towards the ceiling. “can arrange transportation for you there.”

  Standish looked up at the male. “Your clan?” She hadn’t heard of that before.

  “Yes. The Black Clan. We currently run this sector and several of the surrounding systems. There is always a bit of here and there with the Yellow’s, Blue and Red’s.” He said.

  “What about the local government?” She asked as they continued to walk through a sea of parting bodies.

  “This far out from the Core, the local governments are fairly useless. It didn’t take long for the criminal syndicates to take over, and since then, it’s been a back and forth between the warring clans.” The figure said.

  “So, who controls this station?”

  “The stations are all neutral ground. Every clan has control of part of each station, it helps with parity.” The figure said, leading Standish off the main concourse and towards a door that was painted black.

  The hatch opened, and they passed through into a dimly lit room that had a series of monitors and data-terminals on the walls and a large desk in the middle of the room. It took a moment for Standish’s eyes to adjust to the lower light levels, but once the door closed behind them, the figure released her arm and proceeded to the desk where he sat himself down.

  “You want to go to Nadolo Prime, but where have you come from? A lady with your skills would be in high demand around here. Could I offer you a position on my staff?”

  Standish let out a laugh. “Your staff?” She lowered her bag, and set it down by the door, then moved over to the closest monitor, but couldn’t read the language on the screen. “I don’t think that is an option.” She shot a look over at the figure who was sat back in the large chair. “Sorry.”

  He nodded his head a few times. “I understand.” He sat up and typed at some keys on his desk. “I have a shuttle departing on a supply run to Nadolo Prime in one hour.”

  That got Standish’s attention. “And?”

  The figure looked at the information on his desk terminal. “It seems like several cases of Keytopian Powder is being delivered. Should be plenty of room on the transport for you.”

  “What kind of powder?”

  “Keytopian.” The figure replied. “Gives the user a very satisfying high, if the locals don’t cut it too much.” He smiled again revealing his sharp teeth.

  Great, she thought to herself. She could hitch a ride on a drug shipment. Not the way she envisaged going back to her homeworld. “How long have the Black controlled Nadolo Prime?”

  “About six months. After the war started, things got out of hand rather quickly out this way by the Reach. Local governments panicked in many cases. All the capital ships disappeared towards the Core. All that was left were local militias, and once the Clans realised that they could seize power, they did.”

  “How many systems do the Clans control?”

  “As of now?” The figure paused while he considered the question. “About four. This system a
nd the Nadolo system are safe zones for the Clans.”

  Standish shook her head and looked around the room. How was it possible that this had happened? Here she was on the edge of the known universe, and it seemed that all law and order had been lost. It was a grim prospect, but what concerned her the most was the possible fate of her family on Nadolo Prime. She dared not ask what conditions were like on the surface. She didn’t want to run the risk of possibly upsetting him with too many inquiries.

  “I can see you are concerned.” The figure said, leaning back in his chair. “But there is nothing to worry about. If your family is not connected to any Clan business, I am sure that they are safe, and now that you have done me a favour by killing the head of the Yellow Clan on this station, I will arrange transit and protection on Nadolo Prime.”

  Standish put up her hand in protest. “The offer of transportation is accepted, and I thank you, but I do not think it wise to involve my family in Clan business if it can be avoided.” This was a tight-rope to walk with care. “I am very grateful, and I am glad to have provided a service for you, but my family do not understand your ways.” She took a few steps towards the desk. “But I would gladly accept a weapon for their defence in place of your protection.”

  The figure smiled. “You think that they are safer with you having a rifle than with Black Clan protection?” The figure was about to laugh, then stopped himself. “You might be right.” He slammed his hand on the table. “Very well.” He shot out of his seat. “I will take you to our Clan armoury, then I will have you escorted by my men to the transport.”