Far From Home: The Complete Third Series (Far From Home 16-19) (Far From Home Box Set Book 3)

by Tony Healey

  He liked her instantly – he could tell she had gumption and, more importantly, balls. Qualities he admired in a woman.

  Grimshaw indicated the two seats in front of his desk. "Shall we? I'm sure you can both make arrangements for comparing your war wounds later."

  The two captains sat down. Grimshaw settled his bulk behind his desk, hands on the top as he readied himself for what he had to say.

  "We know that the Namar crew were taken from the Enigma prior to our own rendezvous. I had no knowledge of this previous operation before sending you out, Jessica. I thought I'd reiterate that for clarity," Grimshaw said. "We also know that those crew members were used as part of an experiment called Project Prometheus. Captain Shaw has been tasked with investigating that project, and what has come of its subjects."

  "Sir?" Jessica asked, frowning.

  To Shaw, the Admiral's eyes looked heavy, tired.

  "It would seem that the Project resulted in some experimentation with splicing technology."

  "Splicing? As in gene splicing?"

  Grimshaw nodded. "The same. Ever since the Marquis unrest, we have ceased production of replicants. Made it illegal. As you well know, as a result of the Marquis operations, replicants procreate among themselves. In some cases, interbreeding with humans. The division between human and replicant has been made all the more narrow over the years, and well may it continue. But, whoever ordered Project Prometheus into existence did so with the intention of blending replicants and Namarians, resulting in some kind of . . . hybrid being. Not only does this break several laws, it also poses some very worrying possibilities."

  "My God," Jessica said. "Why do that?"

  "Superior fighting force," Shaw suggested. "Think back to the heyday of the war. We relied on the replicants as the backbone of our armies. After all, they're just like us. Only better. Stronger, faster. Longer life spans."

  "Yes I recall a slogan that said just that. I can't remember right now what it was, exactly. But I've seen it in several texts."

  "'Better in War,'" Grimshaw added.

  Shaw snapped his fingers. "Yeah that's it. 'Better in War.' Well, they certainly got above that this time."

  "So, what leads do we have?" Jessica asked.

  The Admiral sat back in his chair, folded his arms in front of his chest. "Very little. It's restricted way above even my level. And of course, I don't want to ask anyone for favours. I don't know who to trust."

  "Aside from us," Captain Shaw added.

  Grimshaw smiled. "I can always trust you two, Rick. Hence this meeting."

  "So we have the name of the experiment, and we know something came of it . . ." Jessica said.

  "Yes. On a backwater planet, a dustbowl called Outland, there was a facility. Top secret, out in the middle of nowhere. Well, to cut a long story short, any mention I found of Project Prometheus in the files went hand in hand with the planet Outland. Going a bit deeper, I found details of the kind of facility they had out there."

  "Go on," she said.

  "It was a training base, Jessica. The same configuration as many of our own military training bases located on numerous planets throughout the galaxy. A place to make men out of boys. Or . . . fighters out of test tube hybrids."

  She shook her head. "Do we know who took the Namar from the Enigma in the first place?"

  Shaw cleared his throat. "I'm looking into that. It's been heavily classified. If there's a file at all," he said. "As I was explaining to the Admiral before you joined us, there's not an awful lot to go on."

  "So how will you proceed?" she asked him.

  "Head to Outland as soon as possible, see the site for myself. Talk to the people in the area. See if it turns up a lead," Shaw said.

  "A good plan."

  "I think you'll understand my reasons for calling on Captain Shaw to help us, Jess. He's not standard military like you or I. Mister Shaw here is, shall we say, off the books. Do you get me?"

  "You mean Shadow Force, don't you?"

  Shaw shifted in his seat. The Admiral's face was grim. "You've heard of it. Black ops. Completely off the grid. I can't trust any of my colleagues, Jess. You know that. I must first gather together the evidence, make a proper case of corruption before making grand claims. It's pretty simple, this whole thing. Someone ordered those Namar to be taken from the Enigma. And someone – possibly the same person – ordered they be used to create a new fighting force. An army of hybrids. For what purpose I couldn't begin to postulate."

  "Another war," Captain Shaw said.

  "But against whom?" Jessica asked them both.

  Grimshaw sighed. "Against whoever they choose, I guess. The next candidate. For some, that is how it is. How it's always been."

  "That's sickening," she said.

  "No," Shaw said next to her. "That's war."

  * * *

  Kalar lumbered off the ship. Although he possessed six arms, the Xantian pilot had no legs to speak of. Much like a slug, he had one large slimy foot upon which he moved. Rhythmic waves of muscular contraction on the underside allowed him to move about, however slowly. Xantian crewmembers were rare aboard Union vessels because of their handicap, that and the slime trail they inevitably left behind. However Kalar had had treatment to limit the amount of mucus secreted beneath the foot so that it dried within seconds of hitting the floor.

  "Go on ahead if you like," Kalar told Punk. "I don't mind. I'm used to this pace, don't forget."

  "Don't you sweat it, mate," Punk said, furry hands in his pockets. "I don't much mind the slower pace o' things, when it comes along."

  "That's good. It's nice to get off the ship," Kalar said.

  Punk looked behind him. In the last minute, they'd managed to get no more than twenty metres from the airlock. Out of respect to the Xantian, however, he would never have said anything. He merely smiled and continued along at Kalar's pace, hands in his pockets, wondering if they'd have enough time on the promenade to visit Mickey's bar. It had been so long. And he hoped they might have something to drink there. A glass of Jameson's or two. Or three.

  "I'm thirsty," Punk said, smacking his chops, picturing the glass of amber liquid already. Tasting it.

  "We'll get there soon enough, not to worry."

  Yeah, Punk thought. But when?

  * * *

  "What was it sir?"

  Shaw checked over his shoulder as they walked away from the Admiral's office.

  "He wants us to look into a runaway project of theirs. An ancient alien race, gene splicing . . ." Captain Shaw shook his head. "Murky waters, Commander. Murky waters."

  "You're taking it on?"

  "Correction. Took it on. I've already agreed to do it. Grimshaw and me go way back, Will. I owe him one," Shaw said.

  Will rubbed at the corner of his eyes. "I noticed he had Jessica King in there too."

  Shaw's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You know her?"

  "We went out, a long time ago. Never thought I'd bump into her again," Will said.

  "How did it end?"

  "Oh there wasn't any trouble between us. We just both went our separate ways."

  "I see," Shaw said. He rubbed his hands together as they reached the end of the corridor. "Coming to the casino with me, kiddo? Let an old man show you how to blow your dough?"

  "Well, I was about to get to that . . ."

  The Captain visibly sagged with disappointment. "Don't tell me," he grumbled, looking away.

  "It wasn't planned–"

  "You met, the old spark's still there, you've got the fire going again."

  "Sir, it was out of my mouth before–"

  Shaw folded his arms. "And now you're wondering if there isn't something still there between the two of you. Ships that pass in the night and all that."

  Will sighed.

  They stood there a moment before Captain Shaw broke into a sleazy grin, one of his worst. "Go on."

  "I told her to come by the ship. I promise she won't touch anything," Will said, already walking off.
"Thanks, sir!"

  Shaw raised a finger. "Wait, you told her she could what?"

  * * *

  The boom of music, the loud chatter of people enjoying themselves inside Mickey's filled that end of the promenade as Barbie approached. She stepped inside, her bulk filling the door frame. Heads craned up to get a better look. Voices grew still. A curtain of relative silence fell over the whole place, apart from the music. That was still there.

  Eyes followed her as she strolled up to the bar and leaned against it, giant paws clasped together in front of her.

  "What can I get you?" the barman asked.

  "Beer."

  His eyebrows peaked from surprise. "Beer, huh? A pint?"

  Barbie shook her head. "What's the biggest glass you've got?"

  The man swallowed, looked about before settling on a tall vase on one of the back shelves. It currently had a film of dust inside. "This do?"

  She nodded. Around her, Mickey's bar returned to normal. Conversation resumed, though she still felt eyes watching her. Nervous glances in her direction. Mantipors weren't exactly known for their even tempers. Even less so for their good natures toward humans.

  "Let me rinse it out so you can enjoy that beer," he said. He ran it under the water and looked up at her. "We don't see many Mantipors in here."

  "And that should concern me . . . why?" she asked.

  The barman gulped, but tried to hide his discomfort by looking down. "Just making conversation," he mumbled.

  "Get the beer. I'm not in the mood."

  He wiped the vase out with a bar towel tucked into his belt, then filled it from the tap. It had a thick, frothy head on it, the glass perspiring as she lifted it to her mouth and drank. The barman watched, astonished as she took half the vase down in one go – it had held a good five pints. Had to have.

  She set it down on the bar top. "Thanks. I needed it."

  "Really?" he asked. "I've never seen someone do that before."

  "I was thirsty, okay?" Barbie growled.

  He held his hands out in front of him. "No offense intended, Miss. Just stating a fact, is all. I wish all my punters drank like you do."

  She lifted the vase and drained the rest of it, wiping the foam off the fur around her mouth with the back of a paw.

  "Well, I'll tell you what," Barbie boomed so the whole place could hear her. "Anyone who can hold their own with me, drink for drink, I'll pay their tab. How about that?"

  The barman's face lit with greed as he watched the first challenger, a Lieutenant from one of the visiting starships, rise from his chair and saunter over to the bar.

  "They won't keep up with you," the barman whispered to Barbie.

  She laughed but it came out as a strangled growl. "I know."

  * * *

  Ardai heard Jessica's voice at the airlock and watched on the monitor as she stepped inside the ship. He'd hoped – but not believed – that she'd turn up.

  "Hello?" her voice called down one of the corridors. "Hello?"

  Will walked up to her, nearly making her jump it was so quiet aboard. "Sorry, I got caught up. I just had time to hit the access button to let you in," he said.

  "Quiet in here," she said. "The ship's not what I expected."

  "She's not much to look at. But trust me, she's just about the best ship out there. Loaded with everything you could think of," Will said as they started to walk in the direction he had come from.

  "It's so small in here," she remarked.

  "Most of her square footage is assigned to cargo and systems. If you consider her size, she should be able to carry a complement of thirty or forty. But she only holds a crew of eight. And even that's a squeeze. As it is, there's only ever five of us on here at one time," Will explained. He opened a door to the right. It revealed a small, but serviceable, officer's mess.

  The lights flickered to life as they walked in. "Coffee?" he asked her.

  "Oh, yes please," Jessica said. She sat down in one of the available chairs. "This tub reminds me of an old submersible from Earth's history."

  "Yeah I've often thought that," Will said. "She's fast, too. Maximum velocity rated at nine Jumpquarts."

  Jessica couldn't hide the surprise from her face. "Nine?!"

  Ardai laughed as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee. He remained standing, though he leaned back against the counter. His own coffee sat on the side next to him. He looked at her, unable to help smiling.

  "So do I get the grand tour?"

  "Sure. Once we've had our coffee. The skipper's still off ship. Probably lost on the promenade somewhere."

  "It's like that, is it? Commanding Officer stretching his legs, getting up to mischief?"

  Will sipped his coffee. "A tradition I think. Hasn't it always been?"

  "I guess," she said. "Anyway, what's this boat called? I noticed a pretty suspicious registry out there."

  "Thought you might see that. Regular Joes don't, to be honest. On the most part. When they do, we have to pull out our security clearance to get them to back off."

  "How high is your clearance?"

  "Fifteen," Will said.

  "Jesus."

  He grinned. "It's good to see you, Jess. It's been so long."

  "Too long," she corrected him.

  "Yeah . . ."

  "I never thought I'd be sitting on a black ops ship, drinking a coffee with Will Ardai," she said, shaking her head.

  "That makes two of us," Will said. "I never thought I'd be having a coffee with myself one day, either. But here we are."

  She laughed. "Still the same Will. Bad jokes and all."

  "You're not the same as I remember you," he said, now serious.

  "I'm not?" she asked. She got up, stepped closer to him, put her own cup on the side. "What's changed?"

  "You're more serious. Like you've seen stuff. Experienced things. I can spot it a mile off. The years have been eventful for you, haven't they?"

  "What else?" she asked, moving closer. Will put his cup next to hers. Out of the way. Reading the signs.

  "You look different in another way."

  "How d'you mean?"

  Now it was his turn to move close to her. Their faces were mere inches apart. "You're not a girl anymore. I see a woman. A strong, confident, beautiful woman. More beautiful than ever I remembered her."

  His hands went to her hips. He held her there, his mouth close to her ear as he whispered: "The girl she was, pales in comparison . . ."

  She responded with a kiss. Deep, passionate. As if the years weren't an empty gulf between them. As if the time that had passed had not done so at all.

  They held each other in a tight embrace, and she sighed against him. "Will . . ."

  He kissed the top of her head. "By the way, the ship? We call her the Spectre."

  "Spectre as in shadow," she said, followed by a giggle. "Imaginative."

  "I originally suggested Rosalita, but the skipper wasn't having any of it. Can't imagine why. I love that song . . ."

  * * *

  Captain Rick Shaw bet on the black again and watched with that familiar sinking sensation as it came up red.

  Again.

  No matter what he tried, the stupid ball landed on the opposite of what he'd bet. If he hadn't known any better, he could've sworn it was rigged somehow. But how do you jemmy a ball?

  "Sir?"

  He dug in his pocket, produced another chip. "Go on. Same again."

  Shaw had not been out of the Admiral's office an hour and he'd already blown a small fortune on the roulette wheel. He liked Bones Casino on Station 6. They did things the proper way, everything old-school. No digital roulette machines there.

  Those machines were known as "Gambler's Cocaine," and for good reason. Too easy to play, and to easy to lose on. They'd swallowed enough of Shaw's money for him to know.

  And besides, nothing beat having a real person in front of you, taking the bet, setting the wheel, watching with you as the ball did its crazy dance before it settled on the colour
of chance.

  This time it landed on black.

  "You won, sir," the attendant told him. "Would you like another play?"

  Shaw grinned. "Does a fish swim in water?"

  Maybe my luck's on the turn!

  * * *

  Barbie tipped the glass of liquor – her eighth – down her throat as if it were water. She looked to her right. The Lieutenant was ruined. He swayed, even sitting down. His eyes were bulging grey marbles, shot through with bright red veins.

  "What's wrong, sweetie?" she asked him in her most mocking tone.

  He'd turned a shade ofgreen following his sixth glass. They weren't shots of booze. Whole glasses. She barely felt as if she'd had a drink. At some point the other punters in Mickey's had started to take bets. They'd bet on the Lieutenant to drink her under the table. Put their hopes with the underdog.

  It was laughable. And in her current mood, it gave her pleasure to know they'd all lose their money. The drinks would pay for themselves. Frustrated as she was, such a thing gave her pleasure.

  The Lieutenant lifted the glass gingerly, closed his eyes and pitched it back. His hand found the edge of the bar top as he swayed to the left, swayed to the right, then tipped over and clattered to the floor, out cold.

  Barbie stood, raised her enormous arms in the air. "We have a knockout!" she bellowed.

  The collective groans of the other patrons quickly diminished as Barbie set them with a fierce look, standing to full height. "Do we have a problem?"

  No reply.

  "Money on the bar then, boys and girls. Don't cry over spilt milk."

  The Mantipor stretched, flexing all of the huge muscles up her back and along her arms as she did so. The money was there next to her by the time she'd finished.

  "I should've known," a familiar voice said. Barbie turned to see Punk next to her. She looked down at the short Alpor and their confrontation from earlier flooded back.

  "Oh, it's you," she sneered. "Can't you see I'm having a peaceful drink?"

  Punk looked down at the Lieutenant. "Yeah love, I can."

  "What do you want short stuff?"

  "Came here for a drink, like you," Punk said, hopping up onto a bar stool.

  The barman busily wiped glasses. "What can I get you?"

  "Jameson's. Double. No ice," Punk said. He watched as Barbie stuffed the credits into her pockets. "Bleedin' 'ell, Barbie, why can't you 'ave a drink like the rest of us?"