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

by Tony Healey

  "I do," Shaw said.

  Will scratched the back of his head. "Said he'd be more than happy to help, but I had to come back today. Go figure."

  "I need to get in touch with this contact," Shaw said.

  "We need to stop getting so drunk."

  "I know, but . . . I think we needed last night. It was a lot of news to take at the last minute. I can't imagine what your lady friend is feeling right about now," Shaw said.

  Will got to his feet. "She's tougher than you think."

  "Hope so, kid," Shaw said. "For both your sakes."

  * * *

  Will headed out into the crisp morning – hard to believe that a desert world such as Outland could ever have anything like an icy start. Yet, a veneer of sparkling frost coated every surface in town the sun hadn't yet touched.

  He went on his own – Barbie was wasted on trivial matters such as meetings. She grew restless, as Mantipors were known to be in such situations. Besides, he liked escaping the rest of the team sometimes. The night before shouldn't have happened. With their contact dropping them, they should have regrouped back at the ship and stayed out of sight. As it stood, they'd made a scene in the saloon getting drunk. However, he got Shaw's reasoning behind it all. They needed to blow off steam – one of the perks of not being among the regular enlisted was that they could get away with doing that.

  But now they had to crack on, find the evidence, and proceed with their investigation. One night wouldn't harm the job. More than that would.

  He walked into the Sheriff's office and asked for Sheriff Ward. The clerk went to fetch him, asked Ardai to sit and wait.

  He stood.

  Ward came out a moment later, shook his hand, and led him into his office.

  "Thanks for coming back, Mister . . ."

  Will had to think for a moment himself. "Derry."

  "Right. Mister Derry. And you said you're from Intelligence?"

  "That's right. I'm here to investigate the military training facility near here. Do you have any knowledge of it?"

  Sheriff Ward leaned back in his chair. "If you're from Intelligence, don't you already know all there is to know about some facility?"

  "Between you and me, Sheriff, all of this is strictly off the books. There's no record of it existing. But I know it did. And I know it's now been abandoned."

  "It's true. I've not seen it myself, but I've heard talk of it. It lies beyond my purview, I'm afraid, being just beyond the borders of my jurisdiction."

  "I understand. And do you know anything about a stolen starship from the dock a little while ago?"

  He rubbed his chin. "Yeah, couple of weeks ago. Somethin' like that. Blasted out of here. Killed the crew, left 'em behind. Part from one, I think. Musta' kept him alive to fly that darned thing."

  "I've checked the records. There's no official statement regarding it."

  The Sheriff chuckled. "Mister Derry, out here there ain't an official record for a lot of stuff. Don't mean to say it didn't happen. If folks caught wind there'd been something like that, we'd lose some of the trade that keeps this dusty town goin', you catch my drift?"

  "I do."

  "The Starport manager stalled ya, didn't he?"

  Will nodded. "You don't seem to be surprised by that fact."

  "One thing I can do to help you out is tell him to quit draggin' his heels and give you whatever you need. I think you can understand he's only doin' what he thinks is right. The fella's not a bad guy."

  Will stood. Offered his hand. The two men shook. "I really appreciate your assistance, Sheriff."

  "No problem."

  Will headed for the door.

  "Oh, one last thing, son," Sheriff Ward said.

  Will turned back around. "Yeah?"

  "I'm no dummy, kid. I know you're not with Intelligence. I asked you to wait till this morning so I could run the fake name and Ident you gave me. It's no bother, though. I know you're into something. Possibly top secret. That's your business."

  He couldn't help but smile. "Sheriff, I appreciate your discretion in this matter. I'd tell you who I am and who I'm with if I could, believe me."

  Ward waved a hand at him. "Pah! Don't mention it."

  "Let me buy you a beer next time I'm here?"

  "Sure thing, son. Throw in a whiskey chaser and I'm your man."

  * * *

  Walking away, Ardai contacted the Spectre via the comm. unit on his wrist. "Barbie?"

  "Here. How's it going?"

  "Fine, fine. I'm headed back. Why don't you go and track down the skipper?"

  "I take it you made headway," Barbie said on the other end.

  "Yeah you could call it that," Will replied. "I think he'll be pleased. Let me know when you find him. I don't want him to fall into the same trap he did yesterday."

  The Mantipor sighed. "Commander we're not his chaperones."

  "No, but we are his friends."

  "You got me there."

  "Talk soon." Will closed the channel.

  Back at the Starport, Will found the manager much more willing to help once he'd delivered the Sheriff's message. As he waited for the man to retrieve any data he had on the missing ship, he looked at the lines of people waiting to board transports off of Outland. One in particular piqued his interest.

  The line for travellers headed to Station six was long. He picked a man at random, looked like he'd seen better days but otherwise seemed trustworthy enough.

  "Hey, you're headed to the station, correct?"

  The stranger looked him up and down. "Yeah . . ."

  "Care to make a few credits?"

  "Doing what?" he asked, squinting his eyes to show his apprehension.

  Will smiled. "Deliver a message for me."

  * * *

  "Me 'ead . . ." Punk groaned as they went from the baking hot sunshine to the smoky, dark interior of the saloon.

  "Gentlemen! Back so soon?" the bartender asked.

  Shaw shook his head. "Just coffee this time around."

  "That bad, huh?"

  "Like you wouldn't believe," Shaw said.

  The bartender guffawed, then set about fixing them both some black coffee. Punk pitched himself up onto a stool.

  "Worst hangover ever," the Alpor said.

  "I feel you, little buddy," Shaw said. He sat down next to him. "Teach us a lesson, eh?"

  Punk shook his head. "Nope."

  "Probably right."

  A hand fell on Shaw's shoulder. He turned his head slightly to see who it was. An older man.

  "Shaw?"

  He nodded, once. "That I am."

  "I think you've been looking for me . . ."

  * * *

  The man led them out past the edge of town on his skiff. It was a simple affair, corroded and rusted but propelled by a powerful engine at the back. The old man wore goggles to repel the bits of sand and grit that flew their way. Shaw and Punk had no other option but to turn their heads and hope nothing hit them in the face.

  He said his name was Murphy. It seemed about as kosher as any other, Shaw guessed.

  "Lived out here your whole life, Murphy?"

  "Yessir. Sure have. Took over my pappy's farm when he passed. Must be, oh, thirty years back"

  "Yes," Shaw said. He looked at Punk. "So you knew about the base all along, huh?"

  "I did. Watched it some of the time. Never got caught. Tried to see what they were doing there. Training. Physical stuff. Guns. You know . . ."

  "Then what?"

  "One day they went berserk. Fought each other. The fellas with the pale white skin and the regular folk. They died on either side, I guess. Bodies everywhere. I hid up on the ridge, watching. Couldn't believe it."

  "What happened?" Punk asked.

  The wind whipped past them, the ground beneath the skiff nothing but a blur of rock and dried grass.

  "They were all dead," Murphy said, his voice heavy. "Killed themselves in the fighting. God knows why they started in the first place. Who can tell? All I know
is there was only two made it outta there."

  "Two?" Shaw asked.

  "That's right. I never saw where they got to. Soon as I could, I climbed up on my skiff and got the hell out."

  "Sounds 'bout right," Punk said. "That must be the two we're lookin' for."

  "Yeah."

  "Here we are . . ." Murphy told them. He slowed the skiff to a halt and jumped down. Shaw and Punk followed suit. A gust of wind stirred up the dust on the ground into miniature twisting vortexes. An errant tumbleweed skittered past. They reached the edge of a peak and looked down. There, in the vast valley below, was all that remained of the facility.

  "It's all gone," Shaw said.

  "Came in a few days after it happened," Murphy said. "Took the bodies away, set charges all over the buildings and blew 'em to smithereens. That rubble in front ya. That's all there is."

  "You saw all this?" Punk asked.

  Shaw looked down over the rubble, the detritus of what was left. "There's no evidence here, Punk."

  "Who was it destroying the place? Did you recognise them?" Punk asked Murphy.

  The old man peeled the goggles off his face. "Sure. It was Union boys what did it."

  * * *

  "Well, I thank you for doing that," Shaw said, shaking Murphy's hand back at the saloon.

  "Don't mention it. If it helps your investigation, I told Clayton I was happy to help."

  Shaw nodded. "You really came through. It's been a big help."

  "Good luck, boys," Murphy said.

  They walked back under the impassive glare of the hellish sun. The Alpor led the way ahead of him. Minutes after leaving the saloon behind, and Punk was going slower than usual.

  "What's the hold-up?" Shaw asked.

  The Alpor glanced to the right. Shaw looked, too. A figure emerged from behind the edge of one building and slipped in behind the next. He'd been walking with his face turned to them, eyes focused.

  "We're bein' tailed, mate."

  "How many?" Shaw asked, hand resting on his belt, near his holster.

  "Both sides. Those alleyways. I reckon. Have a gander up ahead. The road's not as busy," Punk said.

  Shaw's jaw set hard. "That's where they'll spring the trap. Come at us both sides."

  "Who d'you reckon, eh?" Punk asked, cracking his knuckles, snapping his head left, then right, limbering up for what was to come.

  "Take your pick. That doesn't matter right now, short stuff. We need to survive the next five minutes."

  "Agreed."

  It seemed impossible for a street to seem so dark and oppressive under such a sun, but it did. Shadowy, quiet, just waiting for something untoward to happen. A light wind stirred up the sand, then died. Everything grew dead still as they reached the middle.

  "Wait," Shaw whispered. "Get my back."

  They stood back-to-back, both facing a side, hands at the ready.

  Punk growled. "Come an' get it! Stop skulking in the shadows."

  As if on cue two men emerged on Shaw's side, and three on Punk's. They held all manner of weaponry: guns, whips, bats. All of it meant for business.

  "Well, this is worse than I imagined . . ." Shaw mumbled. He now wondered why he hadn't attempted to avoid them, pick a better spot than ending up standing in the middle of a road, besieged on all sides. And yet, he had that gut feeling. The same impulse that made him gamble, made him take that leap of faith every time he played with money that wasn't his. A surety it'd work out.

  Sometimes a gut feeling is the best measure a man can go by.

  "Punk, don't pull your punches. Rip 'em a new one." He beckoned the two in front of him. "Come on then. What're you waiting for!"

  They ran at him. The thug on the left wielding a club. On the right, his assailant had a long black whip that glowed with energy. He snapped it on the hardpack and it emitted a flash of light on impact.

  That's gonna hurt when that clips me.

  Shaw made to release his firearm. Instead he kicked dust into the face of the one with the whip. His hands flew to his face, sputtering on what had gone in his eyes and his mouth. The one on the left with the club looked to see what had happened, and in that second of hesitation and uncertainty, Shaw stepped in and slugged him in the guts. A short, hard punch with his right. His left hand gripped the club, twisted it free from the man's grip. He didn't wait. Brought it down, heard the man's skull crack open with the hit.

  He hit him again for good measure, grinned, felt someone grab him by both arms from behind. Shaw tried to lurch forward, couldn't break their hold on him, his feet scrabbling to hold him up as he was dragged backward.

  The one with the whip had recovered now and swung it around.

  Oh no.

  It wrapped itself around his leg like the tentacle of some leathery beast. Shaw cried out, the pain coursing all the way through his body, into every nerve, causing every muscle to convulse madly. The whip-hand yanked it free, laughing. Whoever held him was laughing too. He couldn't even see how Punk was doing.

  One of the men who'd been on Punk's side came to face him. Shaw gasped, body still in agony from the whip. The man hit him once, hit him again, then slammed him in the face, knocking his head from one side to the other in what seemed like contained nuclear detonations.

  His ears rang and that's why he almost didn't recognise the sound. A ferocious roar, like a wild beast. The men in front of him looked up in horror as a vast shadow crossed their path. Shaw was thrown to one side. He picked himself up, turned around.

  Punk was on the back of a man waving a giant gun around over his head. He was hitting him on the top of the head. The man let loose an errant shot that cracked the air, then Punk stuck what looked like a stunner to the base of the man's skull and he collapsed, his body dancing a merry jig.

  The roar hadn't come from the Alpor, though.

  Barbie lifted one of the men, hurled him away. He struck the side of a building with force, fell like a bag of sand to the ground, completely still. The whip-hand attempted to use his weapon on her – she caught the end of the whip mid-air, the charge of it not touching the sides. The man backed off, confused that it hadn't worked. He tried to run, forgot she still had the end of his whip in her hand. Barbie yanked him back, threw the whip around his throat. His hands went to his neck in a desperate attempt to loosen the whip. Barbie lifted him clear off the ground with it, used the man as if he were a makeshift ball and chain to knock one of the last two away. They landed in a crumpled heap together.

  The last one hit Punk with a length of metal. The Alpor audibly broke a bone in his arm as he tried to defend himself. Barbie pounced as the man's arm went back again. She took his arm and ripped it clean from his body, blood and sinew slopped from the gaping hole where it had been. He screamed. Barbie gripped his head in both of her massive paws and applied pressure – his scream turned to a high-pitched squeal and then silence as his head was crushed in a single, final crunch.

  Blood splattered out from between the Mantipor's giant paws.

  Shaw stood. The shock from the whip, combined with the hits he'd taken, had finished him before the fight had properly started. He didn't know how Barbie could stand such a jolt of energy. He watched as the Mantipor lifted Punk off the ground, cradling him in her arms.

  "You alright?" she asked Shaw.

  "Thanks to you."

  She exhaled. "As usual. We should get him to the ship. Run a medical scan."

  "Agreed," Shaw said. He looked about at the carnage left in their wake. "I don't suppose any of these are alive enough to answer a few questions . . ."

  But Barbie was already moving and it was all Shaw could do to keep up with her. They hurried up the street and when they were far enough away, the same figure who'd watched them from the darkness the night before emerged from a doorway. He walked into the road and watched them depart.

  There was a groan to his left. One of the men trying to get up, wounded but not dead.

  He walked over to him, his boots crunching on the harsh,
gritty ground.

  "One of the things I detest about getting others to do your work for you," he said. "Is cleaning up their mess."

  The man rolled over, looked up at the sky, his eyes focusing as he came to stand over him. "Hey . . . hey . . ." he croaked. "Help me . . ."

  "I don't think so. You failed," he pulled his gun free. Its silver barrel glinted in the sunlight. He fired into the man's face. His legs kicked once in reflex.

  The phantom walked away, holstering his piece. "Next time I do the job myself."

  * * *

  "Put it up on the screen, Kay," Ardai said on the bridge. Shaw held the ice pack to his face and watched as the forward viewscreen came to life.

  "This is everything the Stationmaster sent me," Will explained. "It would seem a ship with the designation XB136 was stolen a few weeks ago. All crew were killed, apart from one. Security footage shows two pale-skinned men boarding the ship prior to it blasting off."

  "Right. Where did they go?"

  "Security has tracking information on XB136 up until the point it Jumped away. I've made the calculations and it's apparent XB136 was headed for Deep Space Supply Station Foxtrot," Ardai explained. "I think we should head there straight away."

  "Agreed. Kay, get us ready."

  "Yes sir," Kalar said.

  Will folded his arms. "So how did you get on? Before the scuffle I mean."

  "Scuffle? We were nearly assassinated!"

  "Well, whatever you want to call it skipper. Did you see the site?"

  Shaw's face grew grim. "Nothing there. Destroyed by the Union."

  "A cover-up . . ."

  "Precisely."

  The Spectre hummed to life, the deck vibrating slightly from the power of her awakened engines.

  Barbie appeared in the doorway. She had a can of soda in her paw. "Hey."

  "How's Punk?" Will asked.

  "He'll live. With what we're carrying, his arm will reset in a matter of hours. Weakling."

  Kalar looked back at them. "We're ready."

  "Get us out of here, Kay," Shaw ordered. "I need a shower. I feel like I had my ass kicked today."

  Will made to speak.

  "No, don't bother," Shaw snapped and walked off the bridge.

  * * *

  The Spectre lifted into the bright blue sky over Outland, its engines glowing white hot as it sped away, leaving a trail of vapour behind it. Seconds later a much smaller, more compact ship followed suit. It matched the Spectre's course, while maintaining its distance. To the Spectre's aft sensors, it would appear as a shadow, a double image of the Spectre herself.