Windjammer: The Tradership Saga Book 1

by M J Gauntlet

  Due to the of the lack of a regular police presence within enclaves, it was a common practice for some of the more radical planetary ‘citizens’ to occasionally start a ‘cleansing sweep’ through the settlement’s streets to keep the Lasters in their place. These pogroms would usually occur after some big planetary event, like the yearly Land Acquisition Grant or a worldwide eunit devaluation. Inevitably, there were those citizens who felt that they had been ‘cheated’ by the system. Whether they had received a useless plot of land or they found that their current level of income no longer suited their wants, they had a ready scapegoat for the cause of their problems…the Lasters!

  Eventually, enough of these outraged citizens would get drunk and irrationally conclude that it was because of the damn Lasters that they, the ‘true’ citizens of Bright, were not receiving their fair share. When this happened, sometimes a group of these ‘unfairly deprived’ citizens would get together, board their skimmers and ride through the settlement streets burning and looting, and often assaulting any Last Towners who were unfortunate enough to be caught out in the sweep.

  Afterwards, there would be the usual cries from the concerned ‘decent’ residents who were ‘outraged’ by the hooliganism of these renegade citizens (who after all, only represented a small minority of the planetary public). These civic minded individuals would loudly demand that ‘something’ be done. The resultant hue and cry would produce the obligatory call for a blue-ribbon panel or committee to consider the alleged incidents. These conscientious and ‘thorough’ investigations would inevitably disclose that it was impossible to take any overt action due to the uncooperative nature of the people within the enclaves. It seemed that none could be coaxed to come forth to identify any person involved in the lawbreaking (completely ignoring the repercussions to the accuser after the furor had died down). After about a week, general populous would have moved on to the next hot topic fax story.

  On 5104.101 UGD (year 312 after Bright colony landing), such a drunken mob of citizens, many of which belonged to the radical political group FLP (Free Land Party), decided to do a sweep of Last Town. Not being satisfied with the random destruction of the pitiful merchant shops along the main road, they decided to take it one step further and venture into the ghetto’s residential areas, something that was usually considered off-limits. The first residence they happened upon was that of a retired scout pilot, his Nubian wife, and their five-year-old son. Many in the crowd had heard several rumors about Nubians, and upon seeing the exotic and beautiful woman before them, the men were licking their mental chops as they approached the two Lasters standing in front of their neatly landscaped dwelling (this incensed the mob further since it did not look like a hovel).

  Armed with an assortment of cudgels, knuckle busters, a few nerve stings and microblades, they were confident that there would be little or no resistance from the three figures standing defiantly in front of them. The man, while of heavy build, looked to be middle aged and was leaning heavily on what looked to be a makeshift metal walking cane. His size might have taken a couple of people in the crowd aback somewhat, but several men noticed while he was indeed large, his right hand seemed to be spasmodically twitching, a sure sign of a Blitzo addict, a home grown addictive narcotic which had an accumulative degenerative effect on the nervous system. Blitzo users slowly lost control of their voluntary muscles, and if not checked it would later affect the involuntary musculature which would eventually result in cardiac or respiratory failure. Blitzo addiction was more prevalent in the settlement townships because it was derived from a local pant and was easy to distill.

  Upon seeing the tell-tale palsy of the big man’s hands, several people in the crowd curled their lips a little tighter in disgust. Everyone knew that settlements like Last Town were breeding grounds for crime and drug addiction. After all, isn’t just this type of thing that made the ‘cleansing sweeps’ necessary in the first place? As for the dark-skinned, blond mohawk haired woman, while she had a pleasing shaped body, she barely massed fifty kilos. The two of them might have stood a slight chance to hold off the mob if they had displayed a firearm of some kind, but since it was forbidden for settlers to own any type of lethal ordnance, there was little concern of them being able to put up any sort of meaningful resistance against the twenty or so citizens.

  Slowly, the mob moved towards the solitary figures, all the while shouting insults and making lewd comments to the Nubian. When the distance shortened between the mob and the defiant duo to ten meters or so, the woman looked down to her son and stepped in front of the boy. She then gently pushed him back towards their lodging. Without a backwards glance, the boy turned and ran inside the building. Seeing that the child was no longer on the field, the crowd began to accelerate its pace towards the couple. As bloodthirsty as they were, they wanted to avoid injury to a child. This was not due of any sense of moral decency. Harming a child was the one thing that the planetary authorities would strongly frown upon.

  As the crowd closed the distance between the two figures, some of them seemed to hesitate briefly, as a vague uneasiness crept into their minds. Something about the tableau didn’t seem quite right. Firstly, the two were oddly dressed. The man was wearing a ragged looking cloak over what looked like a form fitting off world outfit that covered him from neck to toe. In the wain moonlight it seemed to shimmer with an almost luminescent metal sheen. In contrast, the woman was wearing almost nothing at all. Her covering seemed to consist of some type of body paint, which formed asymmetrical patterns across her bare legs, arms and across her torso.

  The second unsettling occurrence was the pair had not uttered one word to either to each other or to the crowd. Neither of them showed any sign of anger and, (what was slightly more disconcerting) no sign of fear. Unfortunately, those few who had noticed these inconsistencies were in the minority, the rest of the mob was too far gone into bloodlust to pay any attention to such minor aberrations. They figured that the two Lasters nonchalant attitude was simply false bravado and would rapidly change once they both were in striking distance. They were quite correct, but not in the way that any in the throng could have foreseen.

  The mob had instinctively divided itself into two roughly numerically equal groups, each facing one of the two unusually calm Lasters. When the cluster of men facing the Nubian had moved to within about 4 meters of where she stood, she did an odd thing; she moved away from her companion, instead of instinctually towards him, and unaccountably, she took a step towards the approaching mob. Her mate took no notice of this odd behavior and kept his eyes steadfastly on the group of men in front of him. The two groups of men halted once more, as it was beginning to sink in that things were not going according to plan. By now these two should have either been pleading to be left alone or trembling in fear, but most definitely not moving towards them. The dynamics were all wrong! For those in the crowd who had done this sort of thing before, it had always been the mob that held the power, never its victims!

  Usually whenever a mob of men is faced with the unexpected it inevitably acts in one of two ways: either it pauses to reassess the situation…or it surges forward in anger. For this half-drunk, resentful, hate filled gathering, it took the latter course of action. With a collective low, guttural growl, the crowd lurched forward as one. But just as they begun to surge forward a remarkable thing happened: the Nubian crouched down and abruptly launched herself high above the heads of the men in front of her. As she rose above the startled faces, she reached behind her back to produce two ebony black short staffs. Twisting in midair, she summersaulted and landed, crouched cat like in the middle of the now startled group of citizens in front of her. Before any in the crowd could react, the woman began to move with lightening quickness as she amazingly turned and twisted her lithe frame into a whirlwind of lashing limbs. The two dull, black, metal rods that had seemed to magically appear in her hands, began striking and slashing into the cluster of astonished men. As she pivoted and pirouetted amongst the now scream
ing men, it had seemed as though a demon from hell had supernaturally materialized amongst them.

  The group that was confronting the male reflexively turned towards their comrades, mouths now agape at the unexpected carnage inflicted on brethren next to them. Snarling in rage, the men jerked their heads around to face their intended prey only to discover that the supposed invalid who had, only a few scant moments ago, been leaning heavily on his cane, was now standing quite erect and his makeshift stick was no longer had its end buried in the ground. The end of the walking stick was now pointing directly at their heads, nor was it as solid as it first appeared. The rear of the staff now served as a stock and was braced firmly against his shoulders. It was now clear to them that the ‘staff’ consisted of two well-made, machined, hollow rods that rested side by side on a wooden support. The shiny, hollow, metal tubes looked suspiciously like the terminus of some type of rudimentary firearm. Those in the front of the group, found themselves looking back along those dual ominous apertures at a face that for the first time showed an expression… a grim smile. There was just enough time for one of the men to shout an insulting, “Fuck Y…” before being silenced by an ear shattering ‘BOOM’, as the tubes expelled their load of what was in ancient times called ‘buckshot’, into the faces and chests of the onlookers. For the next several seconds, pandemonium reigned. Within a handful of minutes, most of the throng of vengeful citizens was now reduced to a groaning, moaning mass of misery.

  The group of men who had attacked the ‘easier’ female target, felt that a wild, southern, tundra tiger had just been dropped in their mist. Heads were bashed, kneecaps were broken, and kidneys ruptured, in an assault that seemed to go on forever but, in fact, had lasted only a minute or two. Each time one of the men would turn to attack the wild creature amongst them, she was not where she appeared to be. The asymmetrical body paint she wore seemed to mask her movements and made her seem to blend into the background. Thrusts and jabs aimed at one of her gyrating limbs only met air, or in some cases, fellow citizens. Those with vibro blades ended up doing more damage to their mates, while the faint popping sounds made by the few who had brought stun rods, was often as not, followed by the muffled curses of those hit by ‘friendly fire’.

  The cluster of men facing the former scout pilot fared no better. Following the loud retort, those behind the front phalanx of attackers stumbled awkwardly back, as they watched the men in front of them fall to the ground moaning and grasping their faces and midsections. Totally surprised, they were now unwilling to face the hulking bear of a man who was waving, what was now revealed to be, some sort of antique weapon at their faces. There was a pregnant pause as they instinctively stepped backward, until someone in behind them shouted: “Hey…I know what type of weapon that is, it has to be reloaded before it can fire again!” Hearing that, the mob surged forward with an angry howl.

  All too often people, with their limited view of things, forget the true meaning of the word ‘weapon’. Without pausing, the man swung the length of the metal tube upwards catching the first to reach him square in the throat, then in one fluid motion he pivoted on his right leg, sweeping the tube low, breaking the kneecap of the man who had rushed up on his left side.

  Hands reached out to grab him, to pull him down, but for some reason they slid off, as they could not gain purchase on either the man’s wildly swirling cloak, or the oddly shimmering garment he was wearing beneath it. With hands, elbows and the wickedly whirling tube, the ex-Imperial Scout had cleared out a two-meter space around him where, like the area around his mate, bodies were withering in pain on the ground or laying unmoving at his feet. It abruptly began to dawn upon those who had remained standing, that their initial numbers had been severely reduced… whittled down by two human scythes.

  The men at the rear began to wonder if maybe they should be elsewhere and began to slowly edge away from the pandemonium happening in front of them. It was becoming obvious to the survivors that what had begun as a nighttime orgy of drunken fun and hooliganism at the expense of a few lower class Lasters, had turned into a carnage that had quickly decimated their numbers. A conflict that had begun with numbers overwhelmingly in their favor had dissolved into a scene of their own human devastation, but both victims turned combatants seemed none the worst for wear, hardly out of breath.

  Just when it had seemed as though the mob had decided maybe it might be best to eschew the night’s ‘entertainment’ and beat an inglorious retreat from the two combatants before them, a high-pitched whine sounded above the gathering. Upon hearing that distinctive sound, everyone immediately froze. They all knew what that sound meant…someone had just set a neuro lash to full charge and was about to discharge the hellish weapon into the crowd.

  Neuro lashes were strictly forbidden for private use, but if someone was rich enough, they could be purchased. They were the standard weapon used by the police for crowd control. Supposedly they were the considered by the Imperium as a ‘humane’ solution for crowd pacification. The weapon worked by inflicting an almost unbearable torrent of pain upon their target by short circuiting the nervous system. Prolonged exposure to the neuro lash could result in severe nerve damage or death.

  Before anyone could react to the ear-piercing whine, there was eye searing flash of light, followed by the crackling sound of an electronic discharge. A lance of lightening shot out from the rear of the crowd and struck the Nubian full on. The woman jerked once spasmodically and fell to the ground arms and legs convulsing uncontrollably. Within seconds, the first spear of lightening was followed by a second fully charged blast that struck the still jerking body, stilling its motion permanently.

  The shocked gaze of the male was wrenched from the smoking body of his fallen mate, as he grimly sought out the who had fired the weapon. The man was easy to find. A squat, pale-skinned man, holding an oddly shaped weapon and wearing a bug-eyed pair of glare reduction glasses over his shaved head, had moved towards the front of the crowd. His face was twisted into a wicked grin. The weapon he held had a standard stock and grip but was unusual in that instead of the normal open- ended orifice of a projectile weapon, or the solid rod of a beam projector, it terminated in a ‘V’ shaped double pronged sharp point.

  “Thought you were smart, didn’t ya, you fuckin’ Laster?” he said, with a sneer. “When will you get it through your stupid shit-for- brains heads that we don’t want your kind here? Where the fuck do you get off thinking you can attack decent citizens and get away with it, huh?” A mummer of agreement went through the remainder of the mob, who seemed to forget that it was they, who had initiated the assault.

  “Well, that Nubian bitch of a whore got what she deserved, and now you will too!” he snarled triumphally. Grinning from ear to ear, he leveled the dual pronged weapon at the oddly clad man in front of him and depressed the firing stud. Once again, there was the blinding flash as another bolt of energy shot out from his dual pronged weapon and struck the man full on, striking him in the middle of his chest. The onlookers quickly covered their eyes to protect them from the intensely bright discharge of the neuro lash, then lowered their hands expecting to see the tall figure twitching on the ground like the female had done. Instead, they stood transfixed, as they saw the man standing amidst a corona of crackling energy that was harmlessly discharging itself into the ground. The ragged cloak the man was wearing had parted to reveal a metallic looking vestment, now shimmering brightly as the electric discharge was arching over its surface.

  It was doubtful that few, if any, of those in the mob of would have recognized the shielded scout vest that the man wore. While the garment was standard issue for all scout pilots, few outside of the corps knew of its energy and projectile resistant capabilities. The crowd gaped in awe as step by step, the man slowly began to approach the weapon toting citizen, a deadly grim look in his eyes. The previously sneering assailant stared stunned and wide eyed at the menacing figure approaching him, then the realization dawned on him that the weapons discharge had n
o effect on its target. Frantically, the man began to fumble with the weapon’s settings. A few seemingly interminably long seconds later, a louder high-pitched ear-piercing whine issued from his weapon as the fear filled man jerked it up and pointed it again towards the advancing figure and fired.

  Once more, there was a blinding discharge as a far heavier lance of energy struck the advancing man squarely on, only to be yet again dissipated. The Laster’s garment was now glowing iridescently, as finger thick rivulets of intense energy danced across its surface. As before, the energy arced groundward to be harmlessly discharged, but this time residual energized streamers ricocheted and rebounded outwards striking amongst the crowd that had crept forward around the shooter.

  Those nearest to the ex-scout began yelping and screaming, as the fierce energy bled itself back through their bodies and into the ground. This was the last straw for the remainder of the mob. They had decided that they had enough of this adventure and turned on their heels to madly flee into the night.

  Jaw quivering, the hitherto supremely confident murderer suddenly found himself standing alone on the field and staring into the eyes of a demon. With a shrill squeak, he dropped the now useless drained weapon and turned to flee, callously stepping over the prostrate bodies of his fallen comrades. But it was too late. Panic had hobbled his feet, and the devil-eyed man was upon him too quickly. Without breaking stride, the ex-scout reached down, snatched up the exhausted tubular weapon and with one fluid motion thrust its pointed ends into the back of the neck of the stumbling, bolting man. Eyes wide with shock, the man looked down in surprise at the two-blood stained pronged stilettos that were now protruding outward from beneath his chin. A strangled gurgling sound issued from his now torn open throat as he stopped dead in his tracks and collapsed to the ground in a spasmodic, twitching heap. Killed by the very weapon he thought would be his salvation.