Read Online Far From Home 16: Spectre by Tony Healey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tony Healey
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he'd not had a prosthetic eye fitted in its place, to which Shaw just scoffed.
"Reminds me of my mistakes. In this instance, to always assume the crash position when I'm told to," he'd said at the time. "I'm of the opinion all scars are lessons well learnt."
That attitude didn't surprise Will. After all, Shaw was a man who loved to gamble, who drank heavily. Who read crumbling copies of books. The classics – the kind of stories that made Shaw, for all his swagger, for all his experience as a fighter, sob like a heartbroken child when he'd had one too many. The night before, in his cabin, Shaw had broken down a little as he told Will about a book he'd just finished. Will had helped him onto his bunk, and he lay there in the dark, tears glistening in his one, red eye.
"I can't help thinking about the end of that novel, William," the Captain had said. Another side effect of him having had a drink was his tendency to refer to Ardai by his full name.
"What novel's that?"
" A Tale of Two Cities ," Shaw said. "Have you read it?"
Will shook his head.
The Captain looked up at the ceiling, his gaze distant. "'It's a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.' What do you suppose it means eh, Commander?"
"I don't have a clue, sir," Will said, wanting to just leave him there, get to his own bunk and try to get his head down. Wanting to evacuate the ship with all hands but leave the Captain behind, still babbling.
"Sort of . . . I don't know, final isn't it?"
"I guess so," Will said. "Anyway, I'll say good -night . . ."
"Will?"
Sigh .
"Yes Captain," he said, becoming agitated now.
"If I . . . you know . . . go, and you're still working with me, make sure they say those words over my casket, won't you?"
"I never refuse an order, sir. Now get some rest."
It wasn't until he lay on his own bunk, his quarters spinning around him in a drunken haze that he thought on Shaw's bouts of melancholy. They came only with drink, as if the booze unlocked a part of him he kept well-hidden most of the time. Something painful and sad inside. Will knew the Captain had money worries – a little too much gambling at the roulette wheel had seen to that – but could that have been the cause for his occasional fractured state?
The line from A Tale of Two Cities did seem final, now that he thought about it. Perhaps it's his own mortality that plagues him, Will thought.
He smiled as the realisation dawned on him. It was entirely possible Rick Shaw, skipper of the Spectre , was going through a midlife crisis.
Well , he thought. If crying for the tragedy of old books is the worst of it, then it's the least of my worries . . .
* * *
"Captain, you look . . . alive . More so than earlier, anyway."
"Reports of my general decay are grossly exaggerated," Shaw quipped. He brushed past his second in command and headed for the airlock. "Are we all set?"
"Kay's locking her down now," Will said, following behind.
"Excellent. What about Punk and Barbie?"
Will was about to answer when two loud voices erupted from the back end of the ship.
"Ah, damnit, is that them , scrapping again?" Shaw asked.
His question was followed by a loud crash and more shouting. Punk stormed up the corridor, face set with a scowl, brushing off his fur. The Alpor looked more than little worse for wear. "Crazy bloody Mantipor! She's lost 'er mind!"
"What was it this time?" Shaw asked.
The Alpor stood no more than four feet high with short black hair all over its body and a snout that resembled that of a large badger. In fact Punk could have been confused for one if it hadn't been for his gun belt, black clothing , and boots, finished off with a red bandana on his head, triangular ears poking up behind it.
"Having one of her soddin' rages again. All I did was move one of those crates. You know, the ones we got off resupply the last time we stopped off. Wanted to have a look
"Reminds me of my mistakes. In this instance, to always assume the crash position when I'm told to," he'd said at the time. "I'm of the opinion all scars are lessons well learnt."
That attitude didn't surprise Will. After all, Shaw was a man who loved to gamble, who drank heavily. Who read crumbling copies of books. The classics – the kind of stories that made Shaw, for all his swagger, for all his experience as a fighter, sob like a heartbroken child when he'd had one too many. The night before, in his cabin, Shaw had broken down a little as he told Will about a book he'd just finished. Will had helped him onto his bunk, and he lay there in the dark, tears glistening in his one, red eye.
"I can't help thinking about the end of that novel, William," the Captain had said. Another side effect of him having had a drink was his tendency to refer to Ardai by his full name.
"What novel's that?"
" A Tale of Two Cities ," Shaw said. "Have you read it?"
Will shook his head.
The Captain looked up at the ceiling, his gaze distant. "'It's a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.' What do you suppose it means eh, Commander?"
"I don't have a clue, sir," Will said, wanting to just leave him there, get to his own bunk and try to get his head down. Wanting to evacuate the ship with all hands but leave the Captain behind, still babbling.
"Sort of . . . I don't know, final isn't it?"
"I guess so," Will said. "Anyway, I'll say good -night . . ."
"Will?"
Sigh .
"Yes Captain," he said, becoming agitated now.
"If I . . . you know . . . go, and you're still working with me, make sure they say those words over my casket, won't you?"
"I never refuse an order, sir. Now get some rest."
It wasn't until he lay on his own bunk, his quarters spinning around him in a drunken haze that he thought on Shaw's bouts of melancholy. They came only with drink, as if the booze unlocked a part of him he kept well-hidden most of the time. Something painful and sad inside. Will knew the Captain had money worries – a little too much gambling at the roulette wheel had seen to that – but could that have been the cause for his occasional fractured state?
The line from A Tale of Two Cities did seem final, now that he thought about it. Perhaps it's his own mortality that plagues him, Will thought.
He smiled as the realisation dawned on him. It was entirely possible Rick Shaw, skipper of the Spectre , was going through a midlife crisis.
Well , he thought. If crying for the tragedy of old books is the worst of it, then it's the least of my worries . . .
* * *
"Captain, you look . . . alive . More so than earlier, anyway."
"Reports of my general decay are grossly exaggerated," Shaw quipped. He brushed past his second in command and headed for the airlock. "Are we all set?"
"Kay's locking her down now," Will said, following behind.
"Excellent. What about Punk and Barbie?"
Will was about to answer when two loud voices erupted from the back end of the ship.
"Ah, damnit, is that them , scrapping again?" Shaw asked.
His question was followed by a loud crash and more shouting. Punk stormed up the corridor, face set with a scowl, brushing off his fur. The Alpor looked more than little worse for wear. "Crazy bloody Mantipor! She's lost 'er mind!"
"What was it this time?" Shaw asked.
The Alpor stood no more than four feet high with short black hair all over its body and a snout that resembled that of a large badger. In fact Punk could have been confused for one if it hadn't been for his gun belt, black clothing , and boots, finished off with a red bandana on his head, triangular ears poking up behind it.
"Having one of her soddin' rages again. All I did was move one of those crates. You know, the ones we got off resupply the last time we stopped off. Wanted to have a look
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