The Tar

By Nicholas David Evans

Zacharia Tobias has retired from The United Western Navy. This might be considered 'just cause' for a celebration, but visiting Daisy's Bar after consuming such a large amount of alcohol, proved not to be one of Zack's best ideas.
Zack does not normally 'play well with others', but despite his cynical view of the human race, he finds that some aspects of it, are worth fighting for.
Spartax, a large corporate organisation has infiltrated the Central Bureau of Intelligence; they want control over a sentient alien artefact that Penn Millen and her father re- discovered on their home world. This is not going to happen, not if Penn and her friends can help it.
Zack did not willingly choose to fight, but he is not a man to provoke.
Sailing to the stars, this is just the beginning!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicholas David Evans
• Release date: May 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301415052

Nicholas David Evans

I was born in Rotherham, Yorkshire but moved to Dorking, Surrey at an early age. Completed a formal apprentiship in Engineering, then moved to New Jersey, USA where I lived for several years. Later I returned to the UK and lived in Devon. Currently, I reside in Fuerteventura with my wife Sonya and lots of dogs (she works for a dog rescue charity). I have a passion for science and technology, I try to not only 'think outside the box' but 'live' there as well. To me, cynicism is an admirable personality trait. I am and will remain, young of heart and mind, and am an incurable romantic. Life's a garden 'dig it'!

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The Tar

by

Nicholas David Evans

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Copyright 2013 Nicholas David Evans

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Dedicated to Sonya Leslie Evans, the amazing woman, who swoops and soars while wearing and sharing a common sense gown.

Chapter 1

A bit of a rumble

Everyone had stood up as he entered the courtroom; the previously loud conversations were replaced by a silence that was charged with tension and anticipation. Or maybe it was just me that was tense.

Judge Hollister was a white haired elderly man but his face was chiseled and lean, he had the complexion of a politician. If it had not been obvious from his robe and wig that he was actually a member of the judiciary, one might have suspected that he was an actor, perhaps one whose specialty it was to portray biblical characters such as Moses, or even God.

He carried himself with the air and dignity of someone who was accustomed to being in a position of authority; he had never tolerated any form of disrespect, nor would he ever do so, especially here, in what was for all intents and purposes his kingdom, his courtroom.I had heard from my companions in the cells, that within his jurisdiction he was indeed very well respected; in addition to this they had warned me that he was an extremely powerful man. Perhaps of more pertinence to my understanding of his giddy social standing, was that according to the media, he was politically ambitious and a personal friend of the incumbent Governor of California.

I had listened most carefully to him during his deliberations and sometime during my observations of his almost pious method of ruling this judicial domain, combined with the superior manner that he used with his underlings, I developed what I will now stress is solely my own opinion of this handsome, self proclaimed deity…I thought he was a total asshole.

In retrospect I guess it was not necessary, proper and perhaps not even one of my greatest ideas, to actually inform him of my opinion so openly, especially as there was a good chance that he was already well aware that he was one.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing, as is common sense, unfortunately as my father had often pointed out to me, I have never been blessed with the ability to learn from the former nor had the temperament to be guided by the latter. Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that I had probably broken one or two County ordinances, and according to the strict letter of the law maybe even a couple of Federal statutes, but I’m not accustomed to public brawling and consider myself to be of fairly decent character; this was an opinion obviously not shared by the court, or indeed the judge himself.

At the time of the trial it was obvious to me that Judge Hollister was failing to take into account the overwhelming amount of provocation to which I had been subjected. I felt at the time and still personally feel even now, that the particular extenuating circumstances of my case, absolutely and completely justified my actions, (or misdemeanors depending on your perspective). In any case, all of the reports from the hospital that were submitted by the prosecution as evidence had indicated conclusively that the four injured policemen would eventually make a full recovery.

I had explained to the court truthfully and at great length, (with as much sincerity as I could muster) that before the fracas had started, I had simply been enjoying the charming rustic atmosphere in Daisy’s Bar, I was just minding my own business watching the world pass by. Being a stand up type of guy, I even conceded during my testimony that there was a distinct possibility that perhaps I was a little the worse for wear. The major contributing factor to my condition and the excuse I had for consuming such a ludicrously large amount of alcohol, (they produced credit slips from seven bars) was that I had been celebrating.

I proudly told the court that having just been Honorably discharged after completing a twelve-year stint in the United Western Navy, I thought that a celebration of some magnitude was totally reasonable, I can see now that this did not impress them.

The party had started a day earlier at San Diego Field with a few of the boys from the ULYSSES who had managed to wangle shore leave for the occasion. As farewell parties go it was an absolute humdinger, and despite high spirits we had not as yet suffered any casualties nor had we, so far as I know, been a nuisance to anyone. Although the shore party seemed to me to be highly entertaining with their antics, alcohol was taking its toll and things were starting to slow down.

Sometime into the second day I had become a little introspective, after some consideration I had made the decision to lose my comrades and try to find somewhere a bit quieter. I genuinely felt the need to be alone so that I could contemplate my future as an Ex- Navy man, it had crossed my mind that if I decided civilian life had nothing much to offer, there was always the option of re-enlisting to consider. Another reason for my sudden urge for solitude could have been that my body was telling my subconscious that it had taken enough abuse.

Saying goodbye to my shipmates while they were having such a good time could have proven emotional and problematical, being a considerate guy I thought that the easiest thing would be for me to just disappear and leave them to it.

I slipped out of the rear of the club that we were in, choosing to do so when the dancer on the podium was reaching the climax of her striptease. I was hoping that all attention would be focused in her direction, although nothing in her performance seemed to me to be in any way unique or even vaguely erotic. Don’t get me wrong, I really do appreciate the beauty and ugliness of human nudity, but having seen such acts on many worlds they had become a little stale to me, a sure sign of the onset of old age.

As I was leaving I paused to wonder how long it would be before my comrades would notice my absence, or if they would even notice at all. I left the club to find it was raining, the people lining up to be admitted were huddled for shelter against the wall, whilst the doormen did their thing, wielding their authority in the style expected from their ancient guild.

Having spent most of my life shipboard I have an aversion to weather of any kind and I nearly had a change of heart, starting to think that at least the club was warm, windless and dry. Instead I gritted my teeth pulled up my collar and crossed the street to the taxi rank. I had no problem finding a vacant cab despite the rain.

The instant the cab door closed I just punched a code into the console for a street name that I had selected, I chose the particular street using very demanding criteria, (which was that it appeared on the map to be on the opposite side of town). Ground traffic was light, the cab only lifted at one intersection to avoid a crossing freighter. After only ten minutes or so the cab announced in a sultry voice that we had reached our destination, ordinarily I would have gotten out and walked the street to locate what I was looking for, but the rain had increased the tempo of it’s percussion on the plastic cab roof, I was still not sure exactly what type of establishment would best suit my needs, my indecision had obviously exceeded the time allowed in the cabs programming, because it demanded with an impatient inflection to it’s voice that I give it further instructions, so I ordered it to slowly cruise the street, this gave me time to do a proper recon and look for an establishment appropriate to my needs. It was only another five minutes before I hit pay dirt.

Daisy’s Bar had at that time seemed ideally suited to my purposes, it was small and in a suburb of the City that was not popular with tourists (or anyone else for that matter). The neon sign outside was a warm lava red colour and its light transformed the falling raindrops into a cascade of luminous ruddy sparks, perhaps I should have taken this imitation of an erupting volcano as an ill omen and gone elsewhere. After swiping my ID at the taxi, I crossed the street and entered the bar.

The barman rudely inspected me as I approached him, he was probably the hairiest thing you could find outside of a rain forest. I said earnestly, I take it you’re not Daisy?

He did not smile but instantly replied through his thick beard, That’s really funny sailor, are you buying a drink or are you with the comedy act we booked for last Saturday? I ordered my drink and scanned the place for somewhere suitable to be melancholy. I chose a corner seat at a table by the window, from where I could watch the street outside and still have an overview of the main bar area. This allowed me to indulge in my favorite pastime, (well probably my second favorite), which was ‘people watching’, try it sometime, with a little discretion it provides endless hours of free entertainment.

I had been there for perhaps an hour and had sunk a couple of beers and a shot; (unfortunately for me Daisy’s was not the kind of place that would red card you when you had too much to drink). I was absolutely convinced at the time, that I was in with a good chance of being able to practice my ‘probably first favorite pastime’, with my new best friend Missi.

Missi was the waitress who had been subjected to my none too sober, but nevertheless gallant charms. She had even laughed appropriately at my wit, (half of its normal sober self), and it did seem to me at the time, that negotiations for a horizontal contract were heading towards a satisfactory conclusion. In the reality of my now sober world, I realize that it was more than likely I was totally incapable, as well as being almost totally incomprehensible. One thing I do seem to remember clearly was that Missi had become increasingly attractive as the evening had progressed, as undoubtedly with co-ordination and speech falling victim to the murderous Mr Jack Daniels, I had become less so.

As I became more relaxed and more detached from reality, I watched with mild disinterest as two squad cars pulled up outside, their doors opened and four police officers literally fell out of them, staggered across the sidewalk and into the bar. Somewhere in my thick head alarm bells should have been ringing, alerting me that this was no longer a safe harbour, but my sensible angel was at this stage pretty much comatose.

That was the point where I should have left, and the point where all my troubles began.

They entered the bar with a great commotion, I remember thinking that drunks who can’t act with a modicum of decorum should remain sober. It was plain to see that they were regulars, because of the way that Sasquatch the barman welcomed them each by name as they bellied up to the bar. It must have been at least an hour, (and another beer or three) before I had cause to notice them again.

Sergeant Brandt of the San Diego Police department had just been given his long awaited promotion, he felt that it was a moment in his life that should be shared with everyone, he had been long suffering the jibes and nagging, that his ‘well to do’ wife so casually and hurtfully threw his way, his promotion to sergeant would please her, as it was one more step upwards towards a rank that would be acceptable to her snooty family. To Sergeant Brandt personally, it certainly meant that a few drinks with his men was totally justifiable. One thing had led to another and they had found themselves in Daisy’s Bar, (actually not unusual for a Saturday night).

In his heart the sergeant knew that his men did not really like him, he strongly suspected that their camaraderie was not genuine, just a pretense to gain his favour and that the only reason they accompanied him was because of his seniority, position and family connections. His paranoia had been with him since school and was to a great extent well founded. He was always the last to be picked by his classmates in any team games, not because he had been un-athletic or poorly coordinated, but because even back then he was a tosser. He had struggled to combat his lack of popularity by trying that little bit harder to be one of the guys in order to accomplish this he had a tendency to be louder, bullish and to try to be more central to any activity that was happening; this of course had the reverse effect and made him even less popular. He was acutely aware that the evening was coming to a close, due to the fact that conversation was drying up, watches were being scrutinized and glasses drained. He was desperate not to lose even this sham of warmth and fellowship provided by his sycophantic colleagues. He knew that unless some entertainment was forthcoming, his men would soon be making their excuses before leaving. In order to prolong his celebrations, he decided that his only option was to provide some entertainment, one way or another he was going to make it an evening not to be forgotten.

He scanned the bar for possibilities, there were a few regulars watching Zero-Ball on the stereo-cast, a drunken sailor sat in the window seat, and a couple in the booth directly behind him.

The drunk in the corner wore a Navy coverall that had seen better days and he was in no condition to be any fun whatsoever. Brandt had rousted the locals on so many other occasions, that he knew they would willingly succumb to any indignities he subjected them to, they were all well aware that things would only get worse if they resisted his