Pandrusa - Liberation Day

**Pandrusa - Liberation Day** is a short story in Matthew Beale's *Pandrusa* series. It was written by Matthew Beale for the 75th Anniversary of VE Day and featured Jimmy Nash. The short story was first released online on 8 May, 2020 by Deck 10 Publications.

## Book Description

Alone on a distant planet in the far future, private-eye Jimmy Nash contemplates the new world he has found himself in and where his old world fits in with the life of Pandrusa and the knights of Oberon.

## Plot

Jimmy Nash settles into his surroundings in the city of Knights Haven on Ospiri. Visited by Quartermaster Stend from the Temple of Oberon, he familiarises with the history of the Grand Order of Oberon with the Pan-Galactic Tablet he retrieved from Rorvik's belongings on the Sirens' ship.

Hearing a commotion outside, Nash ventures out into the street to discover a celebration of the Human Empire's victory in the recent war. He learns of the war hero Captain Jamon Quinton whose statue stands above the market square in Knights Haven.

Withdrawing from the festivities, Nash searches for something to drink and meets Spiran innkeeper Phaun. He is invited to Phaun's tavern The *Barnard's Gauntlet*.

## Characters

James "Jimmy" Nash

Talas Stend

Phaun

## Full Text

Nash paced across the room for the umpteenth time. He looked down at his shoes. Besides the sand sticking to their soles, he had scuffed them from his constant patrol. The floor was of polished wood, although probably artificial, and the space was large enough to hold a feast. He had a long table, set for one, three large sofas and a bedroom just off from the living space. The tall, thin windows opened onto the raucous tavern district below. He had watched for some time as patrons sidled into the favourite bars to sit down and have a drink. Nash longed to join them, but he had been ordered to wait.

When he had first arrived at this apartment, Quartermaster Stend – the small mole-like servant who had taken him from the Temple of Oberon – had remained for around half an hour, as Nash had engaged him in a barrage of questions. Foremost of those had been on the Grand Order of Oberon and its legions of knights all serving the same cause.

On the Tablet he had taken, Nash scrolled through a history of the Grand Order of Oberon that presented itself on the screen. He learned of the Order’s early history during the First Earth Empire, the founding of the Order on Ospiri almost 200 years before, as well as the deeds of the famous knights who had graced the halls of the Temple.

He learned of Aemilius Pyramias, who had died defending his two squires on Rastora. He watched the accomplishments of Edmund Byrde – known as the Mentor – and of Elias Daggworth, a disgraced knight who died with honour, sacrificing his life in the field of battle.

Before Stend had left, Nash had discovered Rorvik’s discarded computing device in his pocket. He had shown it to the Quartermaster, who had turned the piece of technology over in his hands.

Stend nodded and adjusted the controls. After a few moments, the Quartermaster handed back the device. His small face broke into something that resembled a smile.

“It’s yours now,” Stend told him.

“What do you mean; mine? I found it but it was Rorvik’s,” Nash wondered.

“Yes, and now it’s yours,” explained Stend, “quite unpredictable, they were, the Mark IV – could pick up their owners moods and change accordingly. This one now belongs to you.”

The small man pressed something on the screen of the device. A black swirling vortex appeared on the display, with green branches interlinking together.

“It’s got Hypernet access, 200 million songs and I’ve synced up your software with the Grand Order’s cloud.”

Nash was lost for words. The Quartermaster left the room as the Tablet began to play a song. It was an old song from Nash’s time. He half remembered being at a dancehall during an air raid. The orchestra was huddled in the cellar with him and the other guests. They had struck up a song at about half-past four. He and Abigail had danced in that darkened cellar with the others; ignoring the sound of falling bombs.

It was these memories that rose to the surface for Nash as he sat in the apartment on Ospiri. It had been like another lifetime for him. One life under the threat of death in the ruins and rubble of Philipham End and another aboard a stolen spaceship racing from alien scavengers.

Nash poured himself a glass of a blue liquid he found in the cupboard. It was a thick concoction and smelled faintly of rotten eggs. He swigged the drink and gagged, coughing up the mixture into the sink. He took another sip, grimacing as he did so, and turned the liquid over on his tongue. He spat out the drink into the sink once again. It was no whiskey, that’s for sure. Not even the Grokwiz on Toros had been that bad.

Soon he became aware that distant music was playing from the streets below. He approached the window but could see no sign of the joviality. He craned his neck out of the window. Something told him there was a crowd gathered nearby. The Spirans were out in force. But this was not some ordered march or angered protest. Shouts of laughter could be heard and lively music played from far off.

“Right, that’s it!” he said aloud to himself.

Nash threw on his coat and flew from the apartment; the sounds of life drawing him to them.

In the streets below, Nash followed the sound of the crowd. It was coming from the marketplace to the east of the Temple of Oberon. Although Nash had been here for over a month, he knew little of navigating his way through the warren-like streets of Knights Haven. Pandrusa tended to travel by carriage.

It wasn’t difficult to find the market. The mass of humans and Spirans overflowed into the surrounding streets. They were waving banners and flags of every colour. There were royal purples and deep crimsons. Flags bearing the images of eagles, crowns and planets.

Humans were hand in hand with Spirans. Spirans hand in hand with Ularians. Ularians hand in hand with humans. Everywhere Nash looked, creatures that seemed natural enemies with one another were hugging and laughing and crying.

And beneath it all, the old song from Treonus played again. Through the load speakers in the marketplace, Nash could finally hear the words.

*A war was raging ‘cross the stars,*

*The Enemy descending,*

*An armoured fleet to rival ours,*

*Launched a war without ending,*

*In our darkest hour they closed in tight,*

*To the heart of the Human’s stronghold,*

*Prepared for war and armed to fight,*

*The humans who were defending,*

*Then from Mortis world there came a man,*

*Whose strength it was unbending,*

*From his homeworld he hatched a plan,*

*Captain Jamon was ascending,*

*He routed them at Iona 4,*

*Their fleet he saw was bending,*

*And when he donned an eyestalk belt,*

*Their Emperor he was offending,*

*This Captain strong and fierce was he,*

*Knew death it was impending,*

*He fought so hard to keep us free,*

*And Quinton had his ending.*

It finally made sense to Nash. This was a victory song. He had pushed his way through the crowd and into the marketplace.

Nash had been through here weeks before with his new acquaintance, Pandrusa. The knight had told him few details about the world that his order inhabited. Nash had wondered how little Pandrusa actually knew of it. For all his pomposity, he often seemed extremely out-of-touch and could be surprisingly ignorant.

Almost at the centre of the marketplace, stood a short statue adorned with gifts and candles. The statue was dwarfed by the almighty colossus in the harbour of Knights Haven, but the reverence it was being shown felt all the more real to Nash. It depicted a roughly-dressed man – half-way between a gunslinger and a soldier – holding a fist aloft. It stood at only three metres tall but its stone eyes shone with fire as he surveyed the Spirans clustered around him.

Beneath his feet lay the inscription.

*Captain Jamon Quinton*

*Hero of the Battle of Iona 4*

Nash backed away from the scene. He felt guilty. This had not been his war. He was not entitled to celebrate their victory against the oppressor. Not when he had stood by during his own conflict. His own enemy had taken everything he held dear. The Spirans and the humans were entitled to their own grief and happiness without him.

He meandered towards a stall at the edge of the festivities. Many landlords had erected makeshift bars surrounding the square. Nash headed to the nearest and took a seat. The Spiran barkeep shuffled over to him.

“Not enjoying the Liberation Day celebrations, sen?” he asked.

Nash rubbed his eyes and sank lower into his stool.

“You weren’t a collaborator, were you?” the landlord asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head.

“Worse. I missed your war.”

The Spiran snorted. Nash noticed the contents of his mole-like snout made it into the glass he had been wiping clean.

“My war?” he laughed, picking up a bottle from the counter and pouring it into a glass. “Ain’t no one’s war, sen, I can tell you. You think ol’ Phaun saw combat?”

He pointed to himself and shook his head.

“It’s all our war. Only two sides in this world, sen – you’re either a customer of mine or you’re an enemy of mine. Make your choice.”

He left the glass on the bar, now filled with a noxious red liquid. Nash gripped the unusually-shaped glass in one hand and threw it down his throat.

For a change, it was not unpleasant.

Phaun – the Spiran landlord – clapped him on the back and poured himself a glass.

“That’s good,” Nash commented, “what is it?”

But the landlord wasn’t listening. He swigged his own drink and belched loudly.

“Liberation Day ain’t just for the veterans and the knights who fought for the Human Empire,” he explained. “I’m a Spiran, you see, sen. I have no love for the Empress. But when the time came, the whole Galaxy came together to fight, and we won.”

Phaun was pouring Nash another glass. He dared not refuse, and allowed the landlord to continue.

“Some Spirans fought on both sides in the war. They didn’t have a choice. And they died with all the rest. Sen, don’t disrespect my ancestors by moping that you missed it. Now, drink up and smile with the rest.”

Nash took another healthy swig of red-whisky and pondered on Phaun’s words. He stared around at the crowds. Children of all species darted between the joyous adults. Ospiri’s sun shone golden light onto the rooftops of the city. Even the knight’s statue in the harbour glinted, its eye winking at Nash for a fraction of a second.

“Either way, that red-whisky ought to put a spring in you step,” Phaun said, turning away.

Nash got to his feet and stopped.

“Where can I find you again?”

Phaun let out a gruff laugh from his snout.

“The *Barnard’s Gauntlet*.”

Nash nodded.

“I’ll be there!”

He gave a cursory salute and joined the throng of revellers.

## References

1. ↑ Beale, M. (2020) *Pandrusa - Liberation Day* [online] Bristol: Deck 10 Publications. [Accessed 29 October 2020]