Prologue
Early in the twenty-fourth century, the Unified Collaboration of Systems, a peaceful collection of over two-hundred member worlds, was flourishing in the arts and sciences. Near faster than light travel—known colloquially as jumping—was enjoyed by nearly every one of the two hundred and thirty species in the UCS. Trade and commerce were at an all-time galactic high, as the sharing of ideas, cultures, and wealth was enjoyed by every system that had been admitted to the Unified Collaboration. Poverty, disease, and hunger had become words without example, barely spoken within an area of hundreds of square light years.
Then the invaders arrived.
It had started with an attack on a research station in the frontier, the furthest portion of the Outer Sphere of Unified space. Then, one by one, subsequent systems began to fall victim to the interlopers. At first, multilateral government agencies in the UCS scurried to find as much information as they could about the threat they now faced. All that was initially known was that the invaders were fierce combatants, and they held no mercy for their conquered foes.
In a bold move, the various heads of the Unified Council agreed to organize a massive effort to halt the invaders advance into their territory. A full scale Unified Sector Command fleet of warships was sent out to the edge of explored space in an attempt to warn the alien menace away. Like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, the two factions ignited a conflict that was sure to go down in history as the greatest struggle for survival the galaxy had ever known… if anyone survived to tell the tale.
The Galactic War had begun.
The war raged on for over half a decade. Dozens of Unified planets succumbed to the invaders, known only by name as the Kafaran. The old allegiances of the UCS waxed and waned as some worlds—those once dedicated to peace and prosperity—joined forces with the Kafaran’s in their quest for victory. Enormous fleets were built on both sides, and each struggled for supremacy in the stars high above distant worlds in the far reaches of Beta Sector—one of the three wedge shaped sections of the First Quadrant. Whole civilizations crumbled, tens of thousands of military personnel perished on both sides, and billions of innocent people lost their homes… or their lives.
In the end, the herculean Unified Sector Command fleet had managed to push the Kafaran’s back into an otherwise unexplored region beyond the edge of the galaxy. Then, without any warning, the fighting ended as abruptly as it had begun. The area of space that was recognized as belonging to the Kafaran’s was quickly deemed off limits to all Unified members. Outposts—some manned and some automated—were installed along the borders of the region in an attempt to monitor the Kafaran’s movements. It seemed to the Unified government that victory was theirs.
However, the toll on the Unified Collaboration had been exacting. Of the five original founding members of the Unified government, only three of the Core Worlds now remained. Soon after the war, many outlying member worlds formed a deep mistrust of the large governing body of the Unified council. The overall economics of the region were in ruins, and many worlds expressed a self-guided interest to guard their own people and materials instead of trusting the UCS bureaucracy to handle those affairs. One by one, the fringe worlds began to splinter off, fracturing back into their pre-member status. Others formed new allegiances of their own, coalescing into small pockets of semi-government factions. Some planetary systems had even given up interstellar travel all together. In the end, a large portion of the Outer Sphere of planets abdicated their positions on the council, with the far reaches of the frontier long forgotten as the struggling Unified Collaboration of System's foothold in the Milky Way reverted back to a size it hadn't known in centuries.
The Sector Command fleet had likewise dwindled in size, strength, and overall authority. Space that was once freely traveled was now riddled with merchants, dubious civilians, and pirates of every conceivable shape and size. Planets that were once patrolled and maintained by the Sector Command warships were now considered too dangerous to approach, as the safety of the USC crews could not be assured. Many of the men and women that had fought in the Galactic War left the service in search of fortunes to be had on worlds no longer governed by the Collaboration. Some found them… others lost everything.
Outside of the relative safety of the Inner Sphere, nothing could be trusted, and nothing was.
In the now feral reaches of the galaxy, beyond the comfort of the Inner Sphere, people struggled to rebuild and survive as they stopped looking toward the tentative future and instead focused on the now problematic present.
Chapter 1
Everyone seems to overlook the fact that, in order for the mythical Phoenix to rise from the fiery remains of its predecessor, it had to first be on fire, and that’s precisely where Shawn Kestrel found himself. His last five days were supposed to be spent on a simple two-legged trade route from his home port on the planet Minos to the small mining colony on the planet Averna, about three light-years distant. That’d been the easy part. It wasn’t until after the drop-off, when Shawn had stopped into the local bar on Averna to imbibe and count his profits—or lack thereof—that he’d willfully invited misfortune into his life. With Unified credits not flowing through the adjoining systems as freely as they used to, and with the seller of the cargo making quite an attractive offer, Shawn had reluctantly agreed to add a third leg to his journey, picking up a last minute shipment bound for Donatue III, a desolate planet near the edge of the Outer Rim of the sector.
He should have known better. After all, it was one of the first unspoken rules of interstellar trade: never add more than you planned for when you took off. Now, with his ship burning up as it plummeted toward the surface of Minos at an incredible rate of speed, he wasn’t in a position to argue the logic of that doctrine.
It’s fascinating what can pass before your eyes in those final moments as you plunge to your death. It was interesting that, considering what most people say about seeing the faces of loved ones, various deities, or having regrets about cheating on your sixth grade trigonometry homework, Shawn now considered them all apocryphal. The only thing presently buzzing about the synapses of his grey matter was how to avoid having his treasured flight jacket torn in the imminent crash.
After all, there were just some things you simply couldn’t replace.
He grasped the dual handled control stick with one hand, which seemed to strenuously object by shaking violently and demanding his utmost attention. His right hand, however, was occupied controlling the lateral maneuvering jets as he attempted to get his lumbering craft on the right glide slope for planetary reentry—not an easy feat without the raw slowing power of the four reentry thrusters. Red warning lights, the universal color of danger, began popping up like lemmings on his control board. More annoyingly, the proximity alarm had begun to sound, and there were very few noises in the galaxy more ear shattering or cringe inducing.
The normally beautiful blue and white world outside of the ship was a blur of motion as the shuddering of the Mark-IV interstellar transport threatened to rattle its rivets and screws from their resting places. With the maneuvering jets of little use for gross movements, and knowing that his ships nose needed to be more starboard in the next thirty seconds—less he be burned to a crisp—he reluctantly fired the portside main drive engine, a dangerous move, considering the extreme heat of the outer hull was likely to damage the finely balanced unit. At the moment, however, it seemed a small price to pay to save one’s life. With small, controlled blasts, the planet Minos swung from the starboard side of the wide view port to rest dead-center with his craft.
Finally, something is going my way.
A moment later the quaking subsided as the nimble freighter transitioned from the mesospheric to the stratospheric layer. Shawn watched as the temperature of the outer hull also began to decrease rapidly, already dropping below seven hundred and fifty degrees from the peak twelve hundred of a standard reentry. Blessedly, the proximity warning had stopped nearly as soon as it’d started shrieking through the speakers. He was now immersed in the upper cloud layers of the planet, the wisps of white flowing around his craft as if he were flying through sheets of silk. All he had to do now was strike a bargain with the universal law of gravity and he’d be right as rain.
His ship, which he’d christened Sylvia’s Delight, was doing more of a controlled fall than an actual landing. Not intended for extended atmospheric operations, D was essentially a great metal brick slaloming around the cumulonimbus clouds that stretched from six-thousand to as high as twenty-thousand feet into the sky. The maneuvering thrusters, designed for precision landings while hovering, were none the less doing an admirable job of slowing the craft’s plunge. After descending to just under five-thousand feet, Shawn saw the welcoming mile high spire of Mount Di’Kul—the island chains largest volcano—jutting through a layer of cumulous clouds that had gathered low around the islands. Above the mountain, not far from Shawn’s original entry point into the atmosphere, were the fragmented remains of Charnt, Minos’s long dead moon.
Reaching for the main engine controls again, he was greeted by the ever pleasant female voice of the ships computer, which informed the captain in its melodious tone that all drive systems were completely down.
“You have to be kidding me?” he asked in utter disbelief.
The computer responded in the negative.
“Initiate main drive startup sequence!”
“Unable to comply,” the computer immediately replied.
“That was too fast. I don’t think you even tried.”
“Of course I tried, Captain,” the computer responded in a moderately perturbed tone. “The safety interlocks prevent this course of action. Please assume crash positions.”
“Override safety locks and initiate the main drive startup sequence now!”
“At the current altitude and velocity, such a procedure could be fatal to the structural integrity of the vessel.”
“Are you concerned about me or yourself?”
The computer seemed to mull the question over for a second. “Does it matter?”
What idiot thought it would be a good idea for computers to talk, let alone argue with you? Weren’t they supposed to blindly obey orders, no matter how dangerous or ridiculous it seemed? Some genius, at some point in the last two hundred or so years, thought it was a good idea to put a form of artificial intelligence in these things, making it easier to order a latte while simultaneously taking out some of the danger involved in basic space flight. Unfortunately, it was that same forward thinking idiot’s sense of overprotection that was about to cost Shawn his life.
“Look, you and I have gotten on pretty well the last few years, and I’ve never tried to ask more of you than I thought you could give. You’ve been good to me, and I’ve tried to be a good steward of what I’ve got. But make no mistake about this: If you don’t release the locks on the main drive engine and begin an auto startup sequence I will, so help me, put a bullet through your CPU and do it myself.” As if to make his point, he withdrew his sidearm from the holster slung around the side of his chest.
The computer, taking a moment to correlate the available information, responded in the affirmative. “Safety locks disengaged. Auto startup sequence in process.” Its tone was less than pleased. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The distinctive whine of the engines beginning to power up was music to Shawn’s ears. All things being equal, a startup of this nature was only required when the ship first took off from a landed position. To disengage the safety protocols was to skip about a dozen procedures in the normal startup routine. Vital systems, such as core coolant levels and monostator lubrication pressure, went unchecked as the computer attempted to start the two massive thrusters at the rear of the cargo ship.
The enormous distant volcano, as well as the water below, came more clearly into focus. Why, at this moment, Shawn’s brain thought it would be a good time to flash his entire life before his otherwise occupied eyes he couldn’t say for certain. Perhaps it was all about perspective. When your ship is two hundred miles above the surface, you don’t get the same feeling of dread as you do when you’re only a hundredth of that from certain death. Based on the speed of Sylvia’s Delight and her current trajectory, if the engines didn’t start up in the next thirty seconds the cargo ship would either crash headlong into Mount Di’Kul or overshoot the island entirely, the one hundred and ten foot long ship shredding itself to pieces against the large coral monoliths that jutted from the shallow waters beyond.
There was a sharp bump in the control stick, followed quickly by another, and Shawn realized the engines were attempting to light off. Closer and closer the jolts came to one another until they were very nearly overlapping. Suddenly every light, every gauge, every system inside the ship sprang to life. Even a few gauges he swore were not there before lit up brilliantly. The rough ride instantly smoothed out as the main drive engines took over the job of propelling the craft.
Fifty feet from the surface of the water, the main engines lit with twin blue blasts of brilliance as the stern of Sylvia’s Delight parted the shallow waters behind the craft in a glorious wake that would’ve made any pleasure boater green with envy. The ship then rocketed away from the beach, swinging in a wide arch around the island as Shawn angled the craft for a landing at his personal hangar.
*
“Well, Skipper, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” Trent offered slowly as he entered Shawn’s office. “Which would you like to hear first?”
Of all the people in Beta Sector, why did this have to happen to him, and why now? As if the unrelenting heat waves wafting around the islands weren’t enough, Shawn had also missed the last payments on his utility bills. To make matters even worse, his singular source of income was now little more than a barely hovering money pit sitting out in the hangar.
Shawn looked forlornly to Trent Maddox, his faithful mechanic, friend, sole business partner at the Old Flamingo Transport Agency, occasional drinking buddy, and often smart ass.
The old wooden desk chair squeaked in protest as Shawn leaned back and put a hand to his mouth, rubbing a days’ worth of stubble on his chin as he pondered how to best answer Trent. An hour before, Shawn had realized that if he’d been able to complete his most recent shipment, he would’ve finally been able to pull himself free of the near bottomless pit of bills and notices stacked haphazardly on the desk before of him. As it was, the cargo from that haul—that fateful third leg that never should have been—was now warm and comfortable in the belly of some pirate cruiser, and his own vessel had more than her share of damage to show for the encounter. So, with the primary inspection of Sylvia’s Delight done, it seemed that Trent’s singular responsibility was to deliver the fatal torpedo to Shawn’s already foundering week. After all, what good news could he possibly have?
Trent, standing in the center of the office opposite Shawn’s desk, with his tattered and stained red ball cap on backwards, rung his hands nervously as he searched for the right words to offer his employer. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, and his arms and hands were coated in some kind of thick, black slime that the mechanic had tracked into the office. Trent’s gray coveralls were smattered in grease stains from nearly head to toe. When he finally took a seat, he left sticky hand prints smudged into the armrests of the chair.
Shawn locked eyes with his mechanic, glancing down to Trent’s hands before bringing them back up.
“Oh, sorry,” Trent replied sheepishly as he manufactured an old rag from his back pocket and attempted to wipe off the offending grease. The scene was more comical than sanitary, as the rag he’d produced was filthier than his hands had been—if that were possible. In fact, Shawn swore it’d made his hands even worse. Looking defeated over the futility of the endeavor, Trent put the rag back into his pocket just as Shawn produced a clean one from his desk and tossed it over.
While Trent cleaned the last bits of grime off his hands and the chair, Shawn absently rubbed at his eyes and then leaned back again, feeling instantly overwhelmed with the situation. Exhausted, he ran his right hand through his wavy brown hair and began to contemplate how he’d gotten into this situation in the first place. This whole thing was supposed to be about starting over, about making a new, more relaxing life for myself. It was not supposed to be about having my livelihood sitting useless in a hangar, not about being hijacked by pirates, and certainly not about almost plummeting to my death in my own ship. He looked to the slowly sputtering coffee maker on the far cabinet, probably the slowest one in the known universe, realizing with a dash of misery that he’d have to wait another ten to fifteen years before his morning cup would be brewed.
Par for the course.
Pushing his past mistakes and poor decisions aside for the moment, he realized that he may well have to pry the information about the status of his ship from Trent. “Just tell me what’s wrong with D,” he said, looking down at the cluttered mound of paperwork on his usually well-organized desk.
Trent tossed the now thoroughly soiled towel into a metal wastebasket to the right of Shawn’s desk, and then leaned back in his own chair. “Well, the number two and three ventral inverters are blown on the starboard engine. Also, it looks like we have a slight hydraulic leak in the port forward landing strut.”
Shawn rolled his eyes. “Oh, is that all?”
“Well, that and the fact that a few of the gauges aren’t working so well.”
With one hand already on his scalp, Shawn brought the other up to meet it as he rested his elbows on the desktop, his eyes fixed on the stack of bills. “They were working fine when I landed.”
Trent narrowed his eyes. “You call that a landing?”
“It was the best I could do.” Shawn had no idea why he was defending himself. He only knew that, somewhere in this whole mess, he was sure that he was the victim. “It’s not like I had a lot to work with. Anyway, which gauges are supposedly not working?”
Trent removed his soiled ball cap and scratched at the crest of his head. “I’m pretty sure all of them.”
Shawn couldn’t help but let an exasperated sigh escape his lips.
“I know, Captain. It’s a bit of a letdown.”
“Just a small one,” Shawn quipped, holding up his thumb and index fingers in a pinching motion.
“I have no doubt that I can get her ship shape again,” Trent offered apologetically. “But it’s going to take some time. It isn’t exactly easy getting spare parts for one of these old Mark-IV’s in the middle of nowhere, you know?”
Shawn’s buried his face in his hands. “How long?”
Trent smiled and quickly stood up from his chair, then grandly waved a hand in front of his face—as if to swat the world’s slowest imaginary fly. “Don’t worry about a thing, Skipper. I’m sure I can have her up and running in less than two weeks.”
Shawn, his eyes wide in shock, smacked his palms on the desktop. “Two weeks?”
“Yeah, two weeks, assuming we order the parts from Alpha Unuthal III today. Of course, I might be able to get it done sooner if you can pull some strings with the locals.”
Shawn fell back in his chair, bringing one hand to his face and slowly massaging the bridge of his nose. “By locals, you mean De Lorme?”
“Just remember, I wasn’t the one who said it.” Trent held up his hands cautiously. “While I’m sure Jacques De Lorme can steal whatever we need, I’m willing to bet there are other locals who can help us just as easily—at least, ones that are far less likely to kill us, anyway.”
Shawn cast his eyes to the ceiling. The yellowed plaster was peeling in several places, and a rather large spider had taken up residence in the furthest corner. He let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you think he’s going to be sore about what happened to his shipment to Donatue III?” Shawn asked, instantly reminded of the time he’d wordily asked his mother if she thought his father was going to be upset about him crashing the family hover car through the garage when he was twelve.
“You’re joking, right?” Trent asked in surprise. “Knowing Jack, he probably hijacked his own shipment just so he could get out of paying you for it.”
That thought had definitely crossed Shawn’s mind—especially in those last few moments when the pirate’s laser batteries had fried his port retro infusers. That was the trouble with dealing with pirates, and the fast talking Jacques De Lorme was one of the slickest—not to mention one of the best dressed—in the whole sector. In any case, it’d be best to avoid Jacques’ drinking establishment, known by most everyone as Jack’s Place, for as long as possible.
“Besides,” Trent continued. “I’m sure there are others around here who owe you a favor or two.”
Shawn pushed himself free from his chair and walked slowly out from behind his wooden desk. “There aren’t, I can assure you. I’ve pulled in every outstanding favor I’ve been owed just to keep this place afloat for the last three months. I think I may even owe some favors of my own. Be that as it may, it seems that everyone expects this ship to be operational and at their beck and call. Everyone has cargo that needs to be ferried in a timely manner, and we do it or we don’t get paid. Need I remind you that some of these shipments fall into the category of, shall we say, questionably legal? We’re near enough to the edge of the Sector Command’s patrol area that friendly assistance is about three weeks distant on a good day. It wouldn’t cause anyone much concern if one more free trader and his wayward mechanic up and vanished, if you get my drift.”
“Yeah, but… but the locals need us,” Trent said, but his tone failed to be reassuring. “We’re kind of a planetary asset. It’s not like there’s a whole cadre of ships willing to transport the kind of things we move between systems.”
“Maybe,” Shawn had to agree, and it made him feel even worse. He regretted having to skirt past Sector Command, and he’d done so on more than once occasion, which meant he felt exceedingly bad about it. He usually thought of himself as a good citizen—save for an occasional misstep in judgment. It’d never crossed his mind that someday he might have to blur the line between right and wrong just to put food on his plate. While he’d never stoop to the level of a common pirate, he’d admittedly become quite the opportunist in the last year. Someday, he was sure, he’d have to make amends—one way or another. Hopefully that time was a long way off.
“We don’t know that for certain,” Shawn continued. “Just because we’re the first ones they usually call on, it doesn’t mean that there aren’t others waiting in the wings to pick at our table scraps. And, you better believe that one wrong move on our part is all they’d need to step up and take over our trade routes. Besides, just because the local magistrate gives us a tax break in exchange for discounted shipping, it doesn’t mean we don’t have bills to pay. We have debts like everyone else. Add to the fact that the planetary government isn’t responsible for the upkeep of this ship,” Shawn waived his hand in a grandiose fashion towards Silvia’s Delight parked in the hangar. “If we don’t fly, we don’t make money. If we don’t make money, we can’t buy parts, let alone food.” The thought of a hot breakfast past over his mind, conjuring up images of bacon and eggs, and before he had a chance to expunge the thoughts his stomach growled in protest.
If he heard it, Trent didn’t seem to pay the sound any mind. “What about all those credits you saved up during the war? We have reserves, don’t we?”
Shawn shook his head dismissively. “We talked about this last week. The reserves are going dry. We needed this paycheck from De Lorme. That was the only reason I agreed to turn the run to Averna into a three-legged triangle route.” He inclined his head in the direction of his stricken ship. “And you can see how well that decision turned out.”
“Well, let’s just take out a loan and—”
“We can’t take out a loan, Trent,” Shawn casually interrupted his friend’s chain of thought.
“Why?”
Shawn motioned Trent to follow him out into the small maintenance hangar. The bay, covered on all sides and separated from the weather by a pair of large clamshell like doors, was just large enough to hold the Hypervarion Mark-IV interstellar transport, a full load of cargo, and precious little else. In an inconspicuous corner of the hangar, behind the wounded silver transport, was a stack of square crates twenty feet high.
“You see those over there?” Shawn asked, pointing to the large boxes with one hand while the other rested on his friends shoulder.
“Yeah,” Trent said, jerking his head back slightly.
“Those crates are full of weapons and ammunition. And we’re not talking about pea shooters, either. This is some pretty serious military grade hardware; the kind that can get you a few years in a Unified penal asteroid colony if you get caught peddling it. Every one of those crates has to be hauled to the Port of Welga in three days. They have to get there on time, and under no circumstances can they be late or be delayed, or you and I will be very very unhappy people.”
“So, what’s that got to do with getting a loan from the bank?”
Shawn guided Trent over to the nearest crate. He withdrew a small computer tablet from his pocket, pointed it momentarily at the cargo, then handed it to Trent. Due to the poor backlighting of the old device’s screen, Trent had to squint to properly read what was being displayed. “Property of the Bank of Welga,” he read aloud. He cocked his head and slowly turned to face Shawn. “You mean…?”
“Yep,” Shawn smiled. “The good old locals, my friend.”
“And we’ve got to… you know?” Trent asked as a look of deep concern crossed his face.
“That’s right. We sure do. And something tells me Toyotomi Katashi isn’t going to look too kindly on a loan request when his own shipment fails to arrive.”
With a penchant for mathematics, it didn’t take Trent long to calculate the travel time required to haul the crates all the way to the large trade port on the planet Persephone. “In three days?”
Shawn placed his right hand back on the mechanic’s shoulder, but quickly realized it was now coated in whatever filth was dusting Trent’s clothing. Unfortunately, without a rag handy, there was nothing he could do to clean it. He dejectedly regarded his soiled palm, then glanced over to Sylvia’s Delight sleeping serenely, albeit broken, and waiting for her next adventure. Beyond the hangar doors, off on the distant horizon, the twin suns of Minos were only now rising, bathing the hangars innards in a soothing orange glow.
“Yep. In three days.”
*
Melissa Graves sat in tears, her once perfectly applied make-up running like twisted roadways down her ivory cheeks. Minutes before, she’d planned to call on an old friend for morning tea. In the blink of an eye, however, her whole world—everything she’d ever known—had been turned upside down and changed for the worse. Her lengthy red hair, once pulled back tightly and tied with a black bow, was now hanging loosely around her shoulders as she attempted to organize the cascade of feelings screaming throughout her body.
It had started innocently enough with the chime of her doorbell.
A young man, a Sector Command administrative lieutenant, was there to greet her as she opened it. Having seen a great number of officer’s parade through her life, it didn’t surprise her that his face was unfamiliar. What did strike her was how short he was. At five foot four, Melissa was average height for a woman of thirty two, but she still had to tilt her head slightly downward to see eye-to-eye with the young officer. He had an almost childlike quality about him, a type of impertinence that spoke volumes of the person that he was. And, if there was one thing for certain, it was that Melissa was well trained in reading people instantly. This was definitely a young man who had never faced death on equal terms. His gray dress uniform was spotless, his black shoes shined like mirrors on his feet, and the silver buttons on the front of his coat were at just the right angle to reflect sunlight into Melissa’s green eyes. There was a determined formality to his presence, which Melissa immediately interpreted as a bad omen.
He had asked for her name and, when she’d provided the information and the proper identity code, he’d promptly handed her a small, unadorned wooden box and an unassuming envelope. Once the items were in Melissa’s hands he offered a quick salute, and then departed as quickly as he’d arrived. She watched as the young man stepped into his olive drab hover car, the standard government vehicle of choice these days, and sped away in a small plume of dust. She stepped back inside, giving one last look in the direction of the departing car before allowing the front door to close itself.
Knowing her childhood home as well as she did, she deftly maneuvered around the furniture as she looked over the envelope on her way to the study. She glided to the vintage writing desk in the corner of the room, setting the wooden box on its angled surface as she inspected the envelope more closely.
It was yellowish in color and with no writing on it, save that of her name and prefecture address on Thress. It had been years since she’d seen a handwritten letter, much less received one, and she wondered with curiosity at its contents. Melissa opened the long lower drawer of the desk, remembering that a few weeks ago she’d seen a bladed instrument in there somewhere. After rifling about for a few moments she found just what she was looking for. She momentarily regarded the small, highly polished knife before sliding it along the adhesive side of the envelope and withdrawing its contents.
Dear Miss Graves,
Unified Sector Fleet Command, in conjunction with the Office of Personnel for the Unified Collaboration of Systems, wishes to inform you of the disappearance of your father, Admiral William B. Graves. While Sector Command has made every effort to discover the location of your father, we regret to inform you that we are, at this time, unable to determine his current whereabouts. Due to the nature of his last assignment, we are incapable of disclosing any further information on this matter. Sector Command wishes to inform you that Admiral Graves freely chose this assignment, and he fulfilled it to the highest standards of military excellence. Should it be determined that Admiral Graves has ceased to be, it should be noted that he gave his life for his service and the ideals that he fought for, and will not soon be forgotten.
Regards,
Admiral K. L. Swanson
Unified Sector Fleet Command Headquarters
Melissa bit her lower lip, almost shredding the letter right then and there as she fought back the simultaneous waves of anger and sorrow that washed over her. Ceased to be? Only a computer could be so cold, and only Sector Command could be so callous as to have one of those machines compose such a letter! I can’t believe they would have the gall to send me this. Granted, she’d likewise been guilty of having the computer at her office send automatic letters in the past, but this was far from the mundane writings she was used to dictating. In the end, after she had read the letter a second time, she delicately placed it in the envelope and on to the table top.
She gazed out of the large window in the study that overlooked a sprawling park beside her residence. Seeing the beautiful sunny morning that was alive in its entirety, tears began slowly rolling down her cheeks. Somewhere in the distance she could discern a dog barking, and then a few hover car horns in the vicinity. Beyond the park a gleaming new office complex was going up, stretching nearly a mile into the sky. The familiar sounds of the world started to press on her ears, despite the overwhelming feeling that the life she’d known was now changed irrevocably.
In truth, she’d always known something like this might happen. When you have parents in the military, it was something that they tried to teach you from a young age. Still, even in her grief stricken state, she wondered why her vid-phone wasn’t ringing. Surely they would have called by now, not that she wanted to speak to any of them.
She averted her reddening eyes from the beautiful sunny day outside, reaching for the wooden parcel that had been delivered alongside the letter. It was a small container, perhaps eight inches on each side and half as tall, made from pine or some similar soft wood. The hinged lid was secured several times over with a heavy twine-like string wrapped around the container. It had no distinguishing marks on it; save for a small etched brass plate near the front opening that identified the owner as William “Wild Bill” Graves. Melissa managed a diminutive smile, remembering when her father would occasionally recount stories of his fighter pilot exploits during the Galactic War, and how Wild Bill was always being asked to save the day in one form or another.
Resolved to discover the contents of the package, Melissa reached again for the gleaming handle of the letter opener and gave it a closer inspection. She read aloud the words etched across the blade. “Unified Sector Command Fleet, Carrier Strike Assembly 12, USCS Fahrenwald, CM-5, 2306-2311.” 2306. The first year of the Galactic War. She rubbed her thumb over the smooth ivory handle, right above the emblazoned logo of her father’s former fighter squadron. With a deep sigh she aligned the blade and began cutting into the heavy string encircling the package, but was instantly stopped by a familiar sound just as the blade made contact with the second layer of twine.
Her vid-phone was chiming the distinctive, pre-programmed ringtone that told her who it was that would be calling at this precise moment.
Chapter 2
For all of his admirable qualities as a pilot, Shawn Kestrel’s parking jobs left a lot to be desired. Granted, Sylvia’s Delight was inside the hangar and away from the oppressive heat of Minos’s twin suns, but just barely so. The hangar’s large clamshell doors wrapped around the stern of the Mark-IV like a tight fitting glove, leaving little room to maneuver around the craft. The vessel was also sitting off kilter to the centerline of the hangar, making it impossible to use the structures built-in hydraulic lift that was needed to heft the stricken craft and repair the damaged strut assembly. With their first priority clearly laid out before them, the two men set about moving the wounded craft into her proper position—not that they had the money or the parts to repair her when the time came to do so.
Twenty minutes later, with the Mark-IV backed completely out of the hangar, Shawn sat at the controls in the air conditioned command deck of the ship. Inside the cockpit—a space just large enough for the two pilot’s seats to sit side-by-side—he nursed the remaining semi-operational engine as he attempted to line up with the center of the hangar. With his left hand hovering over the throttle controls, he was a master at tasking his ship to do exactly as he wished—so long as the vessel was actually capable of the requested maneuvers, which neither he nor Trent were sure it was currently able to do.
Outside of the large, wraparound view port he could see Trent methodically waving his hands over his shoulders as he visually guided Shawn into the hangar. Even from this high up, the thick bead of sweat on Trent’s face was apparent. Thankfully, within a few steps he would pass from the blistering heat of the two suns into the welcoming shade of the hangar. Shawn felt a twinge of guilt as the cool breeze of the internal air conditioner wafted passed his face, but let the feeling pass just as quickly as he turned his attention back to his controls.
Looking to the engine status display, he could see the computer rendered diagram of the inoperative starboard engine sitting lifeless, its centermost impellor unmoving and mocking him as the port engine whined under the strain of pushing the ship forward. Likewise, the soft voice of the computer was judicious enough to remind him of the state of the overtaxed engine every fifteen seconds. Neither of those reports were helping his frustrations any, so he quickly switched off both the monitor and the computers voice output. Trying to relax, he inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly.
Finding a modicum of calmness, he opened his eyes and glimpsed down to verify the internal guidance beam was still locked on the centerline of the hangar. Just as he did so, there was a reverberating thump from somewhere deep within the bowls of the ship. The Mark-IV immediately shifted up ten degrees and began to drift starboard. Shawn felt another thump as the computer compensated in an attempted to right itself—apparently only marginally successful, based on the five degree list the ship now displayed. A quick check of the computer confirmed exactly what Shawn thought the problem was, but also gave him a new one to be concerned about: one of the hover thrusters was fluctuating and would soon fail. If that happened, the remaining thrusters wouldn’t be able to hold the craft aloft. A small light on the right of the control panel illuminated, informing Shawn that the computer wished to speak to him. He could only image what kind of berating it would give him over their current condition.
So much for remaining calm.
Outside the craft, Trent continued waiving Shawn into the hangar despite the look of concern he gave the sputtering thruster. Trent knew that if they didn’t get the ship in the right spot now, they might not get another chance. From above, Shawn watched as Trent leaned to the right, staring disapprovingly at the half extended strut that was probably leaking fluid all over the hangar floor. Trent shook his head in disgust, then directed his full attention to making sure the ship was still centered. The ventral thruster was failing fast, causing Sylvia’s Delight to dip down and drag the starboard strut across the hangar floor, which in turn caused a jarring squeal that echoed off the hangar walls.
Trent threw his arms up, waving them back and forth rapidly over his head in the universal sign for the captain to stop his forward momentum. Shawn only hoped the ship was where they needed it to be as he throttled back on the thrusters. The ship slowly came to a halt precisely over the predefined center of the building, then began to drift toward the hangar floor. With one bad strut, the ship listed several feet to port, putting the ship off kilter as the remaining three pads made solid contact. Once Shawn was satisfied the ship was immobile, he began shutting down all of the thrusters and internal systems. When the final computer powered down a few moments later, and the drone of the engines spun down to near silence, he opened the small hatch aft of the control deck and exited the ship.
The two men walked towards the damaged landing gear and began inspecting the area. As soon as Trent caught sight of the full extent of the damage, he let out an exasperated sigh. The entire cylindrical strut, which extended out from the underside of the vessel, was coated in a film of viscous black grease.
“Looks like the internal seals went out,” he said as he kneeled and wiped a finger across the struts otherwise smooth surface, scooping up a gob of the dark material and rubbing it between his finger and thumb. “We’ve got a spare in the back I can slap on. It should do the trick.”
“It’s nice to know we have parts to fix something around here.”
Trent nodded in agreement. “It won’t help her fly, but at least she’ll be level.”
“How much time?”
Trent rocked his head from side to side as he contemplated the answer. “We’ll need to put the ship up on her mag-jacks, but it won’t take much longer than that. Two hours, I’d say. Maybe a little more to get it all squared away.”
“Good,” Shawn replied with a nod and leaned down next to his mechanic. “What about the gauges? I had to fly her in by feel alone. I’m not getting anything from the instrument panel at all.”
Trent knew that there was nothing worse for a pilot than flying blind. “It’s probably electrical. You know how this darn sand can muck up things.” Trent waved a hand contemptuously at the distant beach beyond the hangar, causing some strut grease to fling off of his fingers and land near Shawn’s feet. “Sorry.”
“Right,” Shawn replied with a soft smile. There was hardly a time when Shawn could remember seeing Trent entirely clean and presentable. However, it’d never bothered him. Trent was as fine a mechanic as Shawn had ever known. If that meant Shawn had to accept Trent as being covered head to toe in grease and filth—which he’d seen on more than one occasion—then so be it. The captain got up and looked from the bow of the Mark-IV to the stern, then back to Trent. He was impatient to get the minor repairs completed, not that it was going to do him any good in the long run. Regardless, anything was preferable to standing around with their hands in his pockets and waiting for a bag of credits to fall from the sky. “Let’s get started.”
Regrettably, forty eight hours later they were only marginally better off than when they’d started. In fact, they’d hit a standstill. The leaking strut seals had been repaired, and Sylvia’s Delight was once again sitting level. However, the electrical gremlin that was affecting the flight instruments was still plaguing the ship—and the duo hadn’t even begun to examine the damaged starboard engine yet.
“What about now?” Trent yelled from the back of the ship. He’d removed several floorboards and two ceiling panels in D’s cargo hold in an attempt to trace the offending electrical short. There were bundles of optic cables and copper cored wires running like spider webs inside the open panels all around him. It was a wonder that Trent knew where they all lead to—most of them, anyway. In his hands, currently beyond sight in the ship’s overhead compartment, he held an optical splicer that never seemed to work as well as it should have. Trent’s extensive training told him that his hands should be clear of the device when the repaired circuits were being tested, but the lack of consistency in the splicer’s operation made that precaution untenable.
Sitting in the plush pilot’s seat on the flight deck, Shawn flicked at the internal lighting switch on the control panel in front of him. He was half expecting the switch to illuminate and be bathed in the soft embrace of the overhead fluorescence. Instead, his optimistic view was dashed to pieces when the switch indicator remained unlit. He pressed the intercom button to his left, once more connecting the flight control deck with the cargo hold. “Nope. Nothing yet. Are you sure you know what you’re doing back there?”
“Am I sure, he says,” Trent muttered to himself, not bothering to speak up loud enough for it to register on the intercom. “I got your nothing right here.” He pulled out a thick section of faintly glowing cable from the overhead, found the silvery connector at its end, and then plugged it into a bypass port on the floor. “Okay, let me try something real quick,” Trent finally offered loud enough for the captain to hear.
Shawn heard the shifting of equipment and a few indiscernible grunts. Seconds later, Trent’s voice came back through the intercom. “Alright. Try it again.”
The captain once again reached for the switch. As soon as the circuit became active, Shawn heard a loud thump from somewhere behind him. His eyes moved up in surprise just as the overhead lights flickered on. Shawn, always thankful for small miracles, smiled at the hum of the lights as he turned back to face the microphone. “The lights are finally on. Good job back there.”
Not getting an immediate reply, he slipped out of his chair and exited the control deck. After walking through the passenger lounge and the mid-ships connecting passage where the berthing area was located, he arrived at the cargo hold airlock. If, for whatever reason, the hold became depressurized during space operations, this compartment sealed itself automatically from the vacuum of space. Once he’d made it through the small doorway, he found his mechanic sitting on the cargo deck floor near the starboard side of the hold, stunned and rubbing his forehead vigorously.
“What are you doing sitting on your ass?” Shawn chuckled. “This is no time for a coffee break. We’ve got work to do, you know?”
“I think I got shocked by the live wire I was touching,” Trent replied wearily. “I swear, that blasted computer has had it in for me ever since that bad software flash a few months ago.”
Shawn smiled mischievously. “I keep telling you that the ship didn’t take it personally.”
“You say that, but then I see you smiling like you are right now and I feel that somehow you aren’t being entirely honest with me.” Trent began to scratch at his head briskly. “Are the lights on?”
Shawn nodded. “They probably came on about the same time yours went out. The whole control panel is lit up like its Christmas. Well done.”
“That’s fabulous,” but Trent’s tone was less than thrilled. He looked up at Shawn as if seeing him for the first time. “Are you going to stand there smiling down at me all day, or are you going to help me up?”
The smile on Shawn’s face morphed into a smirk as he reached down and helped Trent to his feet. “I guess we should take a look at that engine now. You up for it?”
“Yeah, I think so. Besides, it’s in about a dozen pieces, so it’s not like you can start it up with my hand stuck inside it.”
Shawn chuckled. “I couldn’t afford to lose you now.”
“Why? Because I’m the only mechanic who knows how to fix this beast?”
“No, because you’re the only person on this whole planet I get along with and who isn’t trying to kill me or get something out of me.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting a paycheck out of you, if it’s all the same.”
“Get my ship in the air and you can have whatever you want.”
Trent gave him a look of contemplation. “Be careful what you say. I have lofty dreams.”
It took a moment for those words to reverberate in Shawn’s mind. His smile faded as he took a quick gander at the open access panels and the exposed wiring. “I did, too. Once, anyway.”
“No kidding,” Trent replied with raised eyebrows. “What happened?”
“Somebody killed them,” he said still glancing around and then finally leveling his eyes back at Trent. The look on the mechanic’s face was anything but jovial. Shawn flashed his friend a warm smile. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s concentrate on D.”
Minutes later both men were standing near a large metal table, the remains of the starboard engine strewn across its surface like the discarded entrails of some techo-beast. More specifically, they were the dissected remnants of the four magnetic stabilizers. Each of the stabilizers, in their normal condition, had the size and shape of a watermelon, but weighed as much as an armful of bricks. Inside each unit was, amongst many smaller components, turbines used for heat dissipation. Two of the stabilizers were cracked from top to bottom, exposing the fragile drive units inside of them. The other two, while externally undamaged, had seized cooling fans, rendering them all but useless. On the floor behind the table, the engines cylindrical cowling had a large chunk taken out of its lower half.
“It still looks to me like you ran into something,” Trent was saying, his hands stuffed into his dirty pockets.
Shawn didn’t bother facing his friend. “For the third time, I didn’t hit anything. Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who broke the ship.”
“If you want to blame someone, blame those bloody pirates. They put me in the situation in the first place. So just drop it, okay?”
“Fine,” Trent quickly agreed, but his tone told Shawn otherwise.
With his frustrations quickly mounting, Shawn wanted desperately to avoid any further arguments. “Do we have any spares?”
Trent slowly shook his head and tittered. “Let me check.” He turned his head to the pair of shelving units that were the sum of their spare parts. Both of them were completely barren, save for one small cardboard box that was more than likely empty as well. “Gee, Skipper. Sorry. Looks like were all out.”
The sarcasm was not lost on Shawn, who only stared blankly at Trent as he waited for a more appropriate answer.
Trent harrumphed and straightened his ball cap as he turned back to the fragmented engine. “I did make a vid-call to Antara Axa, though, and I think we can get some. But, it’ll cost us.”
Of course it will, Shawn thought. It was also no small surprise to him that Jacques De Lorme would have exactly what he needed. Shawn narrowed his eyes at the mechanic. “How much?”
Trent shrugged his shoulders. “Probably more then we have,” his gaze never left the jumble of broken pieces littering the table. “And, by the way, I still think you hit something. You know… just in case I forgot to mention it.”
Shawn backhanded the mechanics shoulder hard enough, he hoped, to leave a sizable bruise. “I said drop it.” He then turned and stormed off towards his office.
As Shawn neared the door, Trent offered up one last remark. “You know, we’re friends. You can tell me if you hit something. I won’t be mad, Skipper. Honest.”
The slamming of the office door gave Trent all the answer he needed.
*
The minor jostling of the sleek shuttle as it descended through the atmosphere caused Melissa to stir from her otherwise peaceful slumber. The warm, immensely comfortable padding of her seat crumpled slightly as she moved into an upright position. She’d been dreaming of her father and of the last time they’d been together on their home planet of Thress. As her grogginess quickly wore off, she began to feel the familiar sensation in her stomach that signaled natural gravity was taking control as the shuttle slid toward the surface of the planet. She watched out of the generously wide view port to her right as the blackness of space effortlessly transitioned into a brilliant blue sky.
“We’ll be through the upper cloud layer in just a moment, ma’am,” the pilot’s voice said over the intercom. She looked around at the other passengers, then quickly remembered that she was the only person in the sleek interplanetary transport. It hadn’t been difficult for her to acquire the shuttle for the trip, considering what she’d done for the owner a few years back. The vehicle, one of the fastest models in Beta Sector, had whisked her from Thress to her destination in only a few days’ time. Of course, a slower vessel would’ve been less conspicuous, but time was no longer on her side.
As the shuttle swooped below the cloud layers, a small chain of islands began to appear on the distant horizon. In the center of them stood an enormous volcano, projecting into the sky and into the thin clouds like a monolithic headstone. Seconds later the shuttle slipped past the imposing feature, entering a circular landing pattern as it waited for an authorization to touch down.
“We’ll be on the ground in less than five minutes, ma’am,” the pilot voiced again. “Make sure you’re buckled in. These islands can have some fairly stout crosswinds.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Melissa verified her seatbelt was secured and looked through the view port once more. She could see the waves braking against yellow sandy beaches, and large blue and purple palm trees gently swaying under the tropical breeze. Breaking his temporary orbit of the tropical island, the pilot slipped past the coast at an altitude of five hundred feet, gliding through a lush valley created by two flanking summits.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, I won’t be able to keep the shuttle here for very long. I hope you’ve arranged for transportation off of the planet once your stay is complete.”
“I’ll manage something,” she replied wistfully.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand. In any case, prepare to touchdown, and welcome to the island of Tericeria.”
*
Shawn wasn’t sure, but he got the distinct impression that the leathery skinned alien on the other end of the vid-call had just insulted his mother. The Temkorian in question, a member of a rather surly race of known interstellar freelancers, seemed to be the quintessential member of his species: demanding, nefarious, and just about the ugliest son of a bitch Shawn had ever seen.
“Look, um… sir, I understand you’re frustrated, but I assure you that your delivery will arrive on time and just as you’ve requested,” Shawn said sympathetically into the transmitter. However, the more he tried to appease the alien, the worse the Temkorian seemed to react. The distraught creature on the screen was threatening to take his business, his ship, and the few parts of his anatomy Shawn thought might actually be worthwhile to keep. If he hadn’t needed the money so badly, Shawn knew for certain exactly where he’d tell the alien to go shove his requests. The distraught Temkorian on the screen represented the strong arm of the eventual owner of the weapons, a mister Toyotomi Katashi. There’d never been any discord between Shawn and Toyo, as they considered each other close friends. But, this transaction wasn’t about friendship.
This was about business.
When he’d left Trent in the hangar a half an hour ago, Shawn had gone to his office in search of a drink. He’d poured himself a stiff glass as he began to work on his operating budget once more. It wasn’t that business had been bad—it just wasn’t as consistent as it used to be. The Old Flamingo cargo transportation business was simply in need of steadier sources of income. Over the last several months, when the transfer of consumables and goods around the local systems had slowed, Shawn had agreed to take on certain ‘special assignments’, which he quickly realized were little more than questionably legal hauls. While it’d been against his better judgment to do so, his wallet—and his belly—needed the filling. So it came to pass that he’d agreed to the forthcoming transfer of weapons that had since found a home inside his hangar. He hadn’t asked what they were for because he didn’t want to know, nor was it any of his business anyway. All he wanted to do was get paid—which seemed a relative impossibility, considering the current state of his ship.
The Temkorian continued shouting multiple layers of obscenities, a few of which Shawn understood and a great deal he didn’t want to—but Shawn clearly recognized the tone of the words. With a courteous ‘Yes, sir. It’ll be there tomorrow night’ he quickly disconnected the call. His thoughts began to wander back to when he’d first opened the Old Flamingo, what his motivations were at the time, and where things had taken a turn for the worse. If he hadn’t already poured himself a drink, he’d have poured himself a drink.
Just as he took a sip of the whiskey, the small brass bells hanging near the front door of the outer office let loose a torrent of jingles, informing Shawn that someone had entered the waiting room. The captain hesitated for a moment in hopes that Trent would be there to greet the patron. In his current state, the captain wasn’t in the mood to be asked to fly so-and-so’s in-laws, chickens, magnostaplers, alcohol, or whatever to such-and-such a location—or to spend the time recounting the reasons to the customer why he couldn’t do it.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice called inquisitively from the front office. “Is anyone here?”
When there was a second round of unanswered inquiries from the woman, Shawn stood slowly from his chair and donned his well-worn leather flight jacket, emblazoned with the colorful insignias of his past squadrons. Might as well look the part, even if I’m not taking off today.
“Yes, ma’am. What can I do—” he started as he opened his office door, but was greeted by a curiously empty room. Seeing the bells still swaying near the front door, Shawn strolled out of the office and noticed a bright pink taxi cab hovering in one of the many available parking spots. Half way to the vehicle the drive extended an index finger and pointed Shawn in the direction of the hangar.
Not thinking anything of it, Shawn strode confidently into his hangar as he’d done a thousand times, but stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes fastened onto a pair of nicely toned legs sprouting from beneath a knee length skirt. Based solely on her build and posture, this was obviously no native. And, if she had chickens or magnostaplers to transport, she clearly had no room left in those clothes to hide them. She was in heels, standing on her tiptoes and peering into the portside windows of Sylvia’s Delight’s cargo hold. Apparently she hadn’t heard Shawn enter the hangar. Deciding to respect her personal space, he stepped to within a few feet of her, and craned his head over her shoulder, wondering what on Third Earth she was hoping to see inside the ship.
“Can I help you?” he asked politely, despite the fact she was a borderline trespasser.
She jumped in surprise, then quickly spun on her heel to face the captain. Shawn’s first impression was that she was stunning, in a girl-next-door kind of way. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail that was flopped over her left shoulder, and the front of her black and white polka dotted dress seemed to be even more form fitting than the back. Her ivory skin seemed to glow despite the dim light in the hangar.
“You startled me,” she said as she flattened herself against the side of the ship. “That’s no way for a man to greet a lady, you know?”
Judging by the cut of her expensive looking outfit—and the designer label on her handbag—Shawn surmised she wanted nothing to do with the Old Flamingo’s services and was probably just a lost tourist.
“See anything you like?” Shawn asked as he inclined his head toward Sylvia’s Delight.
The woman pushed away from the side of the ship, and the captain watched as her eyes quickly scanned him from head to toe. “I beg your pardon?”
He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, then flashed his most brilliant smile, thankful that he’d brushed his teeth after finishing his lunch. “I asked if you’ve seen anything you like? You were gawking into my rear hold.”
She didn’t return the smile, instead straightening her posture, awash in complete seriousness. “I, sir, do not gawk. And I didn’t see anything I like, as you put it. Tell me, this… ship,” she asked waving her hand dismissively at the Mark-IV, “did you build it yourself?”
Before Shawn could reply she kicked absently at a scrap piece of metal on the floor. “And this has got to be one of the dingiest and most rundown hangars I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Shawn’s friendly smile quickly faded. “Is that a fact? Well, I didn’t know that I was due for an inspection today. Besides, you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who’d lay anything in a hangar.”
She stepped closer to him, her deep red hair blowing slightly in the breeze provided by the open hangar doors. “You know,” she began, stepping around him in a slow orbit, “I could probably spend all day nit picking at the inadequacies of this building you call a hangar, as well as your rear hold, but I have more important things to do then deal with you.”
“Is that a fact? Well, it just so happens that I do, too. So I’ll ask you once more before I throw you out of my hangar: What can I do for you?” His threat was empty, and he knew it.
Shawn watched as her nose slightly crinkled before she spoke, surmising she caught a whiff of the whisky on his breath. “You can point me in the right direction, if you’re capable of maneuvering away from your booze long enough. I’ve been told there’s a great pilot here, and you seem to have the only hangar on this side of the island. I seriously doubt that you’re him, so maybe you can tell me where I might find him.”
“Oh… well, I don’t know about ‘great’, but I’d say I’m a fair pilot. And as far as anyone else, I’m the only ‘fair’ pilot within a hundred miles of here. So either you got the wrong part of the island or you got the right man.”
She offered an upturned eyebrow at him before reaching for a leather satchel she had slung over her shoulder. “I’m quite sure I have the wrong man.” She withdrew a small holocard and handed it to Shawn. He’d seen it many times before. “I’m looking for a Captain Shawn Kestrel,” she said confidently. “Considering how small these islands are, I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
“I certainly have, but my friends call me Shawn,” he said, handing the card back to her. “Please keep it. I’ve got more.”
The woman regarded him dubiously for a moment. “I find that hard to believe.”
Shawn extended his hand in friendship. “Take my word for it: they call me Shawn, and I have a whole box of those in my office.”
She shook her head lightly. “That’s not what I mean. I mean I find it hard to believe that you are who I’m looking for.”
“There’s no other Shawn Kestrel on this planet, I assure you.”
She looked contritely to his outstretched hand. “No, I think not. At least not until you’ve bathed once or twice.”
He examined his clean-ish hand before withdrawing it. “And you are? Wait… let me guess.” Shawn said, bringing his hand to his chin in momentary contemplation, then snapped his fingers in revelation. “You’re looking for the person who dropped a house on your sister?”
The woman balled her fists and threw her arms to her side. “For heaven’s sake, why must you all be so obnoxiously predictable in your limited mentality?”
“I don’t know who ‘you all’ are, but I feel like I just got insulted for the second time today.”
“I came here to find a great pilot, a man who was a good friend to someone very close to me. I was told… I was told he could help me.” Her frustrations quickly turned to grief as tears began to well in her eyes. “You may be him by name, but you are not the man I’m looking for. Perhaps you once were, and I strongly emphasize the word perhaps, which only tells me how far you’ve fallen. Good day, sir!” And with that she turned and briskly stormed from the hangar.
As she stepped through the doors, Shawn instantly regretted some of his words. When had he become so callous, especially to someone who obviously needed his help? There was a time when he would have leapt right through those doors after her, and he immediately wondered what was stopping him from leaping now. He stalled for a moment, hoping he wasn’t about to make the same kind of mistake he made about Donatue III. Throwing caution to the wind, he took his hands out of his pockets and began to jog after her.
“Hey, lady! Hold on a second, will you?”
Outside, he rushed up beside her before she could reach the waiting taxi. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just not accustomed to women such as yourself coming around here, that’s all.”
She stopped in her tracks halfway to the vehicle and turned towards him. “Women such as me? What on Third Earth is that supposed to mean? Is that some kind of uncouth pilot jargon?” She burrowed an accusatory finger into his chest.
He gently placed a hand on her wrist. “That’s not what I meant to say—” he’d started, but didn’t get a chance to finish. The statuesque woman—in an exceptional show of agility—grabbed Shawn’s hand and twisted it around his back. He immediately fell to his knees in pain and tried to steady himself with his remaining hand.
“I will warn you, sir, that I’m trained in multiple martial arts. Perhaps you’ll take this as fair warning the next time you attempt to touch me.”
“Hey, you started it,” he grunted. When she put more force behind her hold, he felt the pain stretch all the way down his back. “Okay! Yeah, sure,” he managed through gritted teeth, “whatever you say, lady.”
She released his hand with a shove and let him stumble to the ground, then continued toward the waiting hover cab. Shawn collected himself and sprinted at the vehicle. Just as she opened the door to get in, Shawn used his body to push it closed. “I think you and I need to have a serious chat.”
“I gave you fair warning, Mister Kestrel. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t step back I’m going to have to deal with you.” In anticipation for just that, she placed her handbag on the hood of the cab. “Please step away from my car, Mister Kestrel.”
He raised his hands slightly. “I just want to talk—” the words were barely out of his mouth before he was struck in the cheek with her balled fist. More stunned than hurt, he was surprised by her feline-like reflexes. Still, she was a lady, and he couldn’t strike at a woman—no matter how much this one was asking for it.
“You’ve got the wrong idea!” he shouted, accurately deflecting another blow intended for his face, but not the consecutive kick to his shin. As he reactively grabbed his wounded leg, he knew he’d have to choose his next words carefully, but they were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “If you’d only get off your high horse for a minute we can talk!” Correctly deflecting the ensuing punch she threw at his face, he locked her outstretched arm underneath his left. Then, using his right arm, reached behind her knees and scooped her off the ground, then just as swiftly plopped her on her rear-end in the soft sand.
She was stunned, but based on the sneer she was giving him, certainly not down for the count. Fearing her next onslaught would be aimed at his groin, the captain abruptly sat on her legs and leaned over her, pinning her arms down with his hands. Her pleasing, yet oddly familiar perfume wafted across his nose, distracting him for only a millisecond. “Okay lady, cut the crap. Who are you?”
She struggled mightily against his grip, but he was deceptively strong. She relented as she tried to catch her breath. “If I tell you, will you promise to get your filth off of me?”
He nodded in affirmation, not really sure if he meant it. “Sure.”
“My name is Melissa Graves.”
The name from his past was an instant shock to his ears. Shawn hurriedly jumped off Melissa, as if he suddenly realized he was straddling a venomous snake. As the two got back to their feet, he took a long look at her face. He tried to look past the sculpted cheekbones, the well formed lips, and the light peppering of freckles. He stared into her brilliant emerald eyes, and for a split second something was revealed, but it was fleeting. “Okay, now that we’ve got that established, what do you want from me?”
Melissa leaned back against the side of the waiting taxi, still catching her breath, and appeared to search for the right words to say. “Well, apparently you saved my father’s life,” she said as she brushed some sand from her dress.
“Just so we’re both on the same page, we’re talking about Captain William Graves, right?”
“It’s Admiral William Graves now, but yes. That’s correct.”
Well, there it is. I’m talking about a man I haven’t seen in half a decade to a woman I’ve never met that just beat the crap out of me—one that supposedly is his daughter. If I kept a diary, this would be one heck of an entry. ”Let’s all just put the brakes on real slow, okay?” He held up his hands nervously, not wanting to further aggravate the capricious woman. “Now, maybe I saved him… and maybe he saved me. Those kinds of things happen in war. It’s no big deal. If you want me to recount some old stories to you, I’m sure William could just as easily—”
“No! No he can’t ‘just’,” she threw her hands to her sides in frustration, smacking them hard against the fender of the taxi cab she forgot was holding her upright. She took a breath and seemed to collect herself before continuing slowy. “You see… he’s… he’s missing.”
Shawn blinked once, then twice. William, the man who had a better sense of direction—both in and out of the cockpit—than any man Shawn had ever known, was the least likeliest person in the galaxy to get misplaced. “I’m sorry, did you say… missing?”
“Yes. And… and I need your help to find him.”
Chapter 3
After picking the pieces of his pride out of the sand, Shawn willingly invited the woman who had just pummeled him up into his office for an attempt at a civilized conversation, and possibly a glass of water. He still wasn’t sure if talking to her and, by default, inviting any of her troubles into his life was the wisest of maneuvers. He tried not to think about it, instead focusing on what she really wanted and what kind of explanation she could give about what happened to his old friend, William Graves. The best case scenario, considering the current state of Shawn’s business, was that he would send Melissa on her way with no more or less help than she’d arrived with. The worst case scenario, of course, was that she attacked him again with little to no provocation and this time damaged something vital.
Was she for real, this quintessential damsel in distress? Or, was she an escaped mental patient who hand no more claim to the last name of Graves than she did to Washington or Lincoln? The latter was probably the likeliest scenario. However, the simple fact remained that she was easy on the eyes when she wasn’t trying to knock the captain’s lights out, and her voice was somewhat soothing when the two weren’t verbally sparing with one another. Shawn mentally agreed with himself to give her fifteen minutes of his time before he sent her away.There’s no harm in that, is there? He watched as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair and fixed her medium length skirt, the top of one knee visible for a split second. Okay, maybe thirty minutes of my time. Then that’s it.
More important than her toned legs, William was apparently missing. If this woman had any spark of truth to her story, Shawn knew he owed it to William to find out what it was—even if to debunk it. Unfortunately, Shawn knew very little of what his old commander had been occupied with the last few years. Of course, there had been the occasional correspondence exchanged from somewhere inside the Inner Sphere, letting the captain know that Graves was well and that he was enjoying his retirement. But, it’d been almost a year since the last transmission, and it wasn’t like Graves to go more than three or four months between correspondences. In fact, it disturbed Shawn that it’d taken the arrival of this woman to pique his concern for William. But now his daughter was here, the one William had never mentioned he had, searching for a man who had simply vanished into thin air. While it all seemed incredible, it went without saying that, for the time being, she definitely had Shawn’s full attention. Her story was too fantastic not to, even if it was a bit unbelievable.
Once she’d made herself as comfortable as she was going to get in the unforgiving padding of an old chair, she’d wordlessly produced a simple letter from her handbag and gave it to Shawn, which he read aloud.
My dearest Melissa,
If you are reading this letter, then the outcome of my mission is uncertain, and you will need to take up my assignment where I failed. I’m so sorry for this, but you must consider this my final order.
I wish I could have seen your smile one last time. It is difficult to say with any certainty if the OSI will be able to decipher the true nature of what I’ve discovered, let alone the scant amount of personnel in Sector Command that have been made privy to it. My darling, please know that there is a fundamental truth out there, and the foundations of the lives we’ve made for ourselves are built on shifting sands. If this mission is a failure, the entire sector may well be in jeopardy, if not mortal danger.
My only request to you in this matter is that you find a man named Shawn Kestrel. He saved my life on more occasions then I can remember. While I consider you one of the strongest people I have ever known, and certainly one of the brightest, his help will be invaluable in the task I’m laying before you. His last known location was in the Antara islands on the planet Minos, near the Outer Rim
It is absolutely vital that my mission be completed, and I have full confidence in your abilities to make sure that it will be. I’m sorry to have laid this heavy burden upon your
shoulders, but you and Shawn are the only people in the galaxy I can trust.
Love always,
William
Shawn breathed deeply as he processed the weight of the words, still holding the letter loosely in his fingers as he conjured the image of his old friend in his mind. William was really missing, or worse, dead. The cryptic message to Melissa meant one of two things: either she knew more than she was revealing about Bill’s mission, or she truly had no idea where to turn to from here. Were he to go with his gut instinct, Shawn would agree with the latter, but he’d been wrong before. He began to rub his chin absently as he contemplated their next move, regretting that he hadn’t shaved that morning while he did so.
While it was true that he’d saved William in the past, the admiral had likewise done the same for him. Shawn owed his life to the man several times over, of that there was no question. Unfortunately, Shawn was stuck at the moment with a broken ship—powerless to do anything to help his friend or his somewhat frazzled daughter. He looked across the desk to Melissa, who sat silently staring at him, her stoic countenance possibly the result of any number of emotions.
“So, you’re William Graves’s daughter?” he asked rhetorically. He hated rhetorical questions, so he wasn’t sure why he’d asked it at all.
She rolled her eyes, probably at Shawn’s lack of verbal prowess. She swallowed, then straightened her blouse and held her chin high, obviously very proud of the distinction. “I am.”
Shawn’s eyes shifted back to the letter.
“My father never mentioned he had a daughter?” she asked as if he didn’t believe her claim.
Shawn pursed his lips and shook his head once before he answered. “No. Then again, it wasn’t common to talk about our families during the war. Most everyone considered it bad luck.”
“How dreadful,” Melissa said with a shocked expression. “It’s ridiculous that people were afraid to talk about their loved ones because of silly superstitions.”
Shawn placed the letter back on the desktop separating them. “Well, it may be a silly superstition to you, but I never talked about my family and I made it through the war just fine. Others… well, they weren’t so lucky. So whether you believe it or not, we believed it. And, if it helped get some rookie pilot back to the carrier to fight another day, then I say we did the best we could.”
She hesitated thoughtfully before responding. “A moment ago you said ‘our families’. Does that mean you also had loved ones that you—”
“No,” he snapped with a scowl, then softened his voice and expression. “No disrespect, but I don’t believe the details of my life outside of the friendship I had with your father are on the table for discussion at the moment.” The words were delivered far more harshly than he’d intended.
Melissa’s mouth open slightly as she looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “I’m sorry, Captain. I should have known better. My father hardly ever spoke of anyone in his command, at least the ones under him during the war. It’s probably as hard for you to believe that I’m his daughter as it is for me to believe that you—”
“Are a good man?”
She raised her eyebrow in consideration. “Are a good pilot.”
It wasn’t an outright apology, but if she shared the blood of William Graves, then it was probably the best her DNA could muster under the current circumstances. Shawn leaned back in his chair, shifting his eyes to the far corner of the overhead as his thoughts began to wander to the past. “Don’t worry about it,” he said absently, wondering why he had yet to kill the overly large spider residing there. Maybe he can help pay the rent.
After a moment of silence between the two, Melissa sensed Shawn was lost in thought. “Mister Kestrel?” she asked softly.
Echoes of the past were indeed reverberating against the walls of Shawn’s memory. “I thought I was going to die, I thought… that was going to be it,” he heard himself say aloud, realizing only then that the words were not just in his mind. His eyes turned back to Melissa. “Your father… he was amazing; A real hero. And it wasn’t just a onetime thing, and it wasn’t just my butt he saved.”
She sensed the weight of Shawn’s turmoil behind his simple words. “He must mean a great deal to you.”
The words didn’t do the man justice, not that any ever could. “More so than most,” he responded, trying to sound aloof.
She nodded in understanding. “So, are you going to help me?”
What was he supposed to say? I didn’t want to get into this kind of mess again. Coming to Minos was about starting over, not about replaying the past. I’ve done my bit for King and country, and in doing so lost everything I cared about in this universe, so why put everything else I’ve worked so hard for in jeopardy? ”I’ve got to say, this whole situation is pretty confusing.”
She rolled her eyes at his comment. “You and I are in agreement on that point.”
“I haven’t seen your father in years. Why would he send you here?”
Melissa scowled, narrowing her brilliant green eyes at him. “It seems fairly obvious to me, Captain.”
“It does, huh? Well, I must be dense, so perhaps you’ll enlighten me?”
She waved a hand dismissively toward the ceiling. “Sector Command isn’t out there searching for him right now, that’s a fact. It’s just as well, too, because my father didn’t expect they would be. Likewise, he felt that what he was searching for was something more important than Sector Command could be trusted with.”
“Or the OSI,” Shawn added, pointing back to the letters reference concerning the Unified governments intelligence agency.
She shrugged away his comment. “In any event, it was important enough that he wanted his mission to be completed—and without the knowledge of the government.”
“Or their interference.”
She nodded in agreement. “More than likely.”
“So, he sent you to me, someone with experience in dealing with Sector Command, but who was also outside of the bureaucracy.”
“There, you see?” she all but clapped her hands. “It’s not so hard to figure it out once you put a little effort into it.”
He scowled at her retort. However, since the jibe was spoken softly—and she’d finished it with a disarming smile—he decided to let that one slide. The captain shook his head, then withdrew the bottle of whisky from his desk and poured himself a glass. The woman had an aura around her, and it flashed the word ‘trouble’ in a rainbow of colors and in three languages. I’m going to regret this in the morning. I know it. Giving it a second thought, he produced another glass, poured it, then offered it to Melissa. “I can’t deny that I owe your father a lot.”
She raised the glass to her lips, giving the drink a tentative sniff. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”
He raised his glass in a toast. “Well, I don’t have a clue what I’ll be able to accomplish, but yes. I’ll do what I can.”
A faint smile—the first genuine one of happiness he’d seen, and quite and attractive one at that—crossed her face. “Thank you, Captain”
He took a sip of his drink before setting down his glass. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t done anything. Besides, how do you propose to fund this little expedition?”
“What do you mean?” she asked innocently, but then her face contorted into disgust. “Are you… are you going to charge me for your assistance?”
The thought has more then crossed my mind. ”No. No, of course not. I mean… well, yes. In a manner of speaking.”
She leveled her eyes at him as if she was a bull about to charge on his position. “You’ve got ten seconds to make up your mind before I do something I regret.”
Despite a vague curiosity, in the end Shawn decided he didn’t want to know what that meant. “What I mean is, no, I’m not going to charge you, per say. But, there is going to be a cost for supplies, food, fuel… those sorts of thing.”
She waved her hand facetiously. “Don’t concern yourself over trivial things like credits, Mister Kestrel. Focus on the job of finding my father.”
“Wearing expensive clothes like that,” he said gesturing to her outfit, “it might be trivial to you, but I’m not sure you understand the expensive nature of space travel.”
She momentarily looked down to her dress before looking back to him. “Is there something wrong with my clothes?”
She obviously didn’t get it. Why do rich girls have to be this way? With all there money and their superior education, you’d think they could afford to get a clue. ”Forget I said anything.”
She shrugged, apparently content to do just that. She reached into her bag and produced another letter. “Here. I received this last month.”
Shawn stood up and retrieved the letter, glancing at the postmark on the envelope, “From Felda?”
“The capitol city on Corvan.”
“I know where it is,” Shawn replied matter-of-factly as he withdrew the letter from the envelope and began reading. Most of the correspondence seemed pretty harmless. William mentioned fly fishing in a newly discovered stream, and he wrote about the quiet nights sleeping under the stars. However, one innocent phrase caught Shawn’s undivided attention. “Special projects?”
Melissa nodded, fixing a lock of auburn hair that had fallen in front of her left eye yet again. “I have no idea what he was talking about there.”
“Hmm,” Shawn murmured, flicking at the letter gently before handing it back to Melissa. “Corvan. That’s a long way to go without a ship to get us there.”
She recoiled her head in surprise. “But, what about that… that ship in your hangar? Please don’t tell me it’s ornamental only.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Melissa, there’s—”
She leveled her eyes coldly at him. “It’s Miss Graves, if you please.”
“Fine, Miss Graves. I think there are some things you need to be made aware of about the state of my ship.”
Strewn across the table before Melissa were the remains of the starboard engine, and all at once her hopes of a speedy departure were dashed to pieces. After an initial outburst concerning her utter disgust over their current situation, she’d decided they’d be better off formulating a plan than complaining.
Shawn had scoured his collection of star charts and located a map of the Trinity quadrant, with the Corvan system directly in its center. He pressed a finger against the system and the image zoomed to show the only inhabitable planet. Felda was a port city about fifteen miles south-west of a major spaceport, situated on the largest continent on Corvan. Before the war it was a booming trade metropolis. Since then, its popularity had drastically declined, mainly due to the fact that it was both dangerously close to the condemned Second Earth and to Kafaran space. Melissa, however, found no comfort in staring at the image of a system she couldn’t get to.
“I’m not too happy about our destination’s location, if you get my drift?” Shawn then pointed to the wavering line that marked the ill-defined border of Kafaran space. While the border had never been formally established after the war, it was true that no ship or probe had ever ventured past that point and returned to tell about it. And Corvan was only three light years from it.
“I understand that, Mister Kestrel. However, I’m sure a man of your piloting prowess can get us there with no problems.”
“It’s not my abilities I’m concerned about. It’s the natives.”
“Oh, be sensible. We haven’t heard a stitch from the Kafaran’s in years, Mister Kestrel, and I doubt our journey to Corvan will stir up a galactic incident.”
“Let’s assume for a second your right, and that’s a big assumption, mind you. Sure, I could get us there, but my ship isn’t going anywhere. I’ve got a busted engine, and that means no go. Now, I want to help you, I really do, but I’m grounded until we can get the parts we need.”
Her expression was the exact opposite of joy. “You’re trying to tell me that you operate one of the only interplanetary transportation services in these islands and you don’t carry spare parts for your solitary vessel?”
“We only make a finite amount of money here. I don’t have enough credits to have spare parts for every conceivable problem I could have with this ship. I certainly don’t account for space pirates, but I’m thinking about starting. Besides, even if I did have the parts, where would I keep them? This isn’t exactly a storage depot you know?”
She looked up despondently; convinced that somehow the universe was intent on working against her at every turn. “Unacceptable.”
“It’s worked so far.”
Her simmering frustration suddenly boiled over. “Well, it doesn’t work right now, Captain!”
Shawn put his hands to his hips. “Unless you have some kind of magical way to produce a wad of credits that you haven’t told me about, we’re grounded for at least two weeks or until less expensive units arrive from the borderlands. Or, like you said earlier, should I just not worry about it?”
“So, you’re telling me someone on this God-forsaken plot of soil has the parts you need, and all you’re waiting for is the credits to purchase them?”
“Yep, that’s what I’m saying,” Shawn agreed with a smile and a nod. “Once we have the parts in our hands, Trent can get us into space within a few hours. And of course, I still have another shipment that needs to get to the Port of Welga on Persephone before we can begin to think about going anywhere else.”
Truth be told, she considered the fact that she didn’t have the same regard for credits that most people had. To her, they were simply a tool for getting something done, and there had never been a point she could recall where not having enough of them had been an issue. “You’d really put a cargo shipment over finding my father?”
“The owner of the cargo made it pretty clear that I need to make this shipment in order to live. I can’t be of much help to you if I’m dead and, considering the value I place on my own life, I think we’d both be better off just getting the job done.”
This is why I never leave the Core Worlds anymore, she thought with frustration. “How much?”
Trent, who up to this moment had sat unobtrusively in the corner, turned to look out at the stack of weapons. “Sixty crates.”
“No, not how much cargo! I meant how much money?” She watched with annoyance as the two men exchanged looks, holding an entire conversation with mixed facial expressions. It seemed neither one of them was going to take the plunge until Shawn spoke up.
“You’re the one who opened his mouth, Trent. Go ahead and tell her.”
The mechanic shrugged. “Two thousand—give or take a few odd singles.”
“Two thousand… credits?” she spat. “You can practically buy a new engine for that!”
Shawn looked back to the table of busted engine parts. “We don’t need a new engine. We only need a few parts, and they do have what we need.”
Melissa looked to the two men in astonishment, then reached down and began to rifle through the leather bag slung over her shoulder. “This isn’t a legitimate business; this is piracy,” she mumbled to herself. After a moment she produced a stack of gleaming credits held together by an elastic band. She tossed it onto the desk in front of Shawn. “There you are. No more excuses. Fix your ship and let’s go.”
The glint of the credits whirling through the air had caught Trent’s utmost attention. “That’s a lot of dough,” he sighed with desire and then shot Melissa’s bag a desperate look. “That must have been one fat piggy bank before you broke it open.”
She narrowed her eyes at the scruffy mechanic. “I’ve been saving for a rainy day.”
The captain smiled, but Melissa wasn’t entirely sure why. She watched as he slowly leaned forward and picked up the silvery stack, then quickly tossed it to Trent as if it were a hot potato. “Call Jacques and tell him we’re on our way. Then go and get the skimmer ready.”
Trent peeled his eyes away from the money and looked to Shawn apprehensively at the mention of their small craft. “The skimmer? Are you sure about that? I mean, maybe he can meet us here?”
“Just do it.”
Stepping aboard the hovering utility craft a half an hour later, Melissa was beginning to have second thoughts about the reliability of the vehicle. What had looked like a dull coat of red paint at a distance was actually a thin coating of exterior rust. The twenty-four foot hover truck, with the word Lexy hastily painted on the curved forward section of the vessel, groaned under her weight as Melissa stepped aboard.
The craft had a small, four person cabin with a wide windshield occupying its forward half, and a slightly longer flattened area for cargo in the rear. Mounted on either side of the stern of the vessels—at the ends of seemingly inadequate pylons—were tube-shaped engines that barely looked adequate to propel the work shuttle. In fact, those same engines were currently producing a substantial haze of smoke as Melissa took an empty seat behind and to the right of Shawn who sat impatiently at the controls. Melissa turned to see Trent, sitting in the bed of the truck with an open toolbox at his side, which didn’t increase her faith in the crafts dependability. When Trent had first mentioned to her that Lexy—the shorthand name for Lexington—always seemed to break down at the most inopportune times, she understood now that the statement hadn’t been made in jest.
Thirty minutes later the Lexy was on her way, hovering two feet above the crystal clear waters of Tericeria Bay. Melissa stepped outside of the cabin and looked into the glasslike water, pleasantly surprised at the unmolested view. It was like looking into the largest aquarium she’d ever seen. Under the craft, a large animal—perhaps three times the size of Lexy—swiftly passed the skimmer with no warning. Melissa jumped back, startled at the nearness of the large, spine backed creature. “What was that?”
Trent glanced over the side of the craft and smiled. “Minosian Goliath.”
“Is it dangerous?”
Trent chuckled over the whine of the engines. “Only if you can swim three hundred feet down. They don’t come up any shallower than that.”
“That thing is three hundred feet down? It looked like it was right under the skimmer.”
“The clear water can play tricks on your eyes. Try not to stare to long.”
She couldn’t agree more. She stepped back into the cabin behind Shawn’s chair. “How long until we get there?”
“About two hours,” Shawn replied over his shoulder. “It’ll be sunset by the time we arrive.”
“Who are we going to see?”
“Jack.”
The simple name did nothing to quell her curiosity. “Who is this Jack person?”
Shawn smiled to himself while scanning the horizon. “He’s… well, he’s Jack.”
“That tells me a lot.”
Shawn let out a short laugh. “His name is Jacques De Lorme, but everyone calls him as Jack. He’s a businessman… of sorts.”
De Lorme. The name did sound familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “What sort of business does he do?”
Shawn smirked. “Any business that has the potential for profit.”
Melissa grunted. “It sounds like someone who’d be associated with you.”
Shawn conferred to her a look of disapproval, but quickly turned back to the open waters ahead of Lexy. “Yeah… well, Jack and I go back quite a ways. Besides, he’s got the parts we need.”
“So, you trust him?”
He jerked his head in her direction. “Me, trust Jack De Lorme? Are you out of your mind? No way, lady.”
“But you’re sure he’ll give you the parts you need?”
“Jack doesn’t give anything, but I’m sure he’ll sell it to us.” He nodded his head, but his tone was far from convincing. “Fairly sure, anyway.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring.” She turned and walked back to her seat.
“Don’t concern yourself over Jacques De Lorme. I can handle him just fine.”
Melissa watched as Shawn pulled out a military issued pistol from within his coat. Its antique patina did nothing to detract from the lethality of the sidearm. She watched as Shawn checked the weapons charge and then placed it back into the holster at his side.
“Who said anything about being worried?” she whispered.
Slightly ahead of schedule, the Lexy sputtered into the jetty on Axa Island. The long, narrow piers, lit every dozen yards by faintly glowing orbs, seem to spread out like outstretched fingers, all meeting at a single point—a large tavern built into the side of a rocky outcropping and spilling over a small beach. Finding one of the last available spaces, Shawn parked Lexy on top of a small, floating platform that was barely wider than the skimmer itself.
Once he’d stepped out, he instinctively offered Melissa a hand, which she regarded dubiously. Glancing first at her skirt, then at the pier, she weighed her options before reluctantly accepting his assistance. As her fingers slipped over his palm, she was surprised by the softness of his hand. The captain held her firmly as he guided her out of the skimmer and onto the pier. Once she was squarely on the deck, the two locked eyes before separating themselves. “Thank you, Mister Kestrel. That’s the most gentlemanly thing you’ve done since I met you.”
Her words seemed to catch him off guard. “Well, I couldn’t leave you here by yourself. Who knows what pirate would come haul you off?”
“Really, Mister Kestrel. Pirates,” she chuckled, but then noticed Shawn wasn’t sharing in the absurdity she found in his statement. “Pirates?” she repeated desolately.
He nodded solemnly. “Just stick close to me, okay? And please, try not to get into any trouble.” He turned and began walking down the long wharf with Melissa jumping in step close behind him.
Trent looked back to the skimmer and offered the little craft a farewell wave. “See you soon, I hope,” then he rushed to take up the rear of the troop.
*
Jacques’ was raucous tonight—more so than most nights—and the fact that it was happy hour certainly wasn’t helping. The large bar, which seemed to dominate the whole side of the nearly mile wide island, was awash with bright lights and loud music. The establishment consisted of three buildings, all circular in shape, with the center building twice the diameter of the outer two. The smaller buildings, mirrors of one another, were nothing more than conical thatched roofs about sixty feet wide, held up by a dozen wooden poles around their circumference. The central building had a square structure built as a second floor, which had its own slightly oversized thatched roof. On the center of the steeple was a large, glowing red sign that read ‘Jack’s Place’. There was a single window in the upper portion lit from within, while the bottom floor was dominated by an enormous bar and filled with patrons of all types.
For gamblers and wayward travelers, Jack’s Place was a beacon in this quadrant of Beta Sector. At any given time, you could find a dozen different games from just as many worlds being played in the main casino hall just inside from the bar, or at the high rollers tables downstairs. There was even a large pool out back that could be easily set up for water polo, aqua billiards, or the ever popular—albeit highly dangerous and very illegal—Du’guwam of Tirana VII.
Shawn cautiously approached the translucent, saloon style doors separating the interior of the bar from the deck outside, not knowing who or what might get thrown through them at any moment. He gingerly pushed them open as he stepped in, with Melissa and Trent close behind, and strode directly for the bar on the opposite side of the room on a mission to find Jack De Lorme and get some drinks, but not necessarily in that order.
Before he’d made it half way to his destination he was met by one of the local merchants, an alien named Timo.
“Shawn Kestrel,” the squat being slurred. “My old buddy, Shawn.”
“Hey, Timo,” Shawn tried to wave off the man as he continued walking toward the bar. Timo was a dumpy, pint-sized Polysaurian merchant captain. His short, dark fur was sticking up from his scalp, a sure sign that the long tailed being was inebriated. Timo was shuffling his three flip-flop clad feet across the planked floor of the bar as he chased after Shawn.
“Been a long time, Shawn,” Timo continued as he came up beside him.
“I don’t have a lot of time to chat,” Shawn replied, paying more attention to his destination than to the conversation. He reached into his pocket and drew out a golden five credit coin and flipped it into the air, which was quickly snagged by two of Timo’s three hands. “Go buy yourself another round, compliments of the Old Flamingo. Keep the change.” He finished by giving Timo a soft pat on his whiskered cheek, careful not to rub the neurotoxin tipped quills that doubled as his eyebrows.
“Hey, thanks Shawn. You’re a real pal! You know, I never forgot about that time on Tagus! When you did that thing with the… well, whatever it was. Man, I owe you big time for that, old buddy. You really saved my fur.” Timo kept praising the captain even as the small creature waddled to the bar to order his next drink.
Melissa leaned curiously over Shawn’s shoulder. “What was that all about?”
“It’s a long story.”
She found herself smiling, although she didn’t quite know why. “Maybe you’ll tell me about it sometime.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Maybe.”
Shawn arrived at the counter and caught the attention of the bartender. The barkeep, a rather large and scaly creature with long black tusks, asked Shawn what he’d like.
“Tell Jack that Captain Shawn Kestrel is here. He’s expecting me.”
“I ain’t no messenger, Earther.”
Shawn wordlessly tossed him… her… it a gold coin, similar to the one he’d given Timo, and the bartender acknowledged with a nod. However, before he ambled away, the creature jerked his head in Melissa’s direction. Shawn slowly spun to see two surly looking patrons, a human male and a fish-faced Erkelian, slowly approaching Melissa, who wasn’t right behind him where she should have been. From nowhere a crowd had quickly formed, blocking every available route to the young woman.
As soon as the tall, thin, inebriated human outstretched his hand to grab her, Melissa had him doubled over with a kick to the stomach. When the Erkelian’s unblinking, saucer like eyes saw his buddy lying in a heap on the floor, he lunged at Melissa with his webbed fists flying. “Wench,” he snarled.
She was ready for him before he got within five feet of her. As he came within range, she smoothly stepped aside, allowing his momentum to carry him past her before dealing a strong kick to his backside that sent him crashing through a table near the bottom of a narrow staircase. The bar went silent, everyone staring at her and the two men on the floor—Shawn included. Using the lull in the fighting to extricate himself from the bar, he deftly moved to her side.
It was just as well, because two additional men, both humans this time, came to the aid of the fallen friends. One rushed Melissa, the other intent on taking down Shawn. The captain tried a maneuver similar to Melissa’s, but couldn’t side step the man fast enough, instead getting tripped up and losing his balance. The drunk took the offered advantage and swung a wild left hook that connected with the side of the captain’s mouth. Stunned but not defeated, Shawn, using the full power of his weight, planted one foot into the floor and the other into the drunks’ abdomen, sending the assailant sailing backwards over a table and into a transparent purple piano at the end of the bar. With the thunderous tang of an F-minor chord, the man slowly rolled to his belly and slithered out of the bar.
Meanwhile, Melissa and her assailant were having a standoff around another small table. Surmising that she had no escape in either direction, the bronze skinned man brazenly attempted to leap over the table, but with mixed results. While he’d managed to get his meaty hands on Melissa’s waist, the cost was at his own footing. He was now sprawled across the tabletop. Melissa dropped an elbow between his shoulder blades, causing him to instantly release his already faltering grasp on her. In a blur that was nearly too fast to catch, Shawn watched as she crouched down and swept her legs under the table, taking out two of its supports before she rolled and stood to its side. The attacker looked to her nervously as the table slowly teetered, then with a loud creek fell forward, sending the drunk face down into the unforgiving wooden floor, knocking him out cold.
Shawn rushed to her flank. “Hey, I thought I said no trouble.”
“It’s not my fault,” she offered defensively as she straightened her still pristine skirt. “Besides, they accosted me and got what they deserved.”
“And then some,” he agreed without reservation. “By the way, remind me to never piss you off.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Captain.” She then looked at his empty hands quizzically. “Weren’t you going to get us some drinks?”
He was about to respond when she withdrew a cloth from her purse and, smiling softly, dabbed off a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. There was an unmistaken twinkle in her eye.
Whatever he was about to say was cut off before it left his mouth when a voice heavily laced with a French accent oozed from somewhere behind the two. “Captain Kestrel, how good of you to grace my fine establishment.”
Shawn turned to the staircase and saw the immaculately dressed Jacques De Lorme leering down from its top, the thin silver stripes in his pleated slacks picking up the light from a dozen different directions like diamonds. Hell, they probably were diamonds.
“If you’re through playing games with my patrons, please join me in my study,” Jack said calmly. While he was speaking, two large and heavily armed Temkorian’s, one with a paw around Trent’s arm, stepped up behind Shawn and Melissa, pistols pointing squarely at their backs. “And Captain? Please bring your enchanting companion with you.”
Chapter 4
If the bar’s lower floor was considered comfortable, than Jack’s second floor office could best be described as opulent. There were burning brass torches, glistening new metal furnishings, several full length mirrors, a holographic pool table, and an ornately carved and well-stocked private bar in the back. All this was centered on an enormous blue and white Framalian tiger skin rug in the middle of the floor, complete with still lethal poisoned tipped fangs. While Trent and Melissa had taken to the overstuffed leather chairs opposite Jack’s desk, Shawn was more than comfortable standing between the two.
“It’s good to see that you’ve made it here safely, Captain,” Jacques De Lorme slithered, his voice heavily laced with a native French accent. His suit, black with purple and silver accents, was well tailored and looked exceedingly expensive. The shine from his studded cuff links was like staring into small super-nova’s as the Frenchman relaxed comfortably behind his desk.
Shawn’s brow unconsciously furrowed. Whatever Jack was trying to say, it had nothing to do with his implied distress over the captain’s wellbeing. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Jack looked genuinely shocked at Shawn’s words, which the captain knew was far from the truth—a testament to how truly insidious he knew De Lorme to actually be. “I’m merely talking about the reliability of your quaint little skimmer. I would have detested hearing that you could have become stranded in the waters off of my island… with no way of getting back to your own small corner of the world.”
Shawn didn’t attempt to restrain the look of contempt on his face. “I appreciate your unheard-of concern, Jack.”
De Lorme lit a long cigar, inhaling deeply and exhaling the smoke slowly in Shawn’s direction. “Think nothing of it, Captain.” His words were slow and cold.
“I need the engine parts that Trent called about.”
Jack’s face contorted into a devious smile. All that was missing, Melissa mused, was a pair of horns and a pitch fork. “Ah Shawn, my old friend. You’re always so direct. No chit-chat or idle, boring conversations for you, no?” Jacques slipped out from behind his desk, propping himself up on the side closest to Shawn and the others. “It’s been ages since our last face-to-face encounter. Surely you’d like to discuss old times, yes?”
Shawn answered Jacques with silence and a none-too-subtle scowl.
“No?” Jack’s pleased facade quickly morphed into one of contempt and his voice took on a tone of menace. “Then perhaps we shall discuss that little debacle of yours near Donatue III.”
“I’d rather get what I came for.”
Jack slammed his palms on the side of his desk. “And I’d rather you be more cordial to the people who are trying to help you!”
“Cordial and helpful aren’t words I’d normally associate with you, so maybe you could help define what they mean to a man such as yourself.”
Jack’s anger transmuted effortlessly back into one of tranquility. “You could start by introducing me to your charming companion, Captain.”
Shawn looked over his shoulder and smiled. “You’ve already met Trent, but I never said he was charming. I do, however, think he’s gotten better looking since you last saw him.”
Trent, with his hands still in the air as if he’d been arrested, looked to Shawn and smiled. “Really? Thanks man.”
Jack’s eyes flicked toward one of the Temkorian’s, who proceeded to prod Shawn’s back with a rifle butt. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but it definitely got the captain’s attention.
Melissa, in an attempt to quell the building tension in the room, took it as the sign to speak up. “My name is Stillman. Bethany Stillman,” she said, getting up and stepping a pace closer to Jack with an outstretched hand.
Jack’s ensuing smile was cold as he shook his head for a moment, then nodded to the Temkorian behind Shawn. This time the shove from the rifle was both more pronounced and aimed at the back of Shawn’s knee. The captain went down quickly in a grumbling heap.
“Captain!” Trent called out, but was likewise dropped by a similar maneuver before he could help his friend.
“Try again,” Jack said in a raised voice with a mouth full of cigar smoke.
Melissa’s eyes never left his. “Graves,” she replied softly. “My name is Melissa Graves.”
The oily-slick smile reappeared. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? We are all better off if we can be honest with one another, yes?”
Trent helped Shawn back to his feet. Shawn stole a quick peek at Melissa, and he could swear that she looked at him with what could only be described as definite concern.
“You are here to pay me and get on with your merry life with no time for poor Jacques to recount the tales of adventures of the past,” Jack ended with a tsk-tsk sound. “What a pity.”
“Some other time, Jack,” Shawn said through gritted teeth. “I need the parts Trent called in, and we’re in something of a hurry.”
“I agree, you do seem to be in desperate need of these parts,” his smile was sharp enough to cut a diamond. “I hear those pirate connards really gave your ship a thorough pasting.”
Shawn wasn’t about to give Jack any satisfaction. “Nothing I can’t repair.”
“Then it’s fortunate that I have just what you seek. So… please tell me, is it a matter of life or death, Capitaine? I do love a harrowing adventure.” Another mischievous smile played across Jack’s chiseled face as he folded his long arms across his immaculately tailored suit.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Shawn replied with a forced smile.
“Cest infortuné,” Jack began blowing smoke circles as he examined Melissa lasciviously from head to toe. “Well, since you cannot, or do not wish to tell me, then the price is…double.”
“Double!” Melissa leapt another step forward. The Temkorian’s were quick to react. Before she’d reached the desk, Shawn was back down on his knees with a muzzle now pointed dangerously at the back of his head. From his vantage point, Shawn saw that the other bodyguard had both of his weapons drawn, one aimed directly at Melissa, the other at Trent. All that was required was a simple look from Jacques and it would be over for all of them.
Standing close enough to strike him with her fist—far closer than Shawn had ever seen anyone physically stand to De Lorme and not get physically ill—Melissa glowered at him angrily. “You are a pirate, aren’t you?” she hissed.
“That’s quite an obscene accusation from such a beautiful woman.” Jack lifted himself from his desk and stepped closer to her. He leaned his head over her shoulder, close enough that wisps of her hair fluttered across his high cheekbones. “Where on Minos did you find such an enticing creature, Captain?” As he looked at Shawn, the two men shared a stare of such intensity that it threatened to ignite the combustible material in the room. Jack let out a hum of satisfaction. “She smells like jasmine, Captain,” he whispered lecherously.
As Shawn slowly staggered to his feet, Jack inched back from Melissa and propped himself back onto his desk. “If you want double, fine. We’ll pay it,” Shawn said calmly, then slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew three stacks of credits, then tossed them in a flurry onto De Lorme’s ornately carved desk. “Just give me the stinkin’ parts, Jack.”
De Lorme’s eyes never left Melissa’s. A smile seeped across his face before he puckered his lips into a pseudo-kiss, followed by a slow wink.
Shawn would be more than content to never be on the receiving end of the glare she gave him in return. The Frenchman merely bowed his head slightly, then flicked his fingers limply in Shawn’s direction. The trio heard the sound of the doors behind them open for a moment before closing tightly once again. Two large aliens, more Temkorian’s, carrying a dark wooden crate entered the room, then placed it on the floor in front of Trent.
“There are your parts, Captain Kestrel. Take them and go. But please, feel free to have a drink on the house as you depart.”
“Let’s go,” Shawn turned and nodded to Trent. They each grabbed the heavy crate by its thick rope-like handles. With Melissa in the lead, the two men headed for the door.
“I trust next time your visit will be more… social?” Jack said darkly as they neared the door.
Before exiting, Shawn craned his head around and lobbed Jack a stone-faced glare. “I don’t make those kinds of promises, Jack.”
Whatever questionable first impression Lexy had made on Melissa, it was now completely gone. The beautiful little craft was parked right where they’d left it, eagerly waiting to return them to Tericeria. Once they were onboard and underway, the ride back was blessedly uneventful, the small skimmer making the voyage without incident.
For her own safety, Shawn had suggested that Melissa stay in the Old Flamingo’s office for the night. While she had reluctantly agreed, she didn’t realize then she’d be regretting that very same decision in the morning.
The surplus military cot that she’d bunked on was undoubtedly the most uncomfortable sleeping arrangements she’d ever encountered. Its stiffness was equaled only by its inadequate length, and what little rest she actually received was fleeting. She awoke the next morning to the sound of metal panels being repeatedly beaten, as a blacksmith might forge a piece of crude steel. Unable to sleep through it, she dressed quickly and sauntered out to the hangar. Once inside she rounded a corner to get a better look at what was going on, only to have a large piece of anodized hull plating land at her feet with a loud clang.
“Head’s up,” someone shouted from the other side of the ship.
“Thanks,” Melissa yelled back with tired sarcasm, “but it’s a tad late.”
She bent down and peered beneath the ship, noticing a pair of feet that had turned and began walking aft. She maneuvered around the fallen debris and likewise walked to the rear of the vessel to greet her would be assailant. However, before she reached the rear of the ship, Shawn poked his head around the stern. He gave her a wide-eyed smirked, followed by a halfhearted wave. What right does he have to be so chipper?
She returned his gesture with one of her own, conveying efficiently that she was not quite the morning person he appeared to be. He seem to pay it little mind.
“Good morning. Sleep well?” he asked.
“No, Mister Kestrel. I most certainly did not. Whatever you call that thing in your office, it’s not a bed.”
Shawn disappeared behind the ship without a response. Melissa then heard what sounded like metal being brushed against metal.
“Well, we here at the Waldorf-Astoria are quite proud of our surplus military furnishings,” Shawn replied laboriously.
“Mister Kestrel,” she started, but was silenced by his voice.
“Please, we’ve been through so much. Call me Shawn,” he said from behind the ship, but tilted his head around the corner long enough to finish with “Melissa.”, before he vanished again.
Deciding now was not the time to correct him, she simply scowled at his former location. “Mister Kestrel, this is taking entirely too long. I would’ve hoped you’d be ready after all that banging and prattling around you’ve done this morning.”
He grunted with exertion. “Well, space flight is an exacting science.”
She then heard several dull thumps from the other side of the vessel. She was about to step around the corner to see what was going on when she heard a loud smack. So loud was the sound, in fact, that the noise stopped her in her tracks. She cautiously moved around the ship and saw Shawn, hands on his hips, a bead of sweat running down his brow as he looked defiantly at the side of the vessel. Melissa followed Shawn’s glare and saw a perfect footprint stamped into the center of a panel.
She drew her hand to her mouth to try and stifle a chuckle. “I do hope it’s closed for good.”
“Piece of crap panel,” Shawn muttered under his breath.
She noticed he was clutching a red shop towel loosely in his hand. She slipped it from his grasp, then dabbed the sweat from his brow. “Yes. Space travel: an exacting science, to be sure.” She couldn’t help but smile at his obvious frustration. Well, we may not be getting anywhere, but at least he’s trying.
He reached up in an attempt to reclaim the towel, but inadvertently grabbed her fingers in the process. Shawn brought their combined hands down slowly, then slipped the towel from her grip. “Thanks,” he muttered, “but I think I can manage on my own.”
She stepped back and leaned against the side of the ship, the words ‘Sylvia’s Delight’ painted in beautiful script above her head as she contemplated those few words. Manage on my own, she thought. “Does it get any easier?” she asked dejectedly, not really knowing why she’d asked it, nor expecting Shawn or anyone else to answer. Thus, she was a bit flustered when a soft but strong voice did.
“We do the best we can.”
The words snapped her back to reality. Disturbed that she’d momentarily let her guard down, she looked back to the grimy shop town in Shawn’s hand. “Please see that you get cleaned up before we take off. I don’t want to go up there with a sweaty pilot.”
Something had upset her, and though he didn’t exactly know what it was, the captain decided against saying anything that would make the situation any less comfortable for her. He simply nodded and smiled softly. “Yes, ma’am.”
*
“Alright Trent, let’s see what she’s got,” Shawn voiced into the Mark-IV’s cockpit intercom, then glanced out of the port window.
Trent, holding a small transmitter in his hand, looked up to Shawn from the hangar floor and gave the captain a quick salute.
Melissa, who up to this point had been standing silently next to Trent, could see the captain moving around in the cockpit, likely throwing switches and readying the engines for their initial start up. Shawn had been right about one thing: it hadn’t taken long to install the new stabilizers on the engine—much less time than Melissa had anticipated. Trent was a truly magician when it came to working on Sylvia’s Delight—assuming he had the time and the right parts. But time was now a luxury, and none of them could afford to waste it.
Seconds later Melissa could hear a faint buzzing sound emanating from the vessel. As its pitch and intensity increased, the noises seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once, even inside her.
In the cockpit, Shawn stole another gaze outside, this time directed at Melissa. She was wearing a bright summer dress, her thick auburn hair pulled tightly back, and her alabaster skin reflecting the rays of the binary Minosian suns as they streamed into the hangar. She looked like a sunflower in a sea of weeds against the dingy hangar floor. As his eyes traveled the length of her body, they finally rested back on her face, and he realized she was scowling at him questionably. It dawned on him that, not only had he been staring at her, but that he’d almost been smiling. He blinked rapidly, then redirected his attention back to the ships instrument panel. With a swift shake of his head, he tried to clear his thoughts of everything around him except for the task at hand.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” he said under his breath. His fingers snapped the igniter switch and he immediately heard the whine of the engines turn into a low roar. He looked down to the engine status monitor and saw the impellors on the engines had begun to glow with a faint blue hue. The sounds and vibrations of the two engines spinning to life were music to his ears. He reached up with his right hand and began slowly applying power to the hover controls. As Shawn watched the altimeter, the ships landing pads slowly lifted from the hangar floor.
Glancing back down to Trent, Shawn offered the mechanic a thumbs-up. Getting the same gesture in return, he turned his attention to the ships master control panel—showing a brief summary of the ships every system. He began to go through the flight checklist as he’d done a hundred times in the past. His eyes then swept deftly over the panorama of computer displays and physical gauges above his seat. Fluid pressure? Good. Solid fuel level looks about right. Hydraulics? Everything okay there. Vector control seems to be in specs, too. Once he ran through the rest of the preflight list, he informed Trent via the intercom that the ship was ready for launch.
“Roger that, Skipper. Try not to hit anything this time,” Trent chuckled, then gave the captain a halfhearted salute before shuffling clear of the ship. Having momentarily forgotten Melissa was still standing too close to the hovering transport, Trent jogged back to her side, cupping his hands over her ears so she could hear him over the roar of the Mark-IV’s engines. “Let’s get out of the way! Come on over here!”
Shawn watched from above as they bounded across the hangar and out through the open clamshell doors.
Seeing that his path was now clear, the captain applied more power to the retro thrusters and fully retracted the landing pads. He then gradually applied more power to the engines until Sylvia’s Delight began to drift slowly out of the hangar. Her silvery hull shimmered in the sunlight as her thrusters cleared the thin layer of sand on the concrete landing pad adjacent to the outer doors. When the cockpit was parallel with the hangar entrance, Shawn looked down to Trent and once again gave the same two-finger salute that he’d received from the mechanic. Trent simply nodded in return, which was all Shawn needed to see.
Just as the ship cleared the hangar, Shawn set the engines to full throttle, the maximum power of the engines springing to life. With a great howl, the Mark-IV rocketed forward, parting the sands of the beach and the waves beyond as it skimmed the surface and picked up speed. Soon, all Melissa and Trent could see was the cloud of ocean spray left in the vessels wake.
Shawn guided the Mark-IV up, leisurely pulling on the steering controls while continuously checking his gauges. Once he was satisfied that everything was reading normal, he decreased altitude and set the ship in a thirty degree bank to starboard. Sylvia’s Delight continued in her slow turn, nearly one-hundred and eighty degrees, until she was heading straight back for the hangar. The horizon indicator rose up until it was nearly level, showing Shawn that the vessel was quickly nearing the ocean’s surface. Now flying more by feel then by instruments, he set the engines to three-quarter power and gazed out of the front view port. Within seconds he heard the altitude indicator buzz in defiance of his position, which was quickly followed by the synthetic voice of the ship’s computer stating the same thing. “Proximity warning, Captain. Please take evasive action.”
Ahead of Sylvia’s Delight was Tericeria, and he was dead inline with the Old Flamingo’s hangar.
Back on the landing pad, the trajectory of the vessel made Melissa a little more than nervous. “Um, Mister Maddox?” Melissa asked, not averting her gaze from the incoming transport. “Is he quite high enough to clear the building?”
Trent let out a chuckle and he sucked at a tobacco pipe she hadn’t seen him light. “I think so.”
Sylvia’s Delight suddenly screamed directly over the hangar, missing the roof by less than twenty feet. The roar was enough to cause Melissa to flinch and instinctively crouch as she watched the vessel disappear behind the roofline. The sound of D’s engines began to fade in the distance as the captain took her into another slow climb, this time to the South.
“I guess he cleared it,” Trent said, laughing and standing tall.
Melissa suddenly felt foolish as she picked herself up from the concrete pad. “That man has got some nerve.”
Trent tilted his head down in silent contemplation, withdrawing his hand from his pocket and scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah, but he’s got the spine to back it up.”
She pursed her lips and, hearing the telltale wine of the ships engines once again, turned to face the ocean. She watched as the Mark-IV went into another dive over the sea, then rocketed out between two large coral formations jutting from the seafloor. Melissa agreed the captain appeared to have some skill, but this test flight was far from the perils they might encounter on their journey—where safety nets and spare parts weren’t exactly plentiful.
“We’ll see about that, Mister Maddox.”
*
Shawn spent another forty minutes testing the rest of D’s systems before bringing the ship into a perfect landing, maneuvering the vessel to the loading dock adjacent to the hangar.
Unfortunately, the waiting containers, heavily laden with armaments and ammunition bound for Welga, were marginally unstable. Using a small gravcart, Trent could only pack one at a time into the ship—which was making for a long loading procedure. Melissa had sat idly by, surveying the procession first with curiosity, which had since morphed into boredom. In an attempt to disrupt the monotony, she stretched her back and headed for Shawn’s office.
She opened the door unannounced, and was greeted by Shawn holding a small computer tablet up to a light suspended from the ceiling. He didn’t acknowledge her presence as she walked to the front of his desk. She regarded him for a moment, watching as his eyes squinted slightly, moving the tablet away from his face and then back again.
“Well,” she began in astonishment, “this has turned out to be a rather enlightening day for me.”
“How so?” he asked, his eyes intent on what he was reading.
“First, I’m nearly wounded by your poor throwing ability and serious lack of aim in the hangar. Then I’m almost decapitated by you and that ship of yours while you’re out joyriding around the island; which, by the way, I won’t be forgetting anytime soon. And now there’s this.”
Shawn narrowed his eyes, moving the tablet within an inch of his face. “I’m a little busy. Could you be more specific?”
She folded her arms defiantly. “It appears that I’ve hired the services of a blind pilot. At least that would explain everything that’s happened so far.”
He sighed heavily, his eyes still searching the screen of the palm sized computer. “First off, I throw just fine… and I hit everything I aim for. Secondly, I can assure you that I would never have decapitated you. That beautiful hair of yours might have clogged the engines I just repaired. And third, I’m far from blind. My computer’s backlight isn’t working, and it’s hard to make out this weather report that just came in. But, you go ahead and keep on saying things you think are important, and I’ll go ahead pretending it means something to me.”
Melissa threw her arms at her sides; hands clamped into fists, and spoke through a clinched jaw. “Just hurry up, Captain. We’re wasting time!”
He raised an eyebrow at his device. “Trent is still loading the crates. We’ve got a few minutes.”
“He might move faster if he had some help, you know?”
“Well, you don’t seem to be doing much. I’m sure he’d appreciate the offer, although all we have left is an old two-wheeled hand truck.”
She watched as he continued to stare at the worn out computer. “If you didn’t use antiquated equipment, we’d be in space by now. Haven’t you ever heard of a holographic terminal? It’s time to get with the twenty-fourth century, Mister Kestrel. We’re all waiting for you to arrive!” Then she turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
Shawn finally glanced up from the pad and smiled at the now firmly closed door, the blinds covering its solitary window rattling back and forth. Melissa definitely had William’s fire, of that there was no doubt. Shawn remembered fondly the last time William’s anger had been directed at him. It had come after a particularly ugly brawl with a Kafaran destroyer—one that Shawn had decided to take on all by himself. Shawn, a junior lieutenant at the time, had easily bitten off more than he could chew, and it was only by sheer luck he’d managed to incapacitate the much larger vessel. That outcome had allowed him to avoid the court martial he would have surely received from disobeying Williams’ orders, but didn’t help him bypass the verbal lashing he received from Graves during his debriefing.
He chuckled at the recollection, remembering fondly that Graves had even taken to inventing a few new choice words to describe Shawn’s recklessness, but then Shawn brushed the memory aside and finished deciphering the day’s weather details. “Special Report as of thirteen-thirty local time,” he read aloud to the empty office. “Ceiling estimated at five-thousand feet, sky clear, lower scattered clouds at sixteen-hundred feet, visibility twenty miles; temperature seventy-five degrees; winds northwest at five knots.” A perfect day to get out of trouble. He smiled once again at the blinds as they came to a slow halt. He gave the computer a thoughtful glance, as if he were saying goodbye to an old friend for the last time, then tossed it into a nearby wastebasket. With my luck, at the end of all this I’ll either have enough money to buy a new one or I’ll be dead.
*
With the loading complete, the captain called both Trent and Melissa into an impromptu meeting inside the hangar. He took the time to remind them that the delivery shouldn’t take long, and that he wasn’t expecting the same type of trouble that’d occurred at Jack’s Place. Melissa had scoffed at him, saying something about it being his own fault in the first place, and that the captain shouldn’t be associating with known pirates to begin with.
“Well, you won’t have to worry about it, because you’re both staying right here.”
A broad smile indicated Trent seemed perfectly content with that bit of news. Melissa’s expression was surprisingly blank.
“Keep an eye on her while I’m gone,” Shawn said to Trent as he tilted his head towards Melissa, then turned to leave the hangar.
Trent looked to Melissa, who, unseen by Shawn, looked to the mechanic with a devilish smile and a wink. He shuffled his feet, suddenly feeling inadequate for the assigned task. “Oh… I think she can look after herself just fine, Captain.”
Outside the hangar, just as Shawn neared the ship, an additional shadow cast itself across the side of the waiting transport. He turned, not entirely surprised to see Melissa Graves standing behind him. He glared at her, presenting a strong look of disapproval, which only seemed to strengthen her resolve. She attempted to walk past him, but a quick sidestep brought the captain back into her path.
“I thought I just made it perfectly clear you were staying here.”
She stepped within whispering distance, and Shawn was amazed he could hear her hushed voice so clearly over the din of the engines. “You did. Now I’m making it perfectly clear that I’m going whether you like it or not. I’d hate to think you’re out there gallivanting around when there’s real work to be done.”
He folded his arms in defense. “I never gallivant, nor do I roam, meander, or wander. Ever. Remarkably, that’s also about as often as I take nonpaying, unwanted passengers with me on my runs.”
“My fair share, Captain, got your engines running. As far as being unwanted, I don’t really care. Now, either you let me pass, or I’ll make you. Either way, I’m going.”
Her determination on this matter seemed undeniable. In truth, there was a part of Shawn that feared what she might do if he continued to say no. Besides, what harm could it really do?
“Fine. You can come, but don’t touch anything… and don’t get out of your seat. Follow those rules and everything will be just dandy. Don’t do what I say and I’ll open the door for you personally at two-thousand feet and show you out. Remember, no matter what you think or say, I’m the Captain of the ship, and my decisions are final.” Something inside him, however, told him that everything he’d just told her was, at some point, going to be completely ignored.
Melissa nodded her head slowly in acceptance, and he didn’t believe a single second of it. So why was he allowing this to go on?
“Good,” he turned and slapped his palm against the hatch release. He moved away from the opening and made a grand sweeping gesture with his arm. “Welcome aboard Sylvia’s Delight, and please watch your step.”
Melissa stepped into a roomy, lounge-like compartment and approached a seat near the compartments only view port, which was situated on the starboard side of the vessel. She lightly wiped the blue material off with her hand, seeing a small cloud of dust erupt from the unused cushion. After a small sneezing fit, Shawn stepped up and leaned over her shoulder.
“We haven’t seen many passengers lately,” he smiled, then walked toward the cockpit.
Melissa resigned herself to a dirty bottom and reluctantly sat down. Withdrawing a handkerchief from her purse, she dabbed at a spot of something brown and sticky on the armrest. Having terminated the spot, she attached her seatbelt and leaned back in the chair, the cushions squeaking under her diminutive weight. After getting as comfortable as the furniture would allow, she craned her head around the inside of the cramped vessel.
The compartment seemed to be invisibly bisected, with one half dedicated to seating and the other side left uncluttered—save for a computer terminal and storage locker on the bulkhead. The arrangement afforded a wide walkway between the door to the control deck at one end and a closed hatch to Melissa’s left that led aft. Directly in front of her was the back of an L-shaped couch that wrapped around a small circular table and one additional chair. On the far side of the cabin, to the right of the control room hatch, was a small wash basin and a set of lockers. Looking toward the open control deck hatch, she watched as the captain flipped at switches, turned knobs, and manipulated controls on various touch sensitive screens. There was also a female voice emanating from the room, but it was too far away for an accurate translation. The captain wore the unmistakable visage of concern.
“Mister Kestrel,” she asked, but received no reply. “Excuse me, Mister Kestrel?” this time she elevated her voice. Still, there was no acknowledgement.
The engines came online and the entire vessel began to shudder. Melissa involuntarily gripped at the armrests, only then realizing that she hadn’t completely eradicated the gooey brown substance for its surface. “Mister Kestrel!” She was now yelling across the fifteen or so feet that separated the two.
Shawn glowered at her over his shoulder. “What?”
“Are you sure we can takeoff? We’ve got a lot of cargo back there.”
Shawn turned and shifted his eyes to the hatch on Melissa right, peering with implied x-ray vision into the cargo hold beyond. He could mentally see the crates of weapons stacked evenly throughout the back of the ship, weighing in at an average of two-hundred pounds each. He quickly did the math in his head once more, then shouted back to Melissa. “We’ll be fine. I do this all the time.”
She never felt like she’d made more of a mistake than she did at that moment. “Why do I not believe you?”
He turned back to the control panel, slowly nodded and repeating silently to himself that things would indeed be fine.
Although he couldn’t see her, she’d crossed her arms and was looking at the back of his head incredulously.
Shawn clicked on the transmitter, linking himself once again to Trent’s receiver. Deciding that closing the cabin door would only alarm his passenger, he attempted to speak low enough that she wouldn’t hear. “You checked the weight of everything first, right?
“Of course. Just like always. But, I’d still be a little cautious on takeoff. You’re slightly over your max weight.”
“I was thinking the same thing. By how much, exactly?”
There was an unnerving pause. “Oh, just a little more power on your ascent and you’ll be fine.”
“You’re positive?”
There was a burst of static on the line before a response came back through. “Sorry, Captain, you’re breaking up. It must be a faulty transmitter. I’m going to have to sign off and fix this thing. See you when you get back.”
Shawn swore that Trent was blowing air into the microphone. The captain looked out of the window and saw Trent waving a hearty good bye. Shawn extended his middle finger up to the view port, then rotated his chair back to the controls, satisfied that he’d gotten in the last word. Reaching up with his left hand, he gradually pushed the igniter lever. The two impellors at the aft end of the ship began to spin faster and faster, their soft blue glow turning brighter with each revolution. The Mark-IV started to vibrate sluggishly with the rhythmic pulsations caused by the engines.
“A little more power,” Shawn said to himself. “Okay, if you say so.” He quickly moved the throttles to their mid-position.
The sudden acceleration caused Melissa to be pulled into the back of her seat as Sylvia’s Delight launched away from the pad. If she gripped the hand rests any tighter she was sure they would be crushed. She looked out of the small view port and saw ocean spray pelting the side of the craft as the ship hovered only a few feet from the surface of the water. An image of being eaten alive by a Minosian Goliath flashed across her mind. Her eyes darted to the cockpit, and she watched as Shawn pulled back forcefully on the control stick. For a split-second she felt the vessel glide upwards, but then it slapped against the surface of the water and skipped off like a stone on a pond. Something was definitely wrong.
With the internal stabilizers kicking in, she was finally able to lean forward in her seat. “Mister Kestrel! I would very much like to take off now!”
Shawn didn’t look back; he simply pulled as hard as he could on the control stick. “Yeah lady? Me too!” He pealed one hand away from the stick and slid the throttle control to full forward.
Sylvia’s Delight dashed into the air, as if the tension on a coiled spring had suddenly been released. Melissa could feel the sinking of her stomach as gravity tried to pull the ship—and her innards—back down. The vessel’s shaking had lessened while the whine of the engines had gotten louder. Melissa again looked out the window and saw the ocean and the island chain falling slowly behind them. She turned to face the cockpit and was greeted with the captain’s cheerful face smiling directly at her.
She released her grip on the sticky armrest and wiped her hands with a moist napkin. “I hope you end this flight better than it’s begun.”
Beaming, he swiveled back to the forward view port just as the azure sky slowly gave way to the unveiled stars beyond. Content to finally be back out amongst the heavens, Shawn sighed lightly as he sank a little deeper into the immensely comfortable pilot’s seat.
Chapter 5
The soothing vibrations produced by the ships engines, coupled with the steady stream of pinpoint stars floating past the view port, threatened to put Melissa into a deep slumber if she stared at them much longer. As her eyelids became heavy, her thoughts drifted back to cherished memories of her father. She thought of her childhood, and the precious few moments she felt they’d spent together because of his military obligations. After all, there had been a war going on, and she’d tried desperately not to blame him for having to go off and fight.
Of course, Sector Command did it’s best to keep families close to one another when they could. She remembered having to move from one planet to the next, from base to orbital station and back, changing her life in an instant. At first she’d gain friends, only to lose them when her father’s current rotation was up. After a few years, she stopped trying to form strong bonds with anyone. It was just easier that way.
Melissa’s teenage years had been the hardest time for her, but she’d remained strong for her father’s sake. She’d promised herself from a young age that she would never disappoint such a great man. She stuck to her studies through three different high schools, finally graduating with honors just before William changed posts once again—this time to the frontlines.
She thought back to the last time they were together on Thress. The newly appointed admiral had taken two days leave from his post to meet in their home city of New Wendell just over a year ago. They’d dined together that evening, and he’d told her that he loved her, and that he was very proud of her accomplishments. He spoke of going away on a special mission for Sector Command, and that he wasn’t sure if he’d be back anytime soon. They’d exchanged the typical father-daughter formalities she’d become so accustomed to, a sometimes heart wrenching routine she secretly feared would never be broken. Then he was gone.
Melissa reached into her satchel and withdrew the final letter her father had sent. She didn’t need to read it again, having committed it’s entirety to memory. Instead, she regarded the envelope for the tenth time. It was white, unassuming, sent with no return address. Sighing, she stared at the colorful postmark and tried to make sense of a puzzle that was missing half its pieces.
“Felda City, Corvan,” she read aloud. Corvan was little more than a backwater research outpost—a far cry from the impressive research station it had once been. It was situated well beyond UCS sanctioned space, lying near the far edge of the former Outer Sphere in a desolate region once called ‘the frontier’. Its proximity to Kafaran space had driven away nearly every reputable scientist that had once studied there. She examined the envelope a few seconds more, then placed it back into the satchel. Melissa eyed the cockpit and, assuming the captain was preoccupied with the ships operation, decided to take a closer look without asking permission.
Melissa walked up to the half dozen steps leading to the cockpit and positioned herself behind Shawn’s seat. She peered over his shoulder, giving the cluttered instrument panel a quick study in the process. It wasn’t much different than any other ship she’d been in before. The black paint, applied at the Hypervarion factory decades ago, had peeled in several places, revealing the silvery metal alloy beneath. There were a few holes in the panel, indicating gauges had been removed and were not yet reinstalled. Melissa hoped they weren’t for measuring anything important. She looked to the copilots seat to the captain’s right, noticing that the green canvas cover had been hastily sewn together in several places. She placed her hand on the back of the pilots chair and leaned in for a closer look at the navigation chart, stopping when she suddenly heard the distinct high-pitch whine of a blasters safety switch being cycled off.
Seeing that Shawn’s attention was still focused outside of the main view port, she smiled sarcastically and looked down to his lap. There was his pistol and, as she looked down, noticed its green laser sight had placed a small dot on the top of her chest. Melissa looked back up, and it was then that she noticed the small mirror hanging above the instrument panel, only visible if you were this close to the captain’s chair.
“Is that really necessary?” she leaned in and spoke into his ear.
He turned to face her. When she didn’t retreat, he held his nose less than an inch from hers. “I thought I told you to stay in your seat.”
Her eyes flickered down to his gun. “You know, this is no way to start a conversation.”
Shawn smiled nonchalantly. “Who said I was looking to start one?”
“Are you going to shoot me?” she inquired cynically.
He sighed, then flicked the safety back on the weapon and holstered it. He casually turned his attention back to the forward view, leaving Melissa’s face hanging next to his.
“How long until we get there?” she asked, intentionally whispering directly over the skin of his ear.
This time her proximity had caught him off guard, and it sent a slight visible shiver through his body. Shawn let out an uncomfortable cough. “Forty five minutes, present speed.”
Satisfied she’d won this round, she leaned back, looking around the cabin while fidgeting with her fingernails. She caught his eyes in the tiny mirror once again. “To be perfectly honest with you, Captain, I’ve never been one to enjoy solitude. I thought… I thought we might talk.”
His eyes didn’t move from her reflection in the mirror. “Really? About what?”
Melissa bit her lower lip nervously. “Well, about my father… for starters.”
It was then that Shawn turned fully turned to regard her. At the same moment she moved her eyes down to meet his. Their eyes seemed to search one another’s for memories of the one person who had meant almost everything to each of them—albeit for entirely different reasons. The captain licked his lips, looked back to the stars for a moment, then jerked is head sideways, offering Melissa the empty copilots chair.
“Just please don’t touch anything.”
“Thank you,” she replied genuinely. She managed to squeeze past the captain, but not before he flashed a look in her direction. Melissa scrambled into the well-used seat, pleasantly surprised at its pushiness’. She located and latched the seatbelt, gazed around quickly, then looked to Shawn, who was looking back and softly smiling.
“What?” she asked innocently.
He turned his head and spoke into the window at his left. “Nothing. I was just thinking—”
“Yes?”
Shawn turned back to her. “I was thinking of the last time I flew with your dad. The last time…” he began, but then let his words trail off.
The captain remained silent, and Melissa could tell he was replaying the moment in his mind. “Yes, Captain?” she asked, trying to keep her tone inviting.
“The last time was when I flew him off the carrier, after the war had ended. We were sitting… you know… just like this. I was the pilot and he was…he was...”
The captain seemed to be having a hard time with the words, and it was then that Melissa began to realize how much this might be affecting him as well. “The copilot?” she asked, hoping it was the right word.
“Yeah. That’s it. Anyway, he asked me to ferry him over to Tagus Station, where he was supposed to meet up a transport to take him… to take him…? I don’t remember where he was going to from there, but I do remember the flight to the station.” He chuckled as he recalled that afternoon. “It was three hours of coffee induced insomnia, narrating space stories to one another as if we’d never see each other again,” he smiled broadly at the recollection. “Apart from my first solo flight, it was the best ride I’d ever been on.”
She couldn’t help but offer a thin smile. The captain was quite the orator, when his head wasn’t stuck up his hindquarters.
“Yeah, he was one natural heroic son of a—” Shawn stopped mid-statement and turned to Melissa, searching his vocabulary for a word that would annul any further frustrations on her part. “He was a heck of a guy.”
She frowned at him. “I beg your pardon?”
The captain snickered.
Melissa looked at him quizzically, then shook her head and smiled. She recalled her own share of stories she’d overheard other officers say about her father when they didn’t think she was listening. She remembered wild tales of her father—spurious in most every detail—blazing into battle, guns firing and yelling orders to senior officers and subordinates alike. As with most legends, they were fantastic tales that were bound to be some truth to them.
“Yes,” she offered. “I suppose he could be that way at times.”
Shawn looked to her and, still chuckling, replied “And then some.”
Her smile quickly faded as she recalled that the man they were speaking of was missing, perhaps even dead. She felt guilty for allowing herself the freedom to smile once again and, having tasted it, wanting it to last just a little longer. Decided to hold onto that modicum of joy for as long as she could, she pressed the captain further. “Tell me about a mission you flew with my father… any one; one that has a positive ending. We have some time and… and I’d very much appreciate it.”
“Positive ending,” Shawn asked as he quickly scanned his memory, then almost immediately chuckled. “Well, I do recall this one time… but, I can tell you the outcome was anything but positive, at least for me.”
Melissa positioned her elbow on the armrest and rested her chin on her upturned palm, leaning in closer to the captain, as if their separation would cause her to miss important details. “My, my,” she said wide eyed. “An unfortunate incident with my own pilot? By all means, Mister Kestrel, Please elaborate.” She watched as his deep blue eyes scanned the distant stars, and realized that she was grateful he’d shaved before they took off. She decided then and there that Shawn Kestrel looked very… presentable.
For his part, Shawn could only lick at his lips, thinking of where to begin…
*
“Shawn, we just got word in from the Fahrenwald: there’s a wave of Kafaran deck fighters approaching the task force,” William said smoothly over the tactical communication network. “The rest of our squadron is retiring home after repelling the first attack wave against Reeka Station. New contacts are two hundred and fifty miles east, relative to our current heading. We’ve been ordered in.”
Shawn scanned through the canopy of his F-A6 Raptor fighter to see his commanding officer and friend, Lieutenant Commander William ‘Wild Bill’ Graves, forming up on his starboard wing.
“Roger that, sir. Let’s go get ‘em.”
Seconds later, Shawn could see the Kafaran fighters. They were long and sleek, with forward swept wing-like structures mounted along the centerline that held plasma cannons on their inboard edges. They were similar in size and armament to the Raptor’s, so it looked as if it was going to be an interesting scuffle—considering there were four of them facing off against the two Unified Sector Command Fleet interceptors. The Kafaran’s had already begun their attack run, fast approaching the Sector Command carrier Fahrenwald and the three destroyers that formed her protective screen. The two pilots knew they had to work quickly.
Wild Bill dove in first with a hard bank to starboard, and the surprised Kafaran was caught completely off guard by the aggressiveness of his maneuver. William aligned the enemy fighter in his forward sight and let loose with three bursts from the laser cannons mounted in the leading edges of his wings. The greenish Kafaran fighter’s rear engine began to smoke and sputter as it emitted a shower of sparks into the coldness of space. After another salvo from William there was a burst of flames as the starboard wing structure separated from the fuselage. Moments later the entire fighter exploded into oblivion.
Shawn, on the other hand, hadn’t fared as well. On his first run, he’d inflicted only superficial damage to one enemy fighter, while another had managed to put a few holes in his dorsal oscillator. Nothing to serious, but Shawn was ticked off about it nonetheless, and decided his next round would be more successful.
On that pass, Shawn concentrated on the two fighters that were leading the formation. He quickly closed the range between them and fired his powerful particle accelerator guns with a fantastic degree of accuracy. The cockpit of the first fighter disintegrated in the hail of white hot fire and it fell off to port, almost becoming an impromptu kamikaze run on the Fahrenwald. Shawn snapped his fighter around to starboard and—as luck would have it—had his short-range lasers punch through the second fighter’s fuel storage module. The Kafaran exploded seconds before Shawn’s ship launched through its last position.
Shawn righted his vessel and looked out for a sign of his commanding officer. After verifying the accuracy of his radar readings, Shawn caught sight of Graves’s interceptor below and forward of his current position.
The Sector Command destroyer escorts, long and rectangular in overall shape, along with the big and beautiful Fahrenwald, were letting loose with volley after volley of turreted laser fire. The rounds looked like so many fireflies dancing around the taskforce as the Sector Command fleet tried desperately to ward off the Kafaran fighters—not to mention two enemy frigates that had just jumped into the area as well.
Shawn visually made out a lone Raptor miraculously avoiding both enemy and friendly fire simultaneously, and he quickly decided it was time for him to intervene. He rolled his Raptor to starboard, then pushed the control stick full forward, sending the little ship into a corkscrew and heading straight down. He watched his relative speed indicator and radar distance readings almost concurrently and, at two hundred feet from the Fahrenwald’s bow, pulled back hard and leveled the sturdy F-A6. The Fahrenwald was right below him now, and he could see the enemy deck fighters buzzing around her like moths to a flame. He quickly transmitted his position, hoping to avoid friendly anti-fighter emplacements.
He passed over the carrier—a mere thirty feet over the aft superstructure—and pulled up into the path of an approaching Kafaran. Shawn was now head-to-head with the fighter, but he’d been in worse places. He squeezed at the trigger on the control stick, letting his lasers fly and disintegrate the nose of the Kafaran, destroying any vestige of life on the vessel. The Kafaran’s own inertia caused it to sail harmlessly past the Raptor and out into open space.
“We’ve had more enemy fighters come in from outside the sector. I’ve bagged two more.” He could hear Graves say over the tac-net, then he visually saw his friend’s fighter spinning in a tight victory roll.
“Nice maneuver,” Shawn said. “I’m about two hundred yards off of your port-stern quarter.”
“Roger that,” Bill replied smartly. “Hey, wait a minute…What the devil? Heads up!” Graves yelled. “Get out of there, Shawn!”
Shawn swiveled his head around the cockpit, bewildered at his commander’s statement. Suddenly a shadow cast itself over his controls. He looked up, and instantly all the color drained from his face. Not less than ten feet above him was a Kafaran heavy bomber, flying parallel with him, with her lower torpedo bay doors wide open.
“Uh-oh!” A hard stick to port sent Shawn soaring, but not fast enough. A single torpedo—a twelve foot long warhead packed with enough explosives to open a hundred foot wide hole in a destroyer—had been released by the bomber. Fortunately, it was destroyed before it had a chance to arm itself. Unfortunately, it was the impact with Shawn’s wing that had caused the weapons early demise.
Abruptly, all of the instruments on Shawn’s monitors began to waver with static. Thruster control was lost, and Shawn’s ship began to spiral tightly as he fought to regain control. The Raptor’s onboard computer network connection had somehow been interrupted after the impact, causing Shawn to lose all control in the engines vector nozzle. He swung the stick left to right, pushing on the maneuvering thruster pedals in an attempt to stop the vessel from the wild corkscrew he found himself in. Fortunately he was able to reach the manual flight switch, severing all flight controls from the ships damaged computer. After a few death defying moments—and with a lot of manual pressure to the controls—the vessel had almost completely righted itself. The maintenance staff onboard the Fahrenwald weren’t going to be happy with all the repairs the Raptor would need, but at the moment Shawn could care less. Someone else’s problem, he recalled someone had once said.
Shawn’s limping F-A6 was jostled slightly as Wild Bill’s interceptor screamed past and blasted the Kafaran who’d dropped the torpedo.
“The remaining contacts are fleeing,” Graves said dejectedly. “Our orders are not to pursue.”
“That’s a good thing,” Shawn tried not to sound tense, “because I’m dragging my tail right now.”
William formed up on what was left of Shawn’s wing. “Ah, heck; it’s only a scratch. Quit your complaining.”
“Well, you fly her home then.” Kestrel said through gritted teeth, still trying with difficulty to keep the Raptor level and orientated at the Fahrenwald’s landing bay.
“No can do, old buddy. My ship works just fine. And as I recall, the last bet we made was ‘he who had the least damage lands first’, right?” And with that, Shawn watched as William performed another flawless barrel roll to starboard as his fighter rocketed towards the carrier.
In the end, Shawn had made it back to the Fahrenwald, but not without difficulty. With landing gear control down, he was thankful the carrier’s guidance beams had caught his fighter before it had a chance to smash into the flight deck at nearly half speed. Later that evening, after the pilots had been debriefed and the action reports had been filed, Graves and Kestrel shared a quiet drink in the officer’s mess.
Shawn’s first remark to William was that, next time, the bet about who’d get to land first would be much different.
*
As Shawn finished his story, a wry smile crept across his face as he recalled the party in the officer’s mess later that evening. The Sector Command pilots had a lot to celebrate: four squadrons of deck fighters, as well as both enemy frigates, had been completely destroyed. The Sector Command fleet hadn’t come out unscathed—losing a frigate and a destroyer themselves—but they’d won the day, and there would be time to mourn their losses later.
Melissa’s chin floated off her palm as she leaned back in the copilots seat. “That sounds like my father,” she smiled, then looked to Shawn. “My father didn’t often speak of his missions. I think he was afraid that the stories might be… too much for me.”
“Well, war is never a pretty thing.” Shawn responded solemnly.
“I suppose, even in the most humorous of stories, death was always a possibility.” She folded her arms across her chest as her gaze returned to the stars, then shivered slightly. It didn’t go unnoticed by Shawn.
“That’s what made them memorable.” He reached behind her seat and withdrew a folded wool blanket that he tossed into her lap. “It gets a little cold up here sometimes, and the heaters aren’t as efficient as they used to be.”
She unfurled the thick green blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The contrast of the blankets color to her red hair reminded Shawn of Christmas, a holiday he hadn’t felt the need to celebrate in a long time.
She bundled herself up tightly. “Thank you, Captain.”
“After all,” he continued, “war is the great constant in the universe—aside from the bureaucratic mentality.”
She glanced in his direction, pursing her lips and slowly shaking her head. “Even with all the bureaucracy in the Unified government, I wish father would have told me something about his current assignment.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t give you a hint as to what he was up to, or where he was going.”
Melissa rolled her eyes, cursing under her breath. “It’s all ‘classification levels’ and ‘need to know’ nonsense, it would seem. Apparently, even an Admiral’s own daughter doesn’t rate a sufficient explanation. It’s beyond frustrating.”
Shawn could almost feel her agitation, realizing this all must be extremely difficult for her—an outsider to military affairs.
“I’m sorry,” he offered genuinely after a moment of silence. “I didn’t mean to—”
Melissa waived a hand lightly and then tucked it back under the blanket. “Don’t bother, Captain. It’s not like it’s entirely your fault. What’s more important now is that we find him and save him.”
Shawn gave her a cautious look. “What makes you so sure he needs saving? Maybe he’s just out of communications range. The galaxy is a pretty big, unpredictable place, you know?”
Melissa scoffed. “Unlikely.”
Knowing William as well as he did, a part of Shawn couldn’t help but agree. “Well, you said yourself. He’d been working on some kind of classified project. Who knows what could have happened to him. What section of the government was he working for, exactly? I still have a few friends with ties to Sector Command and—”
Melissa abruptly turned in her seat to face the captain. “I thought I hired you to help me find my father, not offer up wild theories as to his disappearance. No matter what he was doing for the government, they’d never have delivered this letter to me if he was still able to follow orders.” She turned her eyes back to the stars ahead. “No, Mister Kestrel. Something is afoul here, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
Stunned at her abrupt reaction, he looked briefly back to his instruments and verified that the navigational computer was still functioning normally. “Well, arguing with one another isn’t going to make our task any easier.” He let the sentence sink in before he spoke again. “Or, if we’re trying to kill each other.”
She slipped him a sideways leer, then rolled her eyes in resignation when Shawn remained silent. “Agreed.”
“Good,” he smiled. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
She glared at him, almost saying something she’d possibly regret, but then the ship’s light drive engines suddenly decelerated and a small, pinkish planet filled the view port. She watched as Shawn placed a communications headset over his ears and began speaking.
“Port of Welga. This is Captain Shawn Kestrel onboard Sylvia’s Delight. Registry number is 459-Zed-Zed-Alpha-9. Requesting clearance to land.”
Melissa spied a set of worn headphones laying on the console to her right. She gave them a light dusting before placing them over her ears. At first she heard only light static, but soon a male voice came over the airwaves.
“Roger, Sylvia’s Delight. This is Welga control. Your identification code classifies your vessel as a Hypervarion Mark-IV transport. Clearance to land approved, Captain. Taxi to bay seven upon arrival and await further instructions.”
“Roger on bay seven, control,” Shawn said before signing off of the communications channel.
“Is there any significance to bay seven?” Melissa asked.
Shawn smiled as he reached for the breaking thruster control. “That’s where all the illegal stuff happens.”
“Fantastic,” she muttered. “More pirates.”
“Relax. It was only a joke. I’ve never actually landed there before.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, but remained unconvinced.
Sylvia’s Delight made a high, sweeping pass over the busy space port. The main complex—a large, hollow, semi-circular structure about three-quarters of a mile wide—was the same beige color as the surrounding terrain it was built from. In the open center were several large tents of various colors and patterns, erected to cover the merchants as they plied their various goods, giving the appearance that a three-ringed circus had come to town. Around the outer perimeter of the port, Melissa noticed dozens of civilian and merchant craft—wearing paint schemes in a spectrum of colors and patterns—docked directly with the structure or neatly parked in rows beside it. On the far side of the port, protruding into lush vegetation that bordered the facility, were a series of long buildings running parallel to one another, each nearly a half a mile long. When Melissa inquired as to their purpose, Shawn informed her that they contained warehouses, cafes, and various other ship supporting facilities, and that one of the more remote ones was their intended destination.
The buildings closest to the space port looked to be in good repair, with people bustling about as they bought and plied their various commodities. However, as Sylvia’s Delight crossed over the warehouses furthest away from the station, Melissa could see that their corrugated steel construction materials had seen better days. At the furthest point from the main complex, there were large spots of rust on most of the doors, and some of the walls had begun to peal themselves away from their support framework. The captain currently had the Mark-IV hovering between two such dilapidated rows, sending up a small cloud of dust that pelted the seemingly forgotten buildings.
“That’s the place down there,” the captain said, pointing across Melissa and down to the warehouses below. Thankfully they still had an hour or two before night fell. The periphery loading docks at Welga were no place to find yourself after sundown, and not much better during the daylight, he’d told her. She could see that, every fifty feet or so, large numbers were painted on the various heavy doors leading into the structure. After bay number six, the painted number seven seemed to be curiously missing. There were several abandoned vehicles lying around—one of them upside down in a large crater—along with a handful of damaged crates and a small, overturned crane. A landing pad near what was probably bay seven, its perimeter red lights slowly pulsing, looked to have been recently cleared.
“It looks a bit rough down there,” she said as she turned her head towards the captain. “Think you can handle yourself?” She followed her statement with a single raised eyebrow and a smirk.
The captain didn’t take his eyes from the controls. He merely nodded his head in agreement and patted the area beneath his coat where his pistol was holstered.
*
After Shawn had taxied the ship to the landing pad and shut down the engines, he noticed that no one was outside the ship waiting for him. At least, no one he could see. He asked Melissa to stay aboard until he had fully ascertained the situation. Shawn pulled a small pistol out from under his seat, handed it to Melissa, and instructed her how to seal the door behind him once he’d left the ship. Hoping that she’d heed his instructions this time, they stepped out of the control deck and into the passenger lounge. He opened the portside hatch to exit the ship, but then turned to give Melissa some last minute instructions.
“If anyone starts shooting,” he began in all seriousness, “I don’t want you to hesitate for a second. I want you to—”
“You’re bravado is unnecessary, Captain,” she replied halfheartedly. “I’m not going to leave this planet without you.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Who said anything about you leaving?”
She looked back at him in confusion. “Weren’t you about to tell me to get to the controls and take off for my own safety?”
“Are you joking? I want you to get your butt out here and start shooting back.”
A gentle breeze brought the tangy smell of abandonment into his nostrils as his feet touched down on the hard, cracked surface. In the distance he could hear the sounds of metal panels creaking and moaning in agony, as if the structures around him would collapse if the wind gusted any harder. There were very few windows visible on the structures, and what little glass remained looked as if it’d been painted over long ago. In several sections, the large corrugated metal skin had fallen away, giving the captain inviting glances at the rusted, lattice-like skeletal remains of the derelict warehouses.
Shawn hated these kinds of transactions. With the proper planning, he could have easily dropped off his cargo inside the secure confines of the main trading post. At this distance, Shawn doubted that anyone in the main port would be able to discern a small explosion, let alone weapons fire in the vicinity of warehouse number seven. There were too many places here to be ambushed from, and it was all Shawn could do not to turn his head at each offending sound that wafted into his ears. The only other person who knew he was there was the landing control officer who’d informed him where to touch down, and it was anyone’s guess where his allegiance lay.
A door creaked opened near where the large number seven should have been painted, and out strode two iridescent scaled Denarian’s. That is, Shawn knew their true coverings to be iridescent. The creatures were almost entirely cloaked in dark, projectile proof leathery suits and matching helmets. One of the creatures was noticeably taller than the other by a good two feet. It was the taller one that removed its open-faced helmet first, and Shawn immediately saw a large pink scar etched across its angular left cheek. As Denarian’s went, these two were not the best looking representatives of the species, not that such a creature actually existed who could lay claim to that distinction. Their faces looked like a ghastly joining between a human and a turtle. Their shimmering green and black scales were pitted and, in some cases, peeling away entirely. Yellow eyes beamed from sockets set deep under their angular brows, with jaws strong enough to bite through thick tree branches. The taller being had a laser rifle slung against his shoulder, while the shorter of the two had its three clawed hands in its trouser pockets—but was no doubt armed as well.
It was then that the shorter creature removed its helmet and addressed Shawn as the two beings lumbered within earshot.
“Mister Kestrel?” he slithered in a guttural version of galactic standard that left much to be desired. It’d sounded more like ‘Mekster Kestrok.’
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Excellent,” The shorter man continued, although Shawn had to strain his ears to translate the noises into something recognizable. “Our employer wishes to see you without any further delay.”
The captain stood motionless, trying not to betray any sign of apprehension on his part. Denarian’s were well known for taking any show of fear or other trepidation as a personal insult to them. As a culture, they were some of the most renowned arms manufactures in the galaxy. They also had the dubious reputation of being the coldest backstabbers in the galaxy—but only when you refused to pay them. Needless to say, they were an aggressive and hot-headed species—prerequisites for excellent thugs.
“I don’t recall an armed escort being a part of the deal,” Shawn said, careful not to make any moves toward the sidearm he was glad he had under his jacket.
The taller alien gave its rifle a pump, charging up the internal magnetic accelerator, but it was the shorter one that continued to speak. “The arrangement has changed, Captain.”
In that fraction of a second, on a scale from one to ten, Shawn’s level of nervousness had catapulted from a two to an eight. He only hoped it didn’t show, considering his life might depend on it.
The shorter creature spoke again, this time in a more insistent tone. “Mister Kestrel, I repeat: you will come with us without any further delays.”
“I heard you the first time,” Shawn said calmly, then inclined his head slowly towards Sylvia’s Delight. “I still have to unload my cargo. And, by the looks of you two fine, upstanding gentleman, it doesn’t seem like I’m going to have any help doing it.”
The shorter creatures face contorted in a fang lined sneer, probably its best attempt at a smile. It was a grin that would give young children nightmares. Without averting its marble-like yellow eyes from the captain, the short alien raised its right claw, and flicked two of the three digits towards the Mark-IV. Without additional warning, the taller, scar faced Denarian fired a single round into the air, the magnetically accelerated round sailing into the air in a flash of brilliant light.
Inside D’s cockpit, where Melissa had been stealthily watching the exchange through one of the side windows, she instinctively jumped back in surprise at the weapons discharge. Lightly bumping her head against one of the overhead consoles, she chided herself for being so easily startled. She withdrew the small blaster Shawn had given her and, checking its charge, crouched back down near the window.
Outside, moments after the Denarian had discharged his weapon, Shawn heard a distant, rumbling sound, which was quickly followed by a slight vibration in the splintered concrete under his boots. Three large trucks, most definitely military issue and not looking at all like surplus, hovered slowly out of the warehouse behind the two aliens. The trucks moved slowly past the captain, their hover jets kicking up loose debris that spiraled around Shawn’s boots as the vehicles made their way towards Sylvia’s Delight. He turned his head to watch as the trucks parked side-by-side, their canvas covered rears flinging open, and a pair of armored creatures—more Denarian’s—exited from each. The guards were followed by what looked like a handful of workers, representing a half dozen species, which stood near the trucks and awaited their orders.
“As you can see, Mister Kestrel,” the short man slithered. “We have the situation, and your cargo, well under control.”
Shawn tuned his attention from his ship and stepped slowly towards the shorter of the two aliens. The tall scar faced Denarian quickly stepped between them, moving the barrel of his rifle down into Shawn’s collar before the captain got too close. As if it were only a minor inconvenience, the captain continued to step to within a breaths distance from the taller alien, allowing the rifle’s muzzle to slip up to his neck and press against the soft flesh under his chin.
From the command deck, Melissa felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. What are you doing, you idiot? He’s going to kill you!
Shawn looked squarely into the lidless yellow eyes of the alien. “If anything happens to my ship—”
“Don’t concern yourself with it, friend,” the shorter being chuckled from his cohorts side. “You have more important things to think about at the moment.”
Shawn shifted his gaze; glaring up to the unspeaking scar faced being a moment longer, not willing to back down from the dangerous looking creature. The contest lasted only a few seconds before the shorter creature laughed, pulling its other clawed hand out of his pocket and gesturing to a long, gleaming black limo that had appeared from nowhere. “If you and Miss Graves will come with us please.”
Shawn tried to hide his surprise. How did they know she was on board? Regardless, Shawn was convinced: Melissa Graves was bad luck. In her defense, it probably came standard when you were born with a figure like hers. Turning away from the scar faced one, Shawn asked innocently “I’m sorry. Whom did you say?”
The shorter creature leaned its head back and laughed energetically, which sounded more like its mouth was full of spit. With lighting quick reflexes, it swept its leg down and took Shawn’s feet out from underneath him. At nearly the same moment the creature reached into hidden pockets inside its jacket and withdrew two highly lethal sonic disruptor pistols, then aimed them directly at Shawn’s head, which was now lying stunned on the hard sand.
The alien leaned down, placing a heavily armored knee onto Shawn’s chest, and moved its face to within inches of the captains. “Don’t make me ask again, friend.”
A dribble of the Denarian’s spit leaked onto Shawn’s cheek, and all at once the captain was nearly overcome with nausea at the smell of its breath. Before the captain could utter another word, the alien jerked its head towards Sylvia’s Delight. Shawn twisted his head to follow, and saw Melissa crouching near the port hatch, pistol in hand and pointing it directly at the Denarian. In her crouched position, her white dress fluttered aimlessly around her knees in the light wind. She was like an armed and dangerous angel, which to Shawn meant she must have been an archangel.
The Denarian’s’ eyes were glued to Melissa as it put his blasters directly under Shawn’s chin. “Welcome to the party, Miss Graves. Now please, lower your weapon.”
Chapter 6
Shawn and Melissa sat in uncomfortable silence in the back of the hovering limo as it sped away from the loading docks, leaving Sylvia’s Delight sitting alone and unguarded on the landing pad. The shorter, talkative Denarian was piloting the craft while the scar faced one was in the passenger seat, its rifle muzzle leaning casually against its shoulder. Melissa cast her eyes from the passing buildings outside to the rear view mirror affixed to the windscreen, only to lock eyes with the scaly driver who was staring back at her. One eye squinted—probably the creature’s version of a wink—and she immediately felt a cold shiver run up her spine. Melissa decided then that looking out of her own window would be preferable to the alternative for the time being. As the car moved through the thoroughfares of downtown, Melissa watched children of various species playing on the sidewalks, their parents trying desperately to keep them from wandering into the streets. She glanced up to the building fronts and saw people bustling about on their balconies, trying to make the best use of the last hours of daylight.
The car made an abrupt left turn, causing Shawn to slide across the slippery leather of his seat until his hip touched Melissa’s. She turned away from the window just in time to see him shuffle away uncomfortably, then craned her head over her shoulder to gaze out of the back window. Behind them were the trucks carrying the weapons the aliens had offloaded from the Mark-IV. Once free of the confines of downtown, the stone paved street made a twisting course up a vegetation encrusted mountainside, and Melissa had to face forward once more to quell a momentary onset of motion sickness.
“How did you know that she was in the ship?” Shawn asked to both aliens at once.
In response, the driver let out a soft chuckle. “I am instructed to tell you nothing, Mister Kestrel,” it slithered, not averting its gaze from the winding path in front of the vehicle.
Melissa watched as the captain leaned comfortably back in his seat, as if his curiosity had been sufficiently quenched for the next few moments. Unfortunately, hers had not.
“What about you,” she asked to the scar faced passenger. “Don’t you ever speak?”
The driver let out a sickly chuckle as the car approached a large iron gate at the top of the hill and slowed. The driver turned in its seat to face Melissa. “Even if he still had his tongue in his mouth, Miss Graves, he would tell you nothing.” Its long, forked tongue slithered out form between his lips as if to make the point.
As soon as the vehicle came to a complete halt, the driver hastily exited, leaving the scarface to guard the passengers in disturbing silence. An armed human appeared from behind the barred entrance, dressed in the same apparel as the workers that had loaded the weapons at the docks. “Mercenaries,” Shawn whispered just loud enough for Melissa to hear. After a brief exchange of words with the Denarian, the gate guard opened the entrance and the car was allowed to pass. A few more minutes into their journey a large, gleaming white structure appeared in a small clearing.
The building looked more like an elaborate mansion than the fortress of stone Melissa envisioned it would appear like. By all accounts, it would have fit well in any of the upscale neighborhoods on Thress, and could easily have been mistaken for a southern mansion plucked right out of First Earth’s nineteenth century. The sprawling courtyard, complete with alabaster pillars and an expansive garden, was immaculately manicured. The house itself was three stories tall, with an overall rectangular construction. There were windows every few feet, and on every floor. The entrance to the house, which had a large porch extending from the bottom of the second floor, had two large French doors inlayed with frosted glass.
“Tell me again how you and this Toyotomi are acquainted?” Melissa asked as she gazed at the structure.
“He was an intelligence officer during the war. We… crossed paths a few times.”
The hover car pulled under the overhang and stopped, then the Denarian’s exited the vehicle and moved to open the doors for their respective passengers. When Shawn and Melissa had stepped clear of the vehicle the shorter alien addressed them.
“Please, follow me.” As it stepped toward the opulent doors, the scar faced alien, its rifle pointing loosely at them, fell in step behind.
The brightly lit interior of the mansion was ornately decorated in fine art from across the sector. Melissa could see statues having both First and Second Earth origins, pottery from ancient Calmondi, and what appeared to be the delicately woven tapestries from the long extinct Refarian’s. The art was tastefully arranged so that it flanked a wide staircase in the center of the room. Half way to the second floor, the stairs split in half, with each heading off towards the east and west wings of the house. The floors themselves were covered in a rose colored hardwood that produced a clicking echo through the immense, museum like space as Melissa’s chunky healed Mary Jane’s connected with its surface.
“Wait here,” the shorter alien told them, then disappeared through a door in the right side of the foyer.
Shawn turned his head over his shoulder and noticed the taller alien was still behind them, its rifle resting at its shoulder. A moment later, through the same door the shorter creature had exited, a middle aged human male of Asian descent appeared in a finely tailored black tuxedo, followed closely by their shorter Denarian escort. The human held out his arms as he approached them.
“Captain Kestrel, it is delightful to see you once more, my old friend,” he said as he stepped up and embraced Shawn in a firm handshake. The captain hesitantly returned the gesture and then stepped back slightly.
“You too, Toyo.” Shawn turned toward his companion. “And this is—”
“Melissa Graves,” Toyo said as he extended his hand slowly. She reached out and the Japanese man took her hand, then bowed slightly and kissed it. “I am Toyotomi Katashi, but you may call me Toyo. It is a great honor to finally meet you.”
Melissa found his voice both smooth and strangely hypnotic, but not unfriendly. He released his gentle grip on her hand and stood tall once again. Melissa’s mind flashed back to Jacques De Lorme, and she silently hoped this meeting would be far less demanding. “But, how do you know—?”
“Like Captain Kestrel, I too know of your father. His name is spoken with great honor in my family’s house.”
“My father?” Melissa asked in surprise, almost in a whisper. “But, how—”
Toyo quickly raised his hand and smiled, silencing Melissa before she could continue. “Please, I’m sure you have many questions, and undoubtedly will have many more before our business is concluded. All I can offer you is that they will be addressed in their proper time. And, speaking of business, I’m having a party this evening to celebrate the closing of a rather large financial merger. I would be honored if you would join me,” he smiled as he turned his attention from Melissa to Shawn. “Both of you.”
Shawn eyed the two armed Denarian’s in the room with them. “Are we all invited, Toyo?”
Toyo smiled and then chuckled. “They’re precautionary only. These are… dangerous times, my old friend.” Toyo then looked to the shorter Denarian and nodded abruptly, silently dismissing the two aliens from the room. As soon as they’d departed, a young Asian woman appeared at the top of the stairs and glided down to meet them. She was wearing a luxurious red silk kimono, with a large golden fish embroidered down its left side. Her impossibly long, glossy black hair fell in waves down her slender frame.
“This is Keiko,” Toyo said as he extended a hand and escorted the woman down the last two steps. When she reached the bottom, she folded her arms out from her, inserting her hands into the large cuffs at the ends of her sleeves, then bowed gracefully at the introduction.
Toyo smiled lovingly, as a father would to a daughter. “She will show you to your room, Miss Graves, and attend to your every need while you are my guest.”
Melissa bowed slowly, and somewhat awkwardly, to Keiko in return, then turned to Toyotomi in confusion. “My room?”
Toyo’s face took on a look of seriousness. “It’s much too late for you and the Captain to return to Minos tonight. Please, I would be honored if you would accept my humble accommodations until the morning.”
Melissa looked to the captain, who only nodded in response. She wasn’t sure if that meant that they would be accepting Toyo’s invitation, or if it meant that it was okay for her to verbally accept the request at this time. When she narrowed her eyes at him, the captain gave her a warm smile, and something told her that this was going to be different than what had happened on Minos. His eyes said to her ‘It’ll be alright’, and, for some unfathomable reason, this time she believed him.
Besides, Melissa dreaded the thought of sleeping onboard Sylvia’s Delight or worse—on the torturous military cot back in Shawn’s office—and was pleased better lodgings had suddenly come her way. However, Melissa wasn’t sure if she felt up to mingling at a stranger’s party. There seemed little point in arguing that fact now, and decided she could easily decline the offer after she’d freshened up. Besides, a shower would do her a world of good. She bowed towards Toyo, more gracefully than before. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
Shawn turned to Melissa and noticed a swath of her hair had fallen to obscure her left eye. He instinctively reached out to brush it aside, but withdrew his hand at the last moment before he touched her. He cleared his throat and instead gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Don’t get into any trouble.”
“I won’t.” She smiled kindly, then moved to follow Keiko up the carpeted staircase.
Shawn’s eyes followed her as she ascended to the second floor, not realizing Toyo was also doing the same. The two women turned towards the east wing of the house and, when they were out of sight, Toyo stealthily crept up behind the captain.
“She’s more beautiful then even William could have described. Be careful, my old friend,” he whispered into Shawn’s ear.
“I don’t recall him ever describing,” Shawn said, finally turning his eyes from the empty staircase to Toyo. “Besides, I hadn’t noticed.”
Toyo shrugged noncommittally. “As I said, be careful.”
“I have rules about how far I’ll stick my neck out for people.”
“Yes, and I see they apply to everyone except for ones named Graves.” It wasn’t a question.
“You of all people should know why that is, Katashi.”
Toyo’s playful smile faded and nodded his head sharply. “Ōku ni taishite, ikutsu ka no. The few against the many.”
Shawn nodded slowly in affirmation. “Yeah.”
Toyo put a firm hand on Shawn’s shoulder and his smile quickly returned. “First we shall deal with the present—then we will remember the past. Come. Let me show you to your own room. We must make you presentable.”
Shawn fanned his faded flight jacket open, revealing the tropical shirt beneath. He looked down to his broken-in, exceedingly comfortable black trousers and well traveled nearly knee high boots. “What’s wrong with my appearance?”
“Nothing. That is, you look perfectly presentable for someone looking for a fight at Jack’s Place.”
“Oh, you heard about that, huh?”
Toyo smiled a toothy grin. “Come.” He began walking up to the west wing of the house, Shawn following close behind.
*
Fidgeting nervously, Melissa’s felt as if she were in a small apartment rather than a bedroom. Resembling the rest of the house in decorative tastes, it was lavishly furnished in art from multiple planets in the Beta Sector. She stood in the center of the space, turning slowly and admiring every square inch of the opulent room.
Keiko, who had disappeared briefly through what Melissa assumed was the servant’s entrance, returned carrying a white box. Based on its size and shape, it wasn’t hard to surmise what the contents were.
“Mister Katashi would appreciate if you wore this for his party,” Keiko said after a diminutive bow.
Melissa smiled kindly as she took the box from Keiko’s hands and placed it on a nearby lounge chair. “If I may ask, Keiko, what kind of party is this?”
The corners of the young woman’s mouth turned upwards. “It’s a gathering of all the major financial investors in the region. Mister Katashi has recently completed the merger of the two largest banks in Beta Sector, and has invited everyone of importance to celebrate.”
“I see. And where do Captain Kestrel and I fit in? We’re not exactly the crème of the financial elite.”
She smiled meekly “The Captain and Mister Katashi are old acquaintances. It has been said that the captain once saved Mister Katashi from a fate worse than death. Because of this, he has earned a place of high honor in this house. As far as why you are also invited, I was told that you were his Suītohāto.”
Melissa narrowed her eyes and shook her head in confusion. “I’m sorry. His what?”
Keiko’s cheeks reddened slightly as she brought a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. “Forgive me. I have said too much. The party will begin in just over an hour. If you need anything, you have but to ring this bell,” she then gestured to a thick, golden pull cord hanging near the bed. “Someone will attend to you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Melissa replied sweetly before Keiko left the room.
She retrieved the box off the couch and walked it into the bedroom, then placed it on the large four-posted bed. Opening it, she found a beautiful white silk gown and matching shoes in precisely her size. How Katashi had managed it was of less concern than why he’d done it. Melissa suddenly felt the cool, inviting evening breeze flutter through her hair. She followed its source to a set of French doors that opened out to a beautiful garden. She could smell orchids just coming into full bloom mixed with a hint of the distant ocean breeze. Turning to look at the dress once more, she couldn’t help but wonder how any of this was going to help her solve her father’s disappearance.
*
Less than an hour after Keiko had left Melissa’s room, Shawn was ready for the evening. Toyo had lent Shawn a black tuxedo that he kept in reserves for just such occasions. Shawn had both showered and shaved, and was left alone in the well-stocked second floor library. There must be a thousand books in here, spanning dozens of different cultures. He knew from experience that Toyotomi, an avid collector, had probably read them all. There was an antique brass telescope at one window, an ancient sextant lying on an oak desk in the center of the room, and several paintings of tall sailing ships on the walls in cubicles between the rows of books. Very nautical.
Through the closed doorway, Shawn could hear the bustling of people down in the lobby. The party had begun only a few moments ago, and the captain recognized the sounds of laughter and glasses clinking in the background. Never one to enjoy the ritualistic formalities of high society, the captain usually shied away from accepting invitations to things like this—not that many had come his way lately. So, why was he nervous? In fact, he hadn’t realized that he’d been pacing the room until Toyotomi slipped through the doors a moment later.
“My apologies,” Toyo bowed slightly, then reached out to firmly shake Shawn’s hand. “You look well, Captain.”
“I feel a bit out of place.”
“Nonsense. You look quite dashing,” Toyo smiled genuinely. “Most of my guests are bankers and investors, to which I’m sure you’ll find the conversation stimulating to no end. If any of them corner you into a conversation, simply continue to nod your head until they take a breath, then excuse yourself to the bar. Trust me, it works every time.”
Shawn couldn’t help but smile and laugh at the remark. “I’m sure.”
“Believe me, the reward I will grant for your momentary agony will be well worth it. Come, let’s get you a drink.”
After wading through a sea of well-dressed guests—each pair looking like an oversized cake decoration—and about a dozen handshakes and introductions by Toyo to people Shawn immediately forgot, the duo made it to the bar near the back of the house. Toyo slipped behind the counter and began to pour Shawn a drink as the captain looked at the colorful spectrum of illuminated bottles lining the shelves behind his friend.
“What are you putting in me?”
“Ah,” Toyo grinned from ear to ear. In the blink of an eye he’d already mixed the ingredients and was shaking them over ice. “This is an old family recipe. It is called a Hokkaido Cocktail. You’ll love it.” He poured the diamond-clear libation into a glass and handed it to Shawn.
Shawn inclined the glass in a toast before taking a timid sip. The sweet and sour flavors bathed his tongue in warmth. He then inspected his glass before announcing his verdict. “It’s good. Domo.”
Toyo nodded. “Dou itashimashite.”
“So tell me, what was with that welcoming comity down at the docks? I wasn’t expecting an armed escort.”
Toyo bowed his head slowly. “Later.”
Shawn was impatient for answers, but decided that he could hold his tongue a while longer. The captain took a moment to finish off the second half of his delicious drink. “Okay. So, tell me this: where’s my passenger? You didn’t recruit her into your harem, did you? And don’t tell me ‘later’ this time.”
Toyo smiled at Shawn and went back to masquerading as a bartender. “You know how women can be, Captain,” he said as he absently wiped the inside of a clean glass. “You can never really know completely. One day they’re here, the next…well,” he made a whistling sound, then yanked back the towel to reveal the glass underneath had vanished. “Then they’re gone. Disappeared.” He chuckled at Shawn’s amused expression. “Who can explain it?”
Shawn had to admit that he’d always had a soft spot for gimmicky tricks. “So, you’re an amateur bartender and magician?”
“Amateur?” he scowled with mock disdain. “I’ll have you know that I’m highly regarded around this quadrant. I’ve even been known to perform at children’s parties, from time to time of course.”
Shawn sensed the irony of it all. Toyo, arguably the wealthiest man within twenty star systems, playing the lovable clown for his subjects. “Gulliver and his Lilliputians.”
Toyotomi chuckled to himself softly, then looked at his watch. “You know, if I were a betting man, I’d say Miss Graves would be here…now.” He smiled, then locked his eyes on something over Shawn’s left shoulder. With a nod of his head, Shawn turned slowly on his stool and followed his friend’s gaze.
There, standing at the top of the small stairway that led down into the ballroom, was a true vision of beauty. Melissa had on—by what every being with blood pumping through his veins would agree—was the most beautifully ornate Japanese dining gown in the history of history. Its satin-like finish caught the light in just the right places, giving her a soft glow as she slowly descended the steps. The shimmering white dress was tied loosely around her waist, and had a delicately flowing bottom that barely touched the tops of her white heels. Her auburn hair was curled tightly above her head, and she wore a diamond necklace that sparkled like a ring of stars around her neck.
“I’ll, ah… I’ll be right back, Toyo.” Shawn deftly reached behind him, trying to place his empty glass on the bar without looking, not realizing he was about to miss it by over a foot. Toyo, noticing the captain’s attention was focused elsewhere, quickly reached for the glass and averted the minor disaster.
Locking eyes with Melissa, the captain quickly waded through several guests, nearly impacting with two arguing Quizonian diplomats before intercepting Melissa in the center of the room. Shawn saw what could only be described as a look of approval on her face.
“You look…um, you look good.” he stammered, and then inwardly kicked himself over his lack of vocabulary skills.
Melissa smiled grandly. “I feel a bit out of sorts, but thank you, Captain,” she spoke up over the din of the other guests and the music that had just started playing. “You look very… clean.”
The two stood within arm’s reach for what seemed like an eternity before Shawn broke the stalemate. “Would you… I mean… would you care to…” He continued to falter like an idiot, knowing full well that if he tried to stop he’d just put his foot in his mouth in the process.
“Yes, Mister Kestrel?” she teased. “You’re leering like a school boy, so I hope you have something more substantial to say.”
He took a breath before opening his mouth. “Well, it’s just that… beneath the rough exterior it’s hard to believe there’s a beautiful woman in there.” Open mouth, insert foot. Tasty.
She smiled. “Your flattery is… kind. Unusual, but kind. And unnecessary. This was in my room.” She waived her hands at her dress. “I was told that I’d be attending a party and I should put it on. It’s no big deal.”
His first thought was to say ‘Have you looked at yourself? You’re the biggest deal in the room!’, but he bit his cheek to stop from saying anything. However, her appearance had stirred something he hadn’t expected, and he approved of it. “I see.” He realized he hadn’t blinked once since he’d laid eyes on her.
“Please, Captain. Stop staring at me like I grew a third eye. I’m still your employer, you realize.”
Shawn managed to regain some of his lost composure and smiled confidently. “That may be, but I’m sure your money entitles you to at least one free dance.” He wasn’t sure if that was any better than anything else he’d said up to this point, but once it was done it was done.
“There’s no music playing.” But, as soon as she’d said it, classical music began playing through concealed speakers. She pursed her lips and she absently scanned the crowded floor. “Well, there doesn’t seem to be anyplace I can escape to, so it looks as if you’ve cornered me.”
“The last time I checked, dancing requires me to be in some form of physical contact with you,” he said as he held his arms out cautiously. “I’d appreciate it if you refrained from striking me this time.”
She wrinkled her nose and laughed, far from how either of them had expected her to respond. “I promise, no more striking out unjustly.”
He carefully stepped in closer to her as he looked down into her emerald eyes. “Then I guess we’re all out of excuses.”
Shawn reached out and took Melissa’s right hand in his left, slipping his other around her waist and applying gentle pressure to her lower back as they began to waltz. The softness of her dress under his fingers felt electric. They didn’t speak the entire dance; they simply looked at one another for the duration of the performance, and for a few fleeting moments after the song had ended.
*
Once the guests had finished celebrating and had departed for the evening, Shawn, Melissa, and Toyotomi retired to the expansive backyard terrace adjacent to a meticulously manicured Japanese garden. The three were seated around the interior of a replicated twelfth century gazebo, and Toyo was just concluding the tale of how he’d met Melissa’s father.
“—and just like that, it seemed, the war with the Kafaran’s was over.”
“Amazing,” Melissa said breathlessly. “It’s hard to see how one man could have been so pivotal in such a large chain of events.”
“When your father came to me, he was merely a soldier in the right place at the right time, and with the right information,” Toyo said as he looked down to a nearly half empty glass. “The Unified government was very appreciative of my efforts. It provided me with the means to have a very comfortable life here.”
“They may’ve provided you with the means, but you made this place what it is Toyo.” Shawn said to his friend.
“It has taken a lot of hard work to get here, but your words honor me, Captain. Domo.”
“So,” Melissa said after a pause, “what do you need that shipment of weapons for? You seem relatively unchallenged here on Persephone.”
“It is not the present that concerns me, Miss Graves. It is the future that gives me pause.”
Shawn watched as Toyo’s face took on a look of severity. “I think it’s time we had that conversation.”
“Conversation?” Melissa repeated in confusion.
“First,” Shawn continued without responding to “I’d like to know how you knew the Admiral was missing.”
Toyo contemplated his nearly empty glass before proceeding. “I will try to answer as best I can.” He shifted his eyes from Shawn to Melissa before he continued. “I’d overheard rumors that the Admiral was missing not long before you arrived, Captain. Seeing you at my doorstep and with Miss Graves at your side confirm those same reports.”
“Why didn’t you say something before today? There’s no reason you should have kept this from me.”
“As I said, I only heard about it recently. I would have mentioned as much to you when you delivered the weapons to me. In any case, it seems that the foreboding that has concerned me for the last several months now appears to be fully justified.”
“What does that mean?” Melissa asked guardedly.
Toyo’s face became like stone. “It means something ominous is on the horizon.”
Melissa leaned back in contemplation, but Shawn respectfully pressed his friend for more. “Like what?”
“I can tell you only what I know… and what I’ve seen with my own eyes,” Toyo set his glass down as if to emphasize the weight of his next words. “The information I offer here will not leave this house,” he moved his eyes to Shawn. “I know you understand, Captain.”
“I do.”
Toyo nodded sharply, then turned to Melissa. “I know your father was working for your government on a special assignment,” Toyo began.
“That much I already know.”
“But, you aren’t familiar with the nature of the assignment, or who exactly he was working for, do you?”
She didn’t say anything; she just shook her head slowly.
Toyo turned to look out over the garden. “Of course you do not. If you did, you wouldn’t be in my family’s house right now. In fact, I think you’d be as far away from this sector as possible. Both of you.”
Shawn shook his head as his frustrations mounted. “Toyo, I don’t enjoy riddles.”
Toyo nodded. “All of the evidence I’ve gathered leads me to believe that Admiral Graves was on an intelligence gathering mission, possibly for a covert research project.”
Melissa watched in silence as Shawn leaned closer to Toyo. “What kind of project?”
“He was sent to Second Earth to find information on something the Unified government… misplaced.”
“Second Earth?” Melissa asked startled. “But I got this letter from—”
Shawn hastily interrupted her before she could continue. “Second Earth is a tomb. It’s been dead since the end of the war. It’s restricted, quarantined. It’s off limits to everyone, including the Unified government.”
Toyotomi regarded Shawn. “Come now, Captain. Do you really think that a government is held in check by the rules it creates for itself?”
Neither Shawn nor Melissa answered as they waited for Toyotomi to continue. “What if I told you a tale? An account so fantastic that you could hardly believe it?”
Shawn stood up and approached Toyo, folding his arms across his chest as he did so. “Try me.”
“I thought you might, Captain,” Toyo said without smiling. “What if I said to you that the Second Earth disaster was not the direct result of an orbital Kafaran bombardment, but was—in fact—the result of a mishandled experiment by our own government?”
“But,” Melissa countered. “Sector Command found Kafaran ships in orbit. It was proven that they were the ones that destroyed the planet.”
“And the official reports were supposed to lead everyone to accept that,” Toyo replied with a nod. “And, I have every reason to believe that the Kafaran’s were the catalyst. However, they were not the reason.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Shawn injected.
Toyo let out a disgusted snort. “Of course it does, if you understand what the Unified government was doing on Second Earth in the first place.”
“Biochemical research, I think,” Shawn said. “They were developing some sort of—”
Toyotomi held up a staying hand. He walked from the terrace into the library and retrieved a nondescript red book. Opening it, he withdrew a small scrap of paper and handed it to Shawn. “Does this look like biochemical research to you?”
“What is it?” Melissa asked.
Shawn looked at it curiously. “It’s an equation of some kind, but I can’t make most of it out.”
“May I see it please?” She asked.
In truth, it was almost entirely gibberish to him. He gave Melissa a curious look, pondering if she would be any better at deciphering it than he’d been. He found that it interested him that she might. Shawn shrugged casually and offered it to her. “Be my guest.”
She stepped to the captain, nimbly retrieving the paper and turning to the nearest torch, trying to get the maximum amount of light.
The two men regarded Melissa as she moved closer to a torch hanging from one of the gazebo’s beams. Toyo lowered his voice and leaned closer to Shawn. “She has her father’s fire,” he said, finding the irony in the statement.
“Yeah,” Shawn said as he finished his drink, his eyes never leaving her form. In her silken white dress, the firelight danced across every visible curve of her body. “And then some.”
“Just be careful not to get burned, Kestrel-san.”
Melissa stepped over and stopped just short of the two men. “Whatever this is, it’s incomplete. I mean, it could be a weapon, or it could be the formula for a new form of exterior latex paint.”
Toyo bowed his head slowly in acknowledgement. “I believe it is a weapon of some kind, but I do not know for sure.”
“A weapon,” Shawn asked, impressed with her knowledge of advanced mathematics. “What makes you think that?”
“This is an ionic equation,” Melissa said. “And I’m pretty sure it’s in my father’s handwriting. If I understand this fully, whatever it is, it looks to be biospheric in nature.”
Shawn’s eyes squinted in confusion. “But I thought biospheric weapons were outlawed?”
“Which is why I find it hard to believe that this scrap of paper represents anything harmful,” Melissa replied defensively.
“I don’t think the Unified government was concerned with laws when they began to develop this, Captain.” Toyo said grimly as he shook his head.
“Which was when?” Melissa asked.
Toyo eyes shifted to the paper in Melissa’s hand. His gaze was one of both menace and respect. “I believe we are looking at something that began life before the war ended.”
“Either way,” Melissa added. “This formula is incomplete.”
“This paper came from a folder that was recovered from the remains of the research base on Second Earth.” Toyo let those words sink in. With the current quarantine on the planet, there were very few laws about removing artifacts from Second Earth. That was because just being there in the first place—for whatever reason—was punishable by death. No exceptions. Melissa looked at the artifact with increased awe, and Toyotomi took it as a sign to continue. “Based on what my sources have told me, the Admiral was assigned the task of going back there to retrieve the rest of this formula.” He then shifted his eyes to Melissa. “That doesn’t sound like something the UCS would do for a gallon of latex paint, my dear.”
Pushing aside the burning question of how someone was able to get to the surface of the planet without being detected, Shawn kept the conversation on its current track. “If this were a government sponsored project, wouldn’t the UCS or Sector Command have it buried in their computers somewhere? I mean, why go to the trouble of trying to get it from the source?”
“A total blackout was ordered on the base prior to Sector Command losing total communications with the entire planet,” Toyotomi said. “No information was sent from the research base, and none was ever received. It was an entirely secret project.”
A communications blackout wasn’t unheard of in military circles. Shawn recalled a number of times when his own carrier strike group had fallen under that same order for the sake of secrecy. “Why would the Unified government want to build something like that? I mean, during the war I might have understood using a device like that, but the war is long over. Why resurrect a dead project?”
Toyo folded his hands together and leaned back. “Intelligence believes that, at some point, The Kafaran’s found out about this new weapon. They also surmise that the Kafaran’s had no defense against it. Unfortunately, from what I can tell, neither do we. Total annihilation of an entire planet’s eco system in minutes.”
Melissa stood up and approached Toyo. “Then you are saying that the Unified government is continuing to build one of these devices? To do what? Safeguard our future against another Kafaran invasion?”
“Don’t ask me, Miss Graves,” he said stoically. “Ask the OSI.”
“The OSI?” Shawn repeated. “But I thought—”
Toyo looked to his old friend and cut him off mid-sentence. “The Kafaran’s are arming again.”
It was Shawn’s turn to be defensive. “That’s utter nonsense. Besides, if what you say is true, and I doubt it is, we could use one of these… these eco-bombs to kill them all.”
Toyo licked his lips and leaned forward, leveling his eyes directly at Shawn. “Approximately two months ago, Admiral Graves departed Space Station Delta-II and headed for Second Earth. He arrived there safely, then departed two weeks later for the Corvan system. That is where you’re letter came from, yes?” Toyo asked, swiveling his eyes to Melissa.
“Yes.” She agreed.
Toyo nodded. “One week later Admiral Graves—and his entire squadron of two destroyers, the Neptune and the Andromeda, the heavy cruiser Icarus, and the fleet carrier Valley Forge—vanished from space. Six thousand men and women…gone.” Toyo made a fluttering gesture with his fingertips. “No trace has since been found.”
The words hit Shawn like a ton of platinum. The entire strike group? What could do that? “My God.”
Toyo pursed his lips. “Sector Command has called off any further official searches for the missing squadron until the full impact of this…catastrophe has been ascertained. However, my intelligence sources inform me that the Kafaran’s are behind the disappearance.”
“Unbelievable,” Melissa muttered.
Toyo looked to Shawn. “Our former enemies have renewed several of their previous alignments with old allies and they are arming again, Captain. This new coalition is calling itself The Army of Light. And, if they have the secret of this new weapon—”
“Nothing will be able to stop them,” Shawn finished with astonishment.
“So, Captain, you can now see my need for weapons to defend this house.” Toyo waved his arms around the gazebo. “We are too far from routinely patrolled Sector Command space. If this house is to come under attack, then I wish to be ready to face the enemy.”
Shawn’s mouth was dry. “How accurate are your reports, Toyo. Don’t sugarcoat it. I want all of the facts.”
“Considering the arms shipment you just brought me is only the first half of my order, I wouldn’t hesitate to say that I’d trust my life to them.”
And, it was only Shawn Kestrel’s undeniable trust in Toyotomi Katashi that was stopping the captain from calling his old comrade’s speculations unwarranted, paranoid, and potentially dangerous.
“Then we need to head for the Corvan system without delay, Captain,” Melissa piped in and leapt quickly from her seat, then looked to Toyotomi. “And you need to get off this planet as soon as you can, Toyo.”
He smiled at her concern, but shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, but I cannot leave my family’s home. If I am to make a last stand somewhere in the galaxy, then I will defend this place to my last breath.” He smiled as his eyes fell back on Shawn. “I know you understand, Captain.”
Shawn nodded solemnly as he continued to ponder Toyo’s revelations. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Then come,” Toyo said, stretching out his arm toward the doors leading back into the house. “We must prepare you for your journey tomorrow. I have a number of favors to call in, and you both must get some rest.”
Chapter 7
By the time Toyotomi finished making his calls to his information network, Shawn and Melissa had long since retired to their rooms for the evening. The captain tried hard to get some rest, but failed to get Toyo’s words from bouncing around the recesses of his mind. Each revelation Toyo had made about the Unified government, or about the coalition that was calling itself the Army of Light, took Shawn’s imagination down a different path, some absolutely terrifying in their implications.
At last he was able to drift off, waking just before the sun rose over this part of Persephone and bathed Toyotomi’s house in its warming rays. Shawn quickly dressed in his comfortable shirt and trousers, donned his well-worn leather jacket, then headed downstairs in search of a pot of hot coffee. To his surprise and delight, Toyo was already dressed and sipping at a cup near the bar.
As Shawn entered the room, Toyo appeared to snap out of a daydream he’d been nursing.
“Good morning, Commander—I mean, Captain.” Toyo smiled at his faux pas as he set his cup of hot tea on the bar, then motioned to the vacant stool at his side. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”
Hands in his jacket pockets, Shawn walked slowly to stand beside his old friend. “Don’t worry about it, Toyo. I almost did something similar last night.” He ran his hand through his slightly unkempt hair, flattening down a handful of dark brown strands that had stiffened upright during the night. “Do you ever wonder what it’d been like if we never got out of the service?”
Toyo smiled broadly as Shawn slipped onto the vacant stool. “Who says I ever got out?”
Shawn blinked in surprise, wondering if his hearing was still fast asleep in his bed. “Don’t tell me you’re still in the service?”
Toyo reached for his tea, swirling and searching the fluid for an answer that would suit the captain. “Koketsu ni irazunba koji wo ezu, my friend.”
Shawn scratched slightly at the back of his neck. “I’m afraid my Japanese is a little rusty… and I haven’t had my first cup of morning coffee.”
Toyo softly chuckled. “It means ‘If you do not enter the tigers cave, then how can you catch his cub?’“
Shawn rubbed his face with his hands, too exhausted to contemplate any more of Toyo’s disclosures. “I’m not going anywhere near a tigers cave until I get some hot coffee.” Shawn looked around with half open eyes, as if he were seeing the room for the first time. It seemed a much larger space now than last night, when its beautiful bamboo floors were crowed with half inebriated partygoers. For the first time he noticed the paintings that adorned the high walls, and the four ancient suits of samurai armor that stood watch over each of the corners.
“Don’t tell me you’ve collected all of this stuff and forgot to buy a French press?”
“I have not forgotten your penchant for that awful tasting concoction, Captain.” Toyo waved an admonishing finger at Shawn, then stepped behind the bar and produced the instrument for Shawn’s morning ritual. After the coffee had been prepared and Shawn had nursed half the cup, Toyo returned to sit at Shawn’s side. “And where is Miss Graves?”
“What makes you think I know what happened to her?” Shawn immediately remembered the image of Melissa as she’d appeared in the hangar the morning before, her hair disheveled and with a sour expression like she’d just given a lemon a long and passionate kiss. “Anyway, from what I can tell, she’s not much of a morning person. And, with as much as she had to drink last night, it’s no wonder she’s still in bed.”
Toyo smiled meekly and nodded. “I see.”
“In fact, I’d hardly expect her to—”
“Hardly expect her to what, Mister Kestrel?” a voice called out from the far side of the room.
Shawn and Toyo turned in unison towards the entrance to the room. There was Melissa, looking as fresh as the day was new. She was back in her white polka dot dress, her shoes in her hands as she padded into the room and plopped into a stool on the other side of Shawn. Pulling her hair back and tying it off, she smiled cheerfully and bid Toyo a good morning.
Toyotomi chuckled softly as he hefted his tea to his lips. “Ah, Shawn. I see your knowledge of women hasn’t changed much.”
Melissa reached for Shawn’s half empty cup of coffee, cradling the warm mug in her hands and gingerly drinking it in.
He looked at her with amused astonishment. “Help yourself, please.”
“Ah,” she exhaled with satisfied delight. “I needed that.”
Shaking his head, Shawn turned his attention back to Katashi. “Toyo, you said last night that Sector Command wouldn’t have any official search team out looking for the Admiral. Does that mean there might be an unofficial one out there somewhere?”
“As with all things, captain, it’s entirely possible. I’ve been unable to gather much information on that front. Sector Command Internal Security is clamping down hard around my small network.”
Melissa raised an eyebrow to his statement, knowing full well that it probably wasn’t just the generally plodding SCIS that was clamping down on his operations. “So, if that’s true, then how can you be sure the Kafaran’s are behind my father’s abduction?”
“That is a piece of information I am quite sure of, my dear Miss Graves. In my experience, there are simply too many markers, too many incidents that, when placed together, form a puzzle that’s far from the shape of coincidence.”
“Markers,” Shawn asked with due curiosity. “Such as?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, Captain, but weapons sales for one. There has been a marked increase in the overall sales of heavy arms to nearly all of the border worlds within three parsecs of the demilitarized zone separating our space from the Kafaran’s.”
“What kind of timeframe are we talking about here?” Shawn asked, becoming more awake with each passing moment.
“All indications show that the number of sales in the old Outer Sphere have increased ten-fold over the last six months, with Beta Sector accounting for most of those figures.”
Shawn let out a slow whistle.
“Also, keep in mind that those are not just black market sales,” Toyo added. “The military branches of most of those systems have also shown increased activity.”
“How so?” Melissa prodded before bringing her cup to her lips.
“There has been a dramatic increase in fleet sorties from Danarius, Rugor, Beta Five, and Zenchan, to name but a few.”
Shawn remembered tangling with more than a few enemies from some of those systems, especially a particularly nasty flotilla from Beta Five that very nearly clocked his ticket. “That’s not the best news I’ve heard all week,” he said in monotone.
Toyo grunted in acknowledgement. “I can well imagine, Captain.”
Shawn smirked. “Of course you can. Remember that Rugorian warship we encountered near the Epsilon Tirana nebula?”
Toyo chuckled quietly. “I remember a young Lieutenant taking on an entire destroyer all by himself.”
Shawn’s stance turned immediately to one of defense. “Hey, that was no toy-boat destroyer. It was a full-fledged cruiser that was armed to the teeth with everything the Rugorian’s could throw at us.”
Katashi clapped his hands loudly in delight. “And now you will recount the tale of how you alone were victorious in that battle, yes?”
“Well, I admit… I did need a little help with that one.”
Toyo eyed him questionably. “The last time this tale was recounted, you had managed to destroy the entire vessel all by yourself.”
Shawn frowned as he tried to remember the previous circumstances under which he’d shared the story. “No. No, I don’t recall it happening that way at all.”
Toyo placed a gentle hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “Then perhaps I am in error. Old age is the dragon we can never escape from.”
As Melissa placed her coffee cup on the bar, Shawn quickly moved in to snatch it just as her hands slid away. He attempted to down the rest of the liquid, but was met with an empty mug.
“Sorry,” Melissa said halfheartedly.
“That was my coffee, you know?”
She stared back at him innocently, then smiled fiendishly. “Serves you right, you know.”
“How do you figure that?” he asked in wonderment.
Toyo piped in. “She’s right, you know? Keep drinking that stuff and you’ll checkout before you know it.”
“Oh, so you’re taking her side in this,” Shawn chuckled. “I’m the one who’s been cheated.”
Toyo tittered. That’s when Melissa took the opportunity to speak up. “We should probably get going, Captain,” Melissa offered with a soft smile, both to the captain and to their host. “It’s a long flight to Corvan.”
Shawn nodded as he accepted the fact he was going to have to take her there sooner or later. “So it is, Miss Graves. So it is.”
“Is there anything I can get for you,” Toyo asked politely. “Anything a humble old soldier can do for his friend and his lovely… partner, is it?”
Shawn quickly corrected Toyotomi. “Employer, Toyo,” then he looked to Melissa. “She’s my lovely employer.”
“Employer. Yes, of course. I must again be in error.” Toyo smiled and offered a slight bow of his head.
“The only things that come to mind are a few provisions to get us there and back, maybe a little fuel, and—”
“And?” Toyotomi asked playfully, knowing full well what Shawn was about to add to his small list.
“And, if you can spare the power, maybe you can charge up the lasers on the old girl.”
Melissa coughed in shock. “That thing has weapons on it?”
The captain gave her a warning glance, which she was quick to answer with a sly wink.
Toyo clapped his hands together in delight. “Ah, Shawn. Not only would I be happy to do each of those things for you, but know now that they are already done.”
Shawn knew better than to ask for further clarification. “Thanks for going to the trouble.”
“I owe you, Captain-san. We both know that. I will say, for the record…” his words trailed off as he looked to Melissa, then back to Shawn, “if there is such a record to be made of this conversation, that I will officially miss seeing you in action once again, Captain.” Toyo then slid his eyes to Melissa. “Consider yourself honored, my dear, to have Shawn Kestrel to lead you safely into the lion’s den to retrieve your cub. There is not one like him in a thousand parsecs of here… perhaps even more. Of all people, he is most worthy of your trust.”
Shawn looked to Toyo in confusion, but let the statement pass with a roll of his eyes. “I think I’m officially done drowning in your compliments, Toyo.” Shawn gestured to Toyo with his empty mug. “Besides, you seem to be out of coffee.”
“Then we are in agreement, Captain?”
“We always end up that way, don’t we?”
The three rose from their respective stools as Toyo walked them back to the main foyer. Once Shawn and Melissa had gathered their personal effects, Toyo was there to escort them out of the front door. Outside, the same long, black hover limo that had delivered them to the house the day before sat idly by, waiting to ferry the duo back to the loading docks. Toyo opened the car’s rear door for Melissa, but before she entered she turned unexpectedly and embraced the older gentleman tightly. It surprised both Toyo and Shawn. The captain watched as Melissa slowly let go of Toyo and without another word entered the vehicle.
Shawn then took the liberty of approaching his old friend with a grin. “I’m afraid you aren’t going to get the same treatment from me.”
“I know you would never dishonor me in such a fashion, Captain.” Toyo replied coolly.
Shawn sighed heavily, still trying to wrap his head around everything Toyo had told them. “You know,” he began after a moment, “that this is crazy. I mean, the Kafaran’s rearming, old enemies realigning into a new threat, not to mention a government conspiracy. Can you really be that sure about the information you’re getting from your network?”
Toyo nodded thoughtfully at Shawn, then turned his head to face Melissa, now seated comfortably in the car behind the closed door. “Don’t just take my word for it.”
Shawn gave him a crooked smile. “I have no idea what that means.”
“I know.”
Done with the riddles for the time being, Shawn stepped back and performed a perfectly executed bow. “Until the next horizon, my friend,” Shawn said with a solemn nod.
Toyo returned the pleasantry in like style. Shawn couldn’t interpret the expression on Toyo’s face, but he had the distinct impression that something was definitely going on in his mind. If anything, Shawn could almost say Katashi looked envious. Before Shawn could inquire about it, Toyotomi reached out a hand towards Shawn, which the captain took in a firm and friendly handshake.
“May the sun always shine on your path, Captain Kestrel.”
*
The ride back to the warehouse district—and Sylvia’s Delight—was both uneventful and strangely silent. Only the sound of the hover engines, themselves barely discernible in the comfortable confines of the transport, could be heard as the car whisked the passengers through the still slumbering downtown of Welga.
Nestled in the back seat of the car, the silence hung between Shawn and Melissa like a thick fog for reasons neither of them could describe. The conveyance wound its way through the twisted streets, lightly skimming a few feet above the road and kicking up small clouds of dust as it passed over silt filled potholes in the uneven surface. The car continued around a sharp corner, then shot straight and true for the decrepit warehouse number seven.
As the imposingly large, crumbling structure came into view, Melissa spoke up for the first time since they’d left the Katashi family residence. “Toyo is a good man, isn’t he?” Her tone was thoughtful, yet somewhat cautionary.
Shawn took his time in formulating an answer. He could see the gleaming hull of Sylvia’s Delight—always a welcoming sight—parked right where they’d left her. He watched as the ship came more into focus, and he noted several umbilical hoses attached to the underside of D were bringing onboard fresh water and other materials while simultaneously pumping out the waste. As he gazed at the Mark-IV, memories of the past flashed through his mind as he contemplated Melissa’s question. Some of them were the stuff of horror tales, while others were things that the most pleasant dreams were made of. “Yes, he is,” he said into the glass, looking out of the side window as the hover car came to a halt near the aft cargo hold of Sylvia’s Delight. He then turned his eyes to Melissa. “One of the very last.”
“And… my father?”
Shawn sighed heavily before answering. “If you’d have asked me yesterday, I wouldn’t have hesitated to answer that. But… after what Toyo told us last night…”
“You’ve formed reservations?”
There was a long moment of silence between them before Shawn continued. “The one thing your father and I had in common the most was our distaste for killing. True, we were at war and we had a job to do, but I can tell you with full confidence that he liked it even less than I did, and I hated it. Now, to hear he might have been working for the government on some super-weapon capable of utter decimation…” Shawn shook his head in disdain. “Let’s just say it’s far removed from the man I remember.”
She wore a blank expression on her face, and it was impossible for Shawn to tell what was going through her mind as she processed his words. He did understand, however, the conflict that must be going on in her mind between the person she thought she knew and the person her father might actually be. How do you reconcile that?
“My father was always a peaceful man at heart. That is a fact I’ve always known,” she began, her tone utterly confident. “In fact, I used to have this dream that he would someday become a major figure in of the Unified council, maybe even more,” she said as she half laughed, half struggled to hold back tears Shawn saw welling in her eyes. She turned to him with a look of utter despair. “What’s happened to him, Mister Kestrel?”
Shawn knew she was looking for something more than just an answer to the admiral’s whereabouts. He gazed into her eyes, and on impulse cupped her hand as it lay peacefully on the seat between them. “People change, Melissa. Sometimes for the better, sometimes…” His words trailed off he looked out beyond the front widow of the car. He felt his own despair welling up, knowing that his next words could hurt him as much as they could her. “Sometimes not so much.” He released her hand, then reached for the door handle and slipped out of the car before she had a chance to reply.
Shawn walked to the driver’s side of the vehicle, resolved to open the door for Melissa so she could exit. As he neared the vehicle, however, the short, mouthy Denarian got out of the driver’s seat and beat Shawn to his objective. Shawn dejectedly held up his hands up and backed slowly away from the door. “It’s all yours, friend,” he offered cautiously.
The Denarian grunted before answering. “A wise decision, hu-man.”
As soon as Melissa exited the vehicle, the scaly creature closed the door and stood to face off with Shawn. “Mister Katashi said to inform you that your ship is ready, and that he’s placed a few extra items into the cargo hold. He also said to have a safe trip and to come back anytime.” The Denarian’s hideous eyes turned to Melissa as he licked his lips with a slimy forked tongue.
“Does that mean I’ll have the pleasure of seeing your pretty face again?” Shawn asked.
The Denarian’s smile faded to a scowl almost immediately. “Don’t get cute, Kestrel. Just be glad you’re on the friendly side of my gun,” it said as it patted its chest, signifying its weapons were holstered close to its body and out of sight, “and not the business end.”
Kestrel stared the alien down, crossing his arms across his chest. “Don’t worry, friend. I’ll remember it, just like I remember how helpful you all were during the war.”
The Denarian shrugged, appearing to smile, but it could just have easily been something bad he ate. “That was a long time ago, Captain.”
“Not to everyone it isn’t.”
The creature leered at Shawn. “You know, Captain, it’s a tragedy what happened on Cortorolla V; a Sector Command star base in complete ruin, orbiting a destroyed colony world like an enormous tombstone. It’s a shame really. I even heard there was a Denarian cruiser not two parsecs away when the battle broke out.” The creature made a pitiful slithering sound with its tongue. “I wish there was something we could have done. But, war is like that, isn’t it? It fills our dreams and nightmares with the great and unanswerable ‘what-ifs’ of the galaxy.” The Denarian turned before Shawn could reply and stepped into the car, speeding away a moment later in a cloud of dust.
Shawn glared at the car until it disappeared from view, then turned and stepped into the open hold of the Mark-IV with Melissa close on his heels.
“What was all that about?” she asked with unease. “He seemed… well, I just didn’t take you for someone who would condemn an entire species for one person’s shortcomings. You didn’t need to be rude to him and—”
Shawn spun on his heels and held himself like a statue directly in her path. “Let me be clear on this, alright? It is not a him, nor is it even a person. It’s a Denarian. And, if you don’t recall you’re history too well, then let me refresh your memory: the Denarian’s weren’t exactly our allies during the war, got it?” He turned to continue up the ramp.
“But, neither were they are enemies,” she defended as she rushed up behind him.
He halted in his tracks, stopping so suddenly she nearly ran straight into his back. He turned tersely to stare into her eyes once again. “Yeah, but that didn’t help the war efforts any. There were more than a few times we could have used any assistance to win those battles, Cortorolla V being one of them. But then again, Cortorolla wasn’t a battle at all, really. It was the systematic slaughter of over three hundred unarmed civilian colonists on a world less than three light-years from Denarian space. When a passing Denarian cruiser received the colony’s distress call, do you know what they did? They offered their assistance in exchange for payment… up front.
“I didn’t mean to say—” she tried softly, but was quickly silenced.
“The Denarian’s had their chance to impress me… multiple times… and they failed. I give them no quarter because they gave us none. It’s a known fact that, over the course of the war, thousands died—some of them friends of mine—because the Denarian’s wanted the Unified government to pay for their courage during a wartime situation. The Unified government refused, not because they didn’t need the help, but because they didn’t have the spare credits to spend on mercenaries. So, if it’s not already abundantly clear to you, Denarians will get no love from me.”
Shawn pivoted back into the ship, leaving Melissa standing at the top of the ramp, her mouth agape. Seeing he was almost through the door, she took a breath and shouted after him. “You said it yourself in the car, Captain: people change.”
He called back coldly over his shoulder before disappearing into the innards of Sylvia’s Delight. “Not them. They’re not people.”
*
Moments after he’d entered the command deck, Shawn flopped himself down in the wonderfully forgiving pilots chair. He looked to the centermost overhead console; a jumble of switches and lights to the untrained eye, he expertly began entering the destination coordinates into the ships navigational computer.
Melissa stormed into the cockpit and hovered like a vulture over his shoulder. “I wasn’t finished talking to you, mister.”
Without bothering to face her, he continued to query the guidance computer for verification of his input. When it failed to give him the proper response, he lightly slapped the side of the unit. When it again failed, he struck it with a rapid series of slaps and taps. “That’s funny, because I distinctly remember ending that line of conversation.”
“Divide by zero error. Please reenter data, Captain,” the female computer voice said happily as Shawn continued to abuse the terminal.
After the third attempt at entering the information—and after receiving the same error message each time—he reached up and slapped the computer harder. This time several of the lights flickered momentarily, turned completely off, then went back to full illumination. The captain’s jolt had the desired effect. The destination input light flickered from red to green, which was followed by a rather friendly chime as the female voice of the computer responded with “Input accepted, Captain.”
“I can’t believe I’m trusting my life to a man who has to wallop his ship to get it to cooperate,” Melissa said, shaking her head somberly.
Thankful that she’d decided to drop her previous line of questions, he smiled. “You just need to show it whose boss from time to time.”
She rolled her eyes heavily at the comment, then continued to watch as he entered the final pieces of information into the ships computer. Some of the requests seemed benign, while others were completely obscure to her. She’d done her fair share of vessel piloting in the past, but she couldn’t recall ever being behind the controls of such an antiquated vessel like Sylvia’s Delight. She decided to momentarily put her fears about the vehicles safety behind her for the time being.
“Would you…”
“Would I what?” Shawn snapped tersely.
“Look I’m… I’m sorry. Would you mind terribly if I continued to sit up here, Captain?”
“What’s the matter? The passenger compartment a little too cold for your liking?”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Well, I’m not really sure that it’s the best—”
“Thank you,” She offered, then effortlessly slid into the copilot’s seat once more. “You really are quite the gentleman sometimes.”
He looked at her in disbelief, then shook his head faintly as he returned his attention to the controls. “Don’t mention it.” Catching something out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head to see her staring at him pitifully. “Oh no, what now?”
“I really am sorry, Captain.”
Shawn couldn’t help but look at her dubiously, because he had no way of knowing whether she was telling the truth or not. In the end, however, he knew they’d be stuck together for the time being, and someone had to start trusting someone or they’d never make any headway. He shook his head, licking his lips. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my own problem to get over.”
Sensing the transformation in his mood, she decided to change the topic. “I can’t believe you managed to install a laser onto this… ah…”
“Yes?” he asked warily, wondering what insult she would fling at the ship this time. He pondered briefly if D’s onboard computer was considering the same thing.
“Vessel?” she finished without much confidence in the word.
Shawn couldn’t help but chuckle. “You really have a way with words, don’t you?”
“Meaning what, precisely?”
“Well, for starters, you certainly have a problem with my ship.”
She sighed heavily. “I’m… I’m sorry. Honestly. It’s just how I deal with stress sometimes. Please try not to take it personally.”
“I’m not sure there’s any other way to take it.”
“Well, if we’re going to work together, then you’ll have to figure one out. I’m certainly not going to be the one to change.”
There was a marked moment of silence after she spoke. Something about her statement had brought him some peace, though. At least they were on the same page when it came to realizing they needed to be civil to one another. Whether he would continue to take her insults personally or not was a different matter entirely.
“There are actually two laser cannons on either side of the ship,” he began. “They’re concealed behind tri-tonic plated panels to avoid both visual detection and multiphasic scans.”
Melissa flattened her lips, then the ends slowly curled into a demure smile. “That’s illegal, Captain.”
“What are you, Fleet Security?” he chortled.
She was quick to respond. “No, of course not. It’s just that I—,” seeing he was acutely staring at her, faltered. “Oh, never mind. And… you’ve used these lasers before?”
“A time or two.” Shawn said as he flipped the internal gravity stabilizer on.
Melissa felt the slight tug of the artificial gravity take hold of her boots. “And when was the last time?”
“About three weeks ago. Why do you ask?”
“I’m just wondering if they’re as finicky as everything else on the ship,” she said as she gestured her hand around the cockpit.
There was an annoying series of beeps and blips from the console, which momentarily distracted the captain. He then turned and gave Melissa a frustrated sneer. “Seriously, you just can’t help it, can you?”
Her shoulders dropped. “For heaven’s sake. Give me some time to adjust. Besides, it’s not like I called this thing a flying death trap or anything.”
“Is that how you feel?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Would you like a sugarcoated lie or the hard truth?”
“I’m thinking that neither is a good option right now.”
“You’re probably right,” she agreed.
“Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with my guns, Miss Graves,” he replied derisively. “They shoot just fine.”
“I’m sure they do, Captain. I’m sure they do.” Melissa stared through the center view port at the distant hill that Toyo’s house was secluded on. A low hanging cloud had wrapped itself around its top, as if to blanket the naturally imposing formation from the colder atmosphere above. “So, you served with him during the war?” She said aloud.
“Katashi?”
“Yes.”
“I thought we went over this the last time we were in the car?” he asked. If they had, her facial expression told him she wanted to go over it again.
“Does it matter?” she said, confirming Shawn’s assumption.
Shawn continued checking the rest of his gauges. “Guess not. Either way, yes.”
“But, you didn’t fight together.”
“What makes you say that?” He asked over the hum of D’s engines warming up.
Melissa shrugged. “I’m just making an observation, that’s all. I gather that Toyo was in intelligence and you were—”
“A fighter pilot. So what?” he cut her off rudely.
“You know, you could stand to be a litter nicer yourself, Captain. I’m trying to make an effort here, if you hadn’t noticed. And, as you yourself pointed out, we’re both better off if we’re not at each other’s throats.”
He knew she was right. In truth, Shawn had no idea why at this particular juncture he’d decided to be snarky towards her. He also knew nothing halfhearted would suffice now that it was his turn to offer an apology for an unwarranted offense. He turned and looked into her shimmering green eyes in complete sincerity. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just...”
“Yes?” she asked, searching those cobalt blue eyes just before he had a chance to avert them.
“It’s just the way life’s made me.”
Not understanding, she still recognized an apology when she heard one. “It’s quite alright, Captain.”
“The whole ‘Captain’ thing is really starting to sound too formal. Don’t you think we could—?”
“No. No, I don’t think so,” she stammered slightly. “Anyway, what I was going to say was that you were a line officer, and that it was just funny, that’s all. Usually the two circles of pilots and intelligence officers don’t mesh very well.”
Shawn concurred. Normally, intelligence operatives and the fighter pilots were different sides of two very different coins. While all officers essentially come out of the same mold when they graduated Sector Command Academy, Shawn and Toyo’s career paths had taken them in wildly different directions during the war. Usually an officer stuck to his own community, because only the people you worked or flew with truly understood where you were coming from. However, when Shawn had met Toyo during the last year of the war—during that first fateful mission—they’d formed a deep friendship few officers ever can, regardless of whether they represented the same branch insignia on or not.
“Toyo and I were an exception to the rule,” he said slyly.
“You’re probably right,” she said approvingly after a moment.
Shawn nodded curtly. “So, how’d you know the intelligence community didn’t get along so well with others in the service?”
“Oh, just stories, really. Rumors, I guess you could say.”
“From your father?”
“Yes,” she said, then smiled brightly as a memory washed over her. “He had more than enough words about the Office of Special Intelligence. Surprisingly, most of them were good.” She laughed mildly, and her smile was almost radiant.
Almost.
Nonetheless, Shawn was glad they were getting along once again. “You want to know something?” he asked. “Besides Toyotomi, I had a few other run-ins with the OSI myself during my tour.”
“Oh?” she asked in honest surprise. “And how did those go?”
He shrugged. “I could take them or leave them, I suppose. Mostly leave them, if you know what I mean?” Her expression told Shawn she didn’t. “Often it was during post-mission debriefings, when the OSI officer attached to the ship would question us as to what we’d seen while we were out on patrol or in combat.”
“But… you were never on the wrong side of one of their investigations, I gather?”
“I’m afraid not,” he smiled at her. “Does that surprise you?”
She snickered. “I don’t think ‘surprise’ is the word I’d use to describe it, Mister Kestrel.”
“Then what word would you choose?”
She brought a finger to her chin in contemplation. “Astounded—or perhaps even amazed.” She looked at him in all seriousness, but then let out an uncontrollable laugh. It turned out to be infectious, and soon the captain had joined in.
“Oh, God. That felt really good,” she said, wiping a joyous tear from her eye when the laughter had subsided. “It feels like an eternity since I’ve had a good laugh like that,” she said, leaning back in what she now felt was the most amazingly comfortable chair in the galaxy.
“I’m glad it was at my expense,” Shawn offered with a gracious nod.
“You’re not sore, are you?”
He smiled widely. “Of course not. It was nice.”
She looked at him curiously.
“I mean, it felt nice to laugh… for me to do it, I mean,” he stammered. “To laugh. Out loud.”
The recent memory of a dashing pilot, dressed in a tuxedo, and swaying gently with her to soft music passed before her eyes. She shook the image clear, but it didn’t clear the smile from her face. “So, Captain? When do you arrive at Corvan?”
“We aren’t going directly to Corvan from here.”
“But I thought—”
“Whatever you thought, you’ll have to stow it in the overhead compartment. We need to get back to Minos first.”
“Minos is in the opposite direction,” she indicated the relative direction of Corvan by pointing out the view port. “I’d rather go forwards than backwards.”
“I’m not going anywhere else without my mechanic. He’s helped me out of a lot of jams, and nobody knows this ship better than he does. If we want to undertake a journey like this, believe me, he’s an asset that we can’t do without.”
“So, the truth comes out. Even you don’t have faith in your own ship.”
“I have as much faith in my ship as I do in gravity. The simple fact remains that we’re going into unknown territory here, and the last thing we need to happen is to get stranded on some dead rock out there, well beyond the protection of the Inner Sphere. Unless, of course, you don’t actually mind being stranded out amongst the stars,” he waved his hand at the billowy clouds stretched out above the ship, “or God knows where else—alone… with me… forever.”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “And your trusty mechanic can make sure that doesn’t happen?”
“Absolutely.” The word sounded even less convincing coming out of his mouth than it did in his mind.
“Very well, Captain. To Minos we go, and let’s not lollygag along the way.”
Shawn gave her a mock bow. “Thanks for your permission, Captain.” He placed his hands firmly on the control wheel and pulled it slowly back towards his chest.
Sylvia’s Delight slipped effortlessly off the landing pad near warehouse seven. A small cloud of dormant dust billowed up after her as her retro thrusters cycled off and the main drive engines took over the job of launching the craft into space. Rusted panels that were gripping the sides of the nearby dilapidated buildings with their last ounces of strength flew off in a dozen different directions under the onslaught of the Mark-IV’s powerful thrusters. The port and starboard engines then ignited simultaneously, each briefly illuminating with a burst of blue ion energy as the Mark-IV accelerated to full speed to break the power of Persephone’s gravitational hold. Minutes later the ship passed through the upper cloud layer on its way to the welcoming infinity of space.
Chapter 8
“I say again: Antara control, this is Captain Shawn Kestrel onboard Sylvia’s Delight, Hypervarion Mark-IV on final approach. Registry number 459-Zed-Zed-Alpha-9. I am requesting clearance to land at the Old Flamingo cargo terminal, Tericeria.” Shawn repeated the message for a second time, leaning into the microphone and trying not to look worried at the situation. After slowing in its decent to the surface of Minos, the nimble Mark-IV began a slow circling of the Antara islands—a pattern that had now lasted well over thirty minutes, an unheard of amount of time for Shawn to be on final approach. In fact, Shawn was hard pressed to remember the last time he’d been in any holding pattern whatsoever around the islands. With the exception of Jack’s Place, air traffic around the islands was light enough to be barely noticeable, much less hazardous.
“How much longer is this going to take?” Melissa asked.
Just as his patience began to wear thin—and before he could key up the microphone once more—a voice transmission laced with light static came back through the ships intercom. “Understood, Captain Kestrel. Please stand by while we run your authorization.”
Shawn slid his head back from the control panel slowly. There was no way he could deny the peculiarity of the situation any longer. “That’s strange.”
“I’d call it intolerable.” Melissa then noticed the perplexed look on his face. “Define ‘strange’, Mister Kestrel.”
“They’re running my authorization codes.”
“What’s so bizarre about that? I’d think such verification would be routine for any vessel requesting to make a planetary landing.”
Shawn nodded slowly, then looked from the wide forward view port to Melissa. “As shocking as this is going to sound, I’d normally agree with you. However, in all my years of traveling through this region, the only time Antara control ever bothered to run my codes was the first couple of times I landed planet side. After that it never happened again.”
She scoffed. “I’d be more concerned by the fact they never ran them again over the fact that they’re running them now. It sounds to me like they had some shoddy procedures in the past. Perhaps they’re making some security changes?”
“Considering what Toyo told us about hostile fleet movements, I’d tend to agree, but it’s still peculiar. Especially considering we’re still well within protected Unified space.”
“Sounds to me like you might be getting a little paranoid, Captain.”
He looked at her with disapproval. ”There’s a fine line between being paranoid and being cautious, Miss Graves. If it seems that I’m being a little of both in order to safeguard my life, my ship, and the people onboard, then call it what you will.”
She placed a hand lightly over her heart. “I’m honored that you put the value of my life somewhere on your list, Captain, but I don’t need you to take care of me. I can handle myself just fine.” Melissa kept her gaze fixed at the string of islands beyond the ship.
“Yeah? You say that now, but it’s pretty hard to talk that way when a micrometeorite smashes through our hull and sucks out the atmosphere—not to mention letting in all that wonderful cold. It gets slightly drafty in space, you know?”
On that point Melissa had to reluctantly agree, although she wouldn’t give the captain the audible satisfaction of such a disclosure. After a few more minutes of silence from the planet, even Melissa was beginning to wonder what was taking the port so long to authorize Sylvia’s Delight to land. If what Shawn said was true, there should’ve been little to no problem with clearing the vessel to land—assuming the captain didn’t have a backlog of unpaid parking citations or other such factors baring his landing. Just as she was about to ask him as much, the voice of the controller came back over the intercom.
“Permission to land granted, Captain,” the voice said happily. “Welcome back to Minos.”
“Thank you very much,” Shawn replied with agitation, then signed off the channel. “I’m going to have to talk to ground control. They probably got some new rookie in there that doesn’t know my ship from any other cargo vessel in the sector.”
Melissa couldn’t help but get one final jab in just as the captain became too preoccupied to respond. “That’s hard to believe.”
*
The ship sent up a dust cloud of fine particulates as the thrusters brought the Mark-IV into a picture-perfect landing just outside the Old Flamingo’s hangar doors. As the loading ramp extended down from the back of the ship, Trent Maddox dashed up it to meet Shawn before either he or Melissa had a chance to get out.
“This is a first,” Shawn said with surprise as his mechanic came within earshot.
“Hey, man. Good to see you back safe and sound.” Trent was far more excited than usual, which immediately put Shawn on edge. Trent didn’t get excited about much and, when he did, it usually had something to do with half naked women, which Shawn didn’t see anywhere in sight.
The captain peered from Melissa to Trent. “It wasn’t that exciting of a trip. Nothing I couldn’t handle, anyway. What’s with the grandiose welcoming? Normally you’d wait for me in the office and—”
Trent began rubbing his hands together nervously. “Say, Captain… you didn’t have any problems getting back here, did you? I mean, there wasn’t any trouble or anything, was there?”
“Problems?” Shawn asked as he looked to Melissa, who in turn shook her head in confusion. “No, no problems that I can think of. It did take us a little longer than usual to get clearance to land, but that wasn’t—”
“Oh, well. That’s great. I mean, it’s unfortunate you had to wait so long, but I guess it could’ve been a lot worse. When you didn’t come straight in I was worried something might have happened to you.” Trent smiled nervously.
“Something was going to happen to me? Like what?” Shawn asked with a chuckle. “I was just coming in for a simple landing. I’ve done in a hundred times.”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing. It’s just that… well… I was worried and all. But you’re back safe and—”
Shawn held up his hands, trying to calm his friend’s nervous chatter. “Slow down, pal. Worried about what? What are you talking about?”
Trent looked cautiously around the cargo deck, then lowered his voice as if someone was overhearing their conversation. “Jack.”
“Jack?” Both Shawn and Melissa said in unison, then looked queerly at one another.
“Shhh,” Trent hissed as he brought a finger to his mouth. “Jack De Lorme,” he whispered with care.
“De Lorme?” Shawn replied, still using his full voice. “What the devil would he—”
Trent quickly reached up and covered Shawn’s mouth with his free hand, effectively silencing the captain. “Keep it down, will you? Yes, Jack De Lorme! You get space dust in your ears or something?”
Shawn, wide eyed that his mechanic had taken to such wild gestures, quickly nodded his head. Trent responded by withdrawing his hand from the captains mouth. Unfortunately, Trent must have been working on something rather dirty in the hangar before Sylvia’s Delight had landed. There was a perfect impression of his hand in the form of a dirt smudge across Shawn’s mouth.
When Melissa saw the mark on Shawn’s face, she couldn’t stop a burst of muffled laughter from escaping past her lips. She reached into her handbag and withdrew a small piece of cloth and offered it to Shawn. “Here,” she said with a cheerful smile.
He cocked an eyebrow, then lowered his voice—although he still had no idea why. “What’s that for?”
“See for yourself,” Melissa replied, still chuckling and reaching into her bag once more to produce a small pocket mirror.
Shawn gazed at the reflection and the wide, brownish smudge that extended from one cheek to the other. He looked to Trent in disbelief. “Geez, man. Don’t you ever wash those grubby mitts of yours?”
“When the occasion calls for it.” Trent replied defensively.
“Well, how about we make sure that the occasion calls for it more often, alright?”
Trent looked to Melissa, who only nodded and smiled softly in return.
“So, tell me what the big deal with Jack is?” Kestrel prodded as he finished wiping his face clean. “And why in the heck are we whispering in the cargo hold?”
Trent leaned into Shawn and spoke ominously. “He came looking for you.”
“Jack… came here?” Shawn had had never known De Lorme to make a personal call at the Old Flamingo—and he was sure that it would’ve been an occasion to remember.
“Well, he didn’t come here personally, but he did send a couple of his boys.”
“What for? I haven’t done anything to get on his bad side.”
“Oh really?” she whispered with incredulity.
“Well,” Shawn replied as he turned to her, then back to Trent, “not lately, anyway.”
“I’m not exactly sure why he wanted to see you, but I’m betting it was something important. His guys said something about wanting to make sure that Miss Graves was with you.”
“He wanted to see us both?” Melissa asked cautiously. “Did they say what for?”
“Maybe he wants you to pay for the furniture you broke?” Shawn asked sarcastically.
It was not lost on Melissa. “Ha-ha,” she replied phonetically as she lightly backhanded him across his forearm. “You owe him a piano, so don’t look at me.”
Shawn paid her blow little mind, turning his attention back to Trent. “We were just there the other day. Why didn’t he say something then?” Shawn asked, not really expecting to hear that Jack’s men had given his mechanic an answer for it.
Trent could only offer shrugged shoulders. “I don’t know, man. All I know is what they told me, and they sounded like they meant business.”
“What makes you say that?” Melissa asked.
“Well, it probably had something to with the fact they were pointing guns at me when they said it.”
“That’s Jack’s version of business, alright.” Shawn agreed, then turned to Melissa. “But seriously, why would he want to see you, too?”
She stepped back defensively. “How should I know?”
“Right. You’re just an innocent in all this, I forgot.” Shawn narrowed his eyes and looked at her doubtfully, then turned back to Trent. “Did they say if or when they were coming back?”
“Um, that would be a no on both, Skipper.”
“That means they could be here any minute.” The wheels in Shawn’s head began to turn quickly.
“More than likely. Your guess is as good as mine,” Trent offered regretfully. “Say, what kind of trouble did you have landing?”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Melissa dismissed with a wave. “It took us an extra few minutes to get clearance. That’s all.”
Trent’s brow furrowed. “That’s odd.”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” Shawn concurred as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And you said Jack sent his boys here, right?”
Trent looked pensive for a moment as he began to put the pieces together in his mind. “You think that ground control got a message out to Jack? You know… to let him know that you were back?”
Shawn was thinking that same thing, but then quickly shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for Jacques De Lorme or anyone else right now. And, for that matter, neither do you.”
“Why do you say that?” Trent glared sideways at Shawn. “And why are you looking at me that way?”
“What way is that?”
“Like you haven’t eaten in days and I’m a big, fat, honey glazed ham.”
“Pack your bags, Trent.” Shawn said, placing a hand on his friends shoulder and smiling. “And don’t forget your tools.”
“Or the soap,” Melissa quipped.
“Where am I going?” Trent said nervously.
“We’re taking a little trip… to Corvan.”
Trent’s face immediately lost all of its color. “Oh, if it’s all the same, Captain, I think I’ll just stay here. You know how spaceflight gets to me. I get all gassy and bloated. And then there’s the space sickness. And about how I snore in artificial gravity,” then he began to demonstrate the guttural sound, far more loudly than necessary. It seemed the time for whispering had come to and end.
Shawn silenced the noises with a hand over Trent’s mouth. “It’s not a request, old buddy. Besides, if Jack’s men do come back—and if they know that we were here—it probably won’t go very well for you.”
Trent contemplated the meaning of the captain’s words. “Come on. You think Jack would really… you know… “ Trent asked, then swallowed hard as a lump began to form in his throat.
Shawn removed the hand from his shoulder. “Not only do I think he would, I know he would.”
Trent nodded somberly and cast his eyes to the grated floor of the cargo hold. “Yeah, he probably would.”
Shawn inclined his head towards the sky. “Besides, if you’re up there with us, you won’t have anything to worry about.”
“That’s debatable,” Melissa muttered under her breath.
“Meaning what, exactly?” Shawn asked perturbed.
“I’m only going by your recent track record,” she said flatly. “You’re not exactly batting a thousand in the luck department.”
“I sure wouldn’t bet on us.” Trent replied in the same monotone.
“You’re just sore because I’m making you go into space, and I know how much you hate it,” Shawn replied wryly, then turned to Melissa. “And I’m not exactly sure why you’re sore, but I’m thinking it was because you were born that way. Either way you two, zip your traps, get your gear, and get back to the ship. Captain’s orders.”
Momentarily defeated, both Trent and Melissa offered the same look of annoyance, then ambled down the cargo ramp side by side to gather their respective belongings.
“Kids these days,” Shawn muttered under his breath as he headed for his own office. “I swear.”
*
Half an hour later, Trent had managed to collect virtually every tool he owned in the time that’d been allotted to him. He’d piled most of them into one large, heavy metal toolbox that was supported by small antigravity casters. He looked around his personal workshop, saddened by the few pieces of larger equipment that were too cumbersome to bring. He went through his internal checklist as he recounted everything he’d already stowed in the ship’s cargo hold, which hadn’t been much. Most everything he needed was in the ten foot tall metal box he now secured shut. Satisfied that he had everything he’d need to service the ship, he pushed the toolbox out of the shop and towards Sylvia’s Delight.
Meanwhile, Shawn was in the small upstairs apartment directly above the Old Flamingo’s business office, packing up a small number of personal items for himself. Melissa, sitting patiently in a stuffed, pastel printed chair in a corner of the room, watched as the captain hurriedly tossed clothes and personal items into an aluminum suitcase he’d splayed on the cot. She shifted her eyes to the horrendously uncomfortable piece of furniture she’d spent that one hellish night on and visibly shuddered.
“You know, if you folded those clothes you’d have more room in that suitcase,” she advised him from her chair.
“I don’t need to pack much more in there than what I’ve already got. Besides, there are a few more changes of clothes in my personal stateroom on the ship. Most everything of importance to me is already there.”
“You spend that much time in space?” she asked puzzled, wondering with curiosity what kind of effects the captain would consider important.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when given a choice, you keep your items of value on your ship versus here in your room.”
Shawn looked around the space thoughtfully, gauging what other things—if any—he needed to bring. “That’s because I can survive without this room, but not without my ship.”
Melissa watched as the captain moved about and tossed near random items into the suitcase. If there was a pattern to his choices, it was eluding her. First he’d grabbed a chipped and well used coffee cup, then a small antique compass, which was followed by a handful of books that he’d removed from underneath a nightstand.
“What are those?” she asked as she popped herself up from the chair and walked towards the slowly growing heap that threatened to spill over the sides of the case at any moment.
“Books,” he said as he began rummaging through the top draw of a metal filing cabinet. “Real ones. And before you ask, no, they don’t have lots of pictures.”
She frowned. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask. What are they about?”
Shawn, paying her little mind, moved down to the next drawer in the cabinet. “See for yourself.”
Melissa picked up the first tome. It was beautiful, bound in deep red leather and unusually heavy. The edges of the pages were tipped in gold, and a single thin bookmark had been placed near the center. She turned it sideways and regarded the spine. “Ulysses, by James Joyce,” She read aloud. “I had no idea you were versed in the classics, Mister Kestrel.”
Shawn, now searching the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, was too busy looking through paperwork to respond in words. He merely grunted his response.
Opening the book to the first page, she noted with approval that the book was a second printing, dating back to 1923, First Earth calendar. Casting aside the question she wanted to ask about how he’d come into possession of such a rare novel, she flipped through to where the book mark had been placed and began reading the page aloud. “Episode Eleven, Sirens,” She looked back to Shawn, searching for a sign that he was listening to her. When he continued to ignore her, she closed the book and softly placed it back in the suitcase and withdrew another of the novels. Like the first, this one was also heavily bound in leather and well read. Unlike the other, this one had a slightly more flexible binding. On the cover—almost completely dominating the front—was a large crucifix that was stitched into the backing.
She slowly ran a delicate finger over the symbol. “I haven’t seen one of these in a very long time—at least, not one printed on paper. Where did you—” she turned and asked, expecting him to still be at the filing cabinet, but was startled when he appeared directly behind her and snatched the book from her hand, tossing it back into the suitcase with abandon.
“It was a gift,” he replied tersely, then walked over to stand beside the corner of a small office desk opposite of the chair Melissa had sat in. He easily pushed the piece of furniture aside, uncovering the corner of the large, multi-colored rug that dominated half of the floor. He reached down, grabbed the corner, then flipped the section of rug over with a toss, sending small bits of dirt and debris scattering around the floor. Crouching down, the captain removed a false floorboard to reveal a hidden safe.
Melissa could see that the safe was affixed into the floorboards so that it was flush with the surrounding material—a very impressive one, at that. It’s green and yellow lights were blinking steadily, indicating that it was ready to receive the coded sequence that would open it—or any number of other false codes that could trigger the device to detonate and destroy half the building.
Shawn looked up to Melissa, who peered back him with a blank expression. “If you don’t mind?” he asked.
After a moment she realized he was waiting for her to turn around. She couldn’t help but expel an agitated sigh. “Oh, very well, Mister Kestrel.” She heard the beeps and bleeps of the safe accepting his input, then the soft click as the latch was turned and the door opened. Pleased that she wasn’t about to be blown up because the captain had forgotten his code, she turned around just in time to see him withdraw a dusty satchel and a small paper bag from the safe.
“What is that?” she asked, inclining her head towards the military issue bag. Across the widest portion, she could see the letters ‘USC’ stitched in dark thread above the stylized eagle emblem of the Unified Sector Command. Aside from the light dusting, the handbag looked pristine, and Melissa knew that it was the quality of the hermetically sealed safe that had kept the item in such good repair. Shawn set the case on the desktop and, unlatching the two fasteners holding the halves together, gently unfolded it across the desktop.
Melissa expelled a slow whistle as she regarded the case’s contents. On one side of the satchel was a pair of highly polished Government Issue blasters, held fast to the case with small elastic straps, with one pistol placed over the other in a yin-yang pattern. On either side of the pistols a pair of small daggers were likewise held firmly in place. Melissa immediately noticed that they were the exactly the same as the one she had found in her father’s desk back home.
When the captain turned to close the floor safe, she nimbly withdrew one of the small knives, smiling at the discovery that it also held the same etchings and insignias as her fathers, save for the owner’s name.
“Lieutenant Commander Shawn Kestrel,” she read aloud, and then looked to the captain.
He glimpsed to her, then to the knife. “You’re a curious little thing, aren’t you?” he said.
She smiled lightly, then placed the dangerously sharp blade back into its alcove. “I like facts, Lieutenant Commander.”
The added emphasis on his former rank caused him to lock up. For a long moment, he didn’t move. He just stared into the dangerously full suitcase on the cot.
“That was a long time ago,” he finally said quietly, then reached into the tattered paper bag and withdrew two energy packs for the blasters. He placed them in the pocket of his flight jacket and moved back to the satchel. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew the old pistol holstered there and tossed it onto the cot, replacing it with one of the chrome like blasters from the satchel.
“What’s wrong with the old one?” Melissa asked.
Shawn picked it up, pointed it at the wastebasket, and fired.
Nothing happened. He then tossed it into the trash can.
Melissa went wide eyes. “You’ve been walking around with a defective gun?”
“Not entirely. It’s just… temperamental. Right now, I’d rather have something a little more consistent.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “But, it looks like you haven’t fired those Unified issue guns in a long time. How can you be sure they work any better?”
Shawn deftly withdrew the beautiful blaster and, without breaking her eye contact, completely incinerated the wastebasket at all of its contents.
“Trust me. I’m sure,” he then put the weapon back into his jacket.
Melissa watched as Shawn reached for a hidden zipper in the satchel, signifying that there was another compartment veiled under the one that held the two firearms. She watched as he flipped the cover holding the blasters open like a book, then leaned in closer to inspect the contents now on display. She instantly recognized the high powered laser rifle that had been carefully disassembled into its various components. “These don’t look like standard issue sidearm’s for a fighter pilot, Mister Kestrel.”
“Whoever said that I was just a fighter pilot, Miss Graves?”
She ran a hand over the smooth barrel of the rifle, half expecting the captain to slap it away. “I suppose… I thought—”
“You thought what?” he asked coldly. He momentarily locked eyes with her, then retreated from his defensiveness. “You have no idea who I am.”
Melissa checked her thoughts before she continued; hoping her brain-mouth filter was functioning normally. “You’re right, of course. I had no right to—” she began, but stopped as the captain caught her gaze. Not knowing what else to do, she dropped her pretenses, sensing that anything she was about to say would have come off as a lame excuse for an apology. “I’m sorry,” she muttered meekly.
Shawn slowly nodded, then turned his attention back to the task of packing. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get going.” He quickly zipped up the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. When he went to retrieve the aluminum suitcase from the cot, he found Melissa standing at the ready, the case already in her hand.
She flashed her eyes, first to him, then to the luggage, then back to his eyes. “It’s… it’s really not that heavy. I’ll just carry it out there.” She tilted her head towards the door. “Are you ready?”
Shawn turned to the door, pushed it opened fully, and allowed Melissa to shuffle from the room first—the shiny suitcase held tightly in her grasp.
*
Aboard Sylvia’s Delight, Trent was just finishing tying down his exceedingly large tool chest. Shawn, with Melissa close behind, sauntered up the rear cargo ramp and headed for the control panel on the far side of the hold.
“Is everything aboard?” Shawn asked of Trent, his hand hovering over the lift actuator.
With one final tug on the nylon locking strap, Trent leaned against the large red box. “Yeah. That’s the last of them. I think we’ve got everything we’re going to need.”
“Good,” Shawn said. His hand was about to come down on the button when he was interrupted by Trent.
“So, are you sure you still need me to come along? I mean, I could get sick… or injured. What if I need medical attention and we’re light-years away from a hospital. I’ll die. Then you’ll have to eject my body into space. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”
With a smirk, Shawn turned back to the control panel and firmly pressed the switch. The cargo ramp slowly retracted closed, the thick hydraulic rams on either side slowly retracting into one another as the door moved with a handful of creaks and groans. When the ramp had fully closed there was a soft hiss as the locks around the frame formed an air tight seal.
“If you die, I promise I’ll get over it as soon as I can.”
“Wow. Thanks,” Trent replied acerbically.
“Hey, you brought it up.” Shawn smiled as he turned and headed to the control deck. Midway to his destination, as he passed the port and starboard entrances to the individual engine rooms, Shawn asked Trent to remain there and maintain a watch on the newly repaired propulsion units—just incase anything happened.
“What could happen?” the mechanic had asked, to which Shawn replied that he shouldn’t have asked in the first place, and that the ship would be taking off shortly.
The doors to the command deck hissed open and, once Shawn and Melissa were inside, abruptly sealed behind them. The captain began inputting commands into the overhead navigational computer before he’d even sat down. Not three minutes later, just after he’d turned on the heated seat controls, Melissa wordlessly slipped past him and sat down in the copilot’s chair. He did a quick double take as soon as he noticed that she’d changed into a black and gray military issue flight suit—and quite a form fitting one at that.
“What?” she asked with hesitation as she caught his gaze.
“You keep a flight suit in your suitcase for emergencies, I gather?” he asked in disbelief at her quick change act.
She stared back at him expressionless and silent.
“Never mind,” he dismissed with a shake of his head and went back to his preflight checklist. “I’ve about given up trying to figure you out.”
She smiled contentedly to herself when she was convinced he was no longer scanning her out of his periphery. Melissa glanced down to the auxiliary engine control monitor, watching as the front of the starboard engine began spinning faster and faster as the unit climbed to full takeoff power. On the screen, the cone-shaped tip was awash with a bright blue-white light as Sylvia’s Delight announced with a series of gentle shudders that she was ready to lift off the surface of Minos once again.
Shawn tapped the intercom button in front of him. “Trent, is everything ready back there?”
“Roger, Captain. The engines are at full power, and I’ve got my puke bag ready.”
“Just don’t throw-up on my engines,” Shawn shouted back. “Once we break out of the atmosphere, I want you to divert all the bleed energy into the backup navigational screens.”
“You sure you don’t want full power? I’d feel better if you—”
“If I ran the ship based on your feelings I’d have painted her pink with little unicorns on the bulkheads,” Shawn retorted, and he swore Melissa let out a fit of stifled laughter. “I want enough energy to withstand anything we might encounter out there. I’d hate for us to get caught with our—” Shawn began, but stopped as he looked to Melissa. “I don’t want to run into any surprises, okay? Stand by for a full power ascent.”
“And what does that mean?” Melissa asked cautiously.
He looked to the copilot’s chair and examined Melissa, making sure her three-point safety harness was fully attached. “It means you’re in for one heck of a ride,” he replied, then pressed the drive igniter button. With a thunderous roar, the Mark-IV abruptly launched nearly straight up from the Old Flamingo’s landing pad and into the lower atmosphere.
Melissa could feel herself being pulled back into her seat as gravity fought to keep the ship—not to mention her stomach—on the ground. She didn’t even have time enough to scream before the inertial stabilizers came on and she felt her body loosen up in the seat.
Breathing heavily, she pushed some fallen strands of hair out of her face. “Is that your idea of a joke, Captain?”
“No. That’s my idea of a quick getaway.”
“Getaway? From what?”
Just then a voice came through the ships intercom from the surface of Minos. It was the same male tower operator that they’d heard when landing. “Sylvia’s Delight. Come in, Sylvia’s Delight. You are not cleared for takeoff at this time. Please return to Minos immediately.”
“Fat chance of that happening,” Shawn replied, not bothering to press the button that would’ve sent the response to the ground controller.
“Is there something I should know about?” Melissa asked.
Shawn turned the ground radar off, then activated the space navigational computer as he prepared to engage the jump drive that would send them away from Minos at nearly the speed of light. Before he could enter the last two commands, however, a bolt of green light rocketed over the bow and out into space. Sylvia’s Delight lunged downward abruptly, but the captain was able to quickly right her.
“Who’s shooting at us?” Melissa cried as she gripped her armrests tightly.
Shawn looked to the short-range sensor display as the ships female computer voice cheerfully read out the report on the ships attacking the Mark-IV. On the screen, a three-view computer generated wire frame representation of a fighter was displayed, as well as armament and shielding information on the vessel. It was a sleek, bullet shaped fighter, with two large thrusters on the rear and sweeping wing-like structures jutting out from the front of the craft.
“Temkorian’s,” Shawn replied as he looked the schematic over. “And four of them, too.” Shawn was silently impressed that Jack felt so highly of his abilities that the Frenchman had to send four of his goons out to retrieve him.
“They’re a long way from home,” Melissa replied hesitantly.
“Not if their home is at Jack’s place. They must have taken off before we left the ground. There is no other way they would have gotten here so quickly.”
A blue light on Shawn’s control panel began to blink, signaling to the captain that the lead Temkorian fighter wished to communicate. Reluctantly, he flipped on the yellow toggle switch. Shawn cleared his throat as he summoned his best command voice. “This is Captain Kestrel onboard Sylvia’s Delight. What gives you the right to fire on an unarmed vessel?”
Melissa looked at him suspiciously, but he shot her back a look that said ‘whatever he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’
The alien’s voice came back immediately. It was a high pitch, squeaky sounding thing, and not at all frightening. However, Shawn knew the latter was far from true when it came to Temkorian’s. “It doesn’t need to go this way, Kestrel,” the alien began. “Return to Minos and you will be unharmed. All we want is the girl.”
“The girl?” He replied too softly for the Temkorian to hear him. His eyes pivoted towards the copilot’s seat and the attractive, strangely calm woman occupying it. “Why would Jack want only you?”
“I can’t imagine why,” she replied blandly.
“Neither can I. I mean, not unless there was a profit in—” he stopped himself in mid-sentence as he contemplated what he was about to say. The Temkorian made another round of demands before Shawn spoke up to Melissa again. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
The volume of his voice caught her by surprise. “That’s what, Mister Kestrel?”
“This isn’t about me at all. It's all about you. You’re hot!”
Melissa instantly blushed and smiled sheepishly. “Why thank you, Mister Kestrel.”
Shawn looked at her in confusion just as the ships proximity alarm came on briefly, then extinguished itself. “Thank you? For what?”
“You just said I was hot. While I know that it’s something of an archaic term for someone who is attractive, I do suppose that I have turned my share of heads in the past and…” She looked to Shawn and, seeing the look of utter perplexity on his face, wondered what was going on behind his eyes.
“What are you talking about, lady?” he asked wide-eyed.
“Didn’t you just call me hot?”
Shawn shook his head in disdain. “No! Not hot hot. I mean hot… as in wanted.”
There was a hint of rejection in her voice. “So… you’re saying you don’t think I’m attractive?”
Shawn wasn’t sure if she was being serious or playing. “Are you some type of crazy person?”
The Temkorian jumped back into the conversation. “Repeat, Captain Kestrel: We just want the girl. You’ll be free to go on your way once we have her.”
Shawn gave Melissa another glance, then looked back out the forward view port. He leaned into the microphone and pressed the initiator button. “Well, that’s too bad, pal, because you can’t have her.”
“Very mature response, Captain.” Melissa scoffed.
“Am I to understand you’re claiming her, Kestrel?” the alien angrily snapped back.
Before Melissa could think about what she was about to do, she reached across Shawn’s lap and punched the communications control. “Excuse me, Mister…Mister Man, or whatever you call yourself. No one claims me. I am my own person.”
Shawn slapped her hand away from the control. “Stop that! Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? Those are Temkorian’s out there!”
“So what?” she rallied, rubbing the pick spot on her hand before folding her arms across her chest.
“So, I know you haven’t been around the interstellar block a few times yet, so I’ll tell you that Temkorian’s are something of an interstellar packrat species.”
Melissa shook her head. “And?”
“And, if something in space isn’t claimed, it’s considered free game by their race.” Shawn could see she still didn’t comprehend. “If I don’t claim you then, in their eyes, you are considered free game… and they can take you—by force, if necessary.”
The alien’s squeaky voice came back over the speaker as one of the Temkorian fighters passed slowly over the bow of Sylvia’s Delight, then cantered off to port. “I’m sorry, Captain. I did not copy your last transmission. Repeat your last.”
Shawn held up a finger, as if to stop Melissa from saying or doing anything else that would make their situation worse. He reached over and pressed the communications button once more, clearing his throat in the process. “Yes. Yes, I’ve claimed her. She’s mine. Besides, even if I hadn’t claimed her, you wouldn’t want her. She’s…”
Wondering what on Third Earth he was going to say next, she rested her elbow on the armrest, then leaned her chin into her palm, hanging on the captains next words.
“She’s… cranky.”
Chapter 9
“I am not cranky!” Melissa all but screamed in response. “And I am not a crazy person!”
“Really? Have you tried listening to yourself lately? I mean, I’m less than four feet from you, and you’re screaming at me like I’m a mile way,” Shawn said calmly, his eyes still gazing into the sensor display at the four Temkorian fighters now in pursuit.
One of the fighters had settled into the Mark-IV’s aft quadrant, with one each on her port and starboard flanks. The only unaccounted for Temkorian was the leader, and he was probably somewhere distant, directing the rest of the group. The fighters were sleek and, from what Shawn’s computer casually and almost joyfully informed him, quite lethal. While he’d encountered fighters of this type under more friendly circumstances during the war, he’d never tangled with the business end of one of them. Back then, the Temkorian’s had fought on the side of the Unified Collaboration of Systems against the Kafaran’s. Now it looked as if Shawn was going to have to face off against these fast and well-armed fighters with only the minimal lasers of Sylvia’s Delight.
Needless to say, the odds were not in his favor.
“And you can’t claim me either, Captain.” Melissa continued in annoyance. “I am not some… some trophy!”
“Believe me, if you were a prize, you’d be a consolation one,” he muttered into the sensor screen.
“What? What did you just say?”
Before Shawn could reply, the Temkorian’s angry voice squealed through the intercom speaker. “Her current disposition means very little to me, Captain. It’s only required that she continue to breathe—at least, for the time being.”
“For the last time: she’s claimed, Temkorian. Frag off,” Shawn said in his most authoritative tone. “And you can tell Jack I said so.”
“Why waste the call when I already have his response, Captain,” the voice replied arrogantly. Without warning two more blasts of green energy rocketed past Sylvia’s Delight, far closer than the last, and out into space. The proximity of the rounds caused the Mark-IV to shake momentarily as the density of space around the Hypervarion transport was temporarily disrupted.
“What are those green laser thingies made of?” Melissa asked as she continued to squeeze the armrests of the copilot’s chair.
“Highly agitated energetic plasma.”
“And… what will it do if it hits us?”
“Ever seen a piece of wood after a termite gets to it?”
“A long time ago, but yes.”
“Well, we’ll be that piece of wood if we get hit with one of those things. The hull will become very brittle, easily susceptible to the vacuum of space.”
“Then I suggest we try to avoid that outcome,” she replied smartly.
He looked to her irritably, momentarily forgetting the Temkorian on the communications channel. “We shouldn’t even be here in the first place! What do they want with you, anyway?”
Melissa pondered the question quietly. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you what they want, but I can tell you what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’d very much like to live to see my next birthday, so can we please leave?”
He shrugged. “I'm afraid not. We can’t initiate the jump drive right now.”
“And why is that?” Her tone was anything but pleased.
“Because of this,” Shawn said, hitting two buttons near one of the small computer displays embedded in the console in front of Melissa. The screen was displaying a top-down view of their current position, with Sylvia’s Delight directly in its center. The four Temkorian fighters were red blips buzzing around the ship like angry wasps. At a second touch of the buttons, a bright yellow filter was applied to the real-time image. It floated across the screen as if someone has spilled water on the display until it fully obscured the original image. As the filter began to fade, Melissa noticed a greenish blob surrounding the Mark-IV for a distance of nearly five-hundred feet.
“A dampening field?” She asked uncertainly. “How did you know?”
“Because I tried to engage the jump system the second I saw the fighters on the sensors. The Temkorian’s must have known what I was planning to do, because they flooded the area with ionizing particles as soon as they were within range,” he took his eyes away from the screen and looked back in hers. “We aren’t going anywhere fast, so long as those bastards out there have us in their net.”
“So, that’s all you’ve got?” she said in protest. “I was hoping for something more.”
“What do you mean?” the captain asked calmly, visually scanning the space beyond the view port and waiting for the Temkorian’s to make their next move.
“Well, aren’t you supposed to be some kind of great pilot or something?”
He turned his attention back to the scanners, rolling his head slightly from side to side. “I’m pretty fair when it comes to most things being equal.”
“Well, it’s just that I had no idea you were so easily beaten.”
He snapped his head in her direction. “What the heck does that mean?”
“Well, didn’t you know they were capable of neutralizing our engines?”
“If you’re asking if I knew they could disable the jump drive, then no. However, our maneuvering engines are still at one-hundred percent.”
“So, you’re just going to sit here like a lame duck and wait for them to do who knows what else?”
That’s because I don’t have a clue what we’re going to do about it. ”I’m putting the final touches on my plan right now.”
“Well please, Mister Kestrel. Don’t keep the audience in suspense. We’re all waiting on pins and needles to see what you’ll do next.”
Shawn unbuttoned the top clasp of his shirt and withdrew a small gleaming object on the end of a chain. Although Melissa couldn’t precisely see what he was touching, she noticed that he absently began rubbing it between his index finger and thumb.
“Oh, no,” she said, sighing heavily and rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Please don’t tell me you believe in good luck charms, too, Captain.”
“Can’t say that I do. But, I am pretty partial to the power of prayer.” He briefly held the charm aloft for Melissa’s inspection. She could clearly see that the silver charm was, in fact, an undecorated crucifix. “So, if you wouldn’t mind saying one or two, I’m sure we’d all be a lot better off for it.”
She was stunned. “Assuming I’m going to humor you on this, it’s been a long time since I’ve gone to church. I’m not sure if I know how to start.” Suddenly Sylvia’s Delight jolted sideways as the Temkorian fighter let loose a blast that grazed the top of the ships hull. The Mark-IV jerked down abruptly, then twisted to starboard, sending several loose items that hadn’t been tied down crashing behind Melissa’s seat. She instinctively closed her eyes tightly and began shouting in rapid-fire succession, holding onto her armrests with all of her strength. “Oh God, Oh Lord, Oh merciful One!”
“That’s good enough for me.” Shawn touched the engine auxiliary burner control and, throwing the stick hard forward, sent Sylvia’s Delight into a plunge that would’ve caused the toughest of veteran pilots to lose their lunch.
*
Melissa attempted to scream, but was silenced as her stomach tried in desperately to exit her body through her mouth. The Mark-IV continued to spiral down for what seemed like an eternity, the ships artificial gravity struggling to keep the occupants in one piece.
Of all of the thoughts rushing through Melissa Graves’s mind, the prevailing one seemed to be that if she made it out of this maneuver alive, the first thing she was going to do was kill Shawn Kestrel. She would then make a solemn vow to never again go on amusement park rides.
For nearly a full minute Sylvia’s Delight continued in her spiraling plunge, then Shawn pulled back hard on the stick in an attempt to right the craft. D bucked in a teeth jarring shudder as inertial stabilizers fought desperately against the gravity generators. Once the craft was reasonably stable, Shawn rechecked all of the instruments. The Temkorian that was on their stern was trying desperately to catch up. The other fighters seemed to have vanished from the scope altogether.
Melissa, succeeding in catching her breath and keeping her lunch down after several hard swallows, tried to speak. “Mister Kestrel, if you ever do that again—”
She was cut off as Shawn slammed the control stick sideways, causing the large craft to do a series of perfectly timed barrel rolls in the vacuum of space. Another volley of green bolts from the Temkorian fighter passed through the Mark-IV’s previous location without so much as a scratch on her already chipped exterior paint.
As soon as Shawn righted the craft, Melissa glared at him angrily. “Stop doing that!” she shouted.
“You see? This is what I’m talking about. You really need to calm down there, crazy lady.”
“I. Am. Not. Crazy!”
Shawn slid the stick to the left and right, trying to deny the Temkorian fighter a clear shot at his tail. “I’ll bet you were the hit of all of the asylum parties,” he said aloud as he tried desperately to shake the enemy fighter. “You probably wowed them with your amazing skills at finger painting or shadow puppets.”
“Mister Kestrel!” She yelled, still holding on to her armrest for dear life.
Shawn pulled back the stick hard, causing the Mark-IV to do a tight nose-over. He grunted as the internal gravity tried to pull the blood out of his feet and into his cranium. “I’ll bet you were the loudest voice in the Old MacDonald sing-along.”
Melissa’s hair flopped over the front of her face as Shawn attempted to stabilize the Mark-IV. “If you would please just shut-up and fly!”
“Listen, I can’t talk and fly this bucket at the same time, so you’ll have to put on your own straight jacket for once and keep quiet!”
Amazingly, the captain now had Sylvia’s Delight lined up perfectly on the more maneuverable Temkorian’s tail. Shawn flipped a series of toggle switches on the overhead console. Externally, two large panels on either side of the ships ventral surface slid back, giving the long laser cannons ample room to slide out and lock into place.
“Trent,” Shawn sang into the intercom. “Are the lasers primed?”
“They sure are. You’ve got maybe two shots each.”
“That’s not enough to get through their armor, Captain, and you know it!” Melissa snapped.
Shawn paid her little mind. “Trent, how about I have exactly two shots each or you’re fired.”
“Well, as they say ‘you can wish in one hand and in the other you can—”
“Yeah, I know what they say. Just give me two solid rounds.”
“I can divert energy from the engines if you want—”
“No, I need all the maneuverability I can get right now. Whatever Toyo charged the cannons with will have to be enough. Your priority now is to keep those engines going.” He closed the channel before his engineer could say something arguably witty. He briefly regarded Melissa as he tried to keep the Temkorian’s tail directly inline with his targeting sensors. “By the way, since when did you become the expert in the thickness of Temkorian armor?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she replied. “I’m still right.”
He did have to concede that, however she’d obtained the knowledge, she was indeed right. “Regardless, I’m not aiming to kill him… just slow him down a little.”
“How?”
Her eyes fell on the targeting display in front of Shawn. The targeting scanner on his computer switched from green to a beautiful amber. “Like this,” he said cheerfully as he flipped up the toggle on the end of his control stick and pressed the unassuming yellow button. A long beam of blue laser light emitted from the tips of each of the cannons, meeting perfectly at the starboard engine cone of the Temkorian fighter. The nozzle erupted in a shower of red and yellow sparks as the beams neatly severed the cone, causing it to drift slowly away from the fighter.
“The Temkorian’s design their fighters in such a way that all of their weapon power is channeled through both engine reactor cores simultaneously.”
“Huh?” she asked in stunned amazement as Sylvia’s Delight banked slowly to starboard and departed the Temkorian fighter to drift away helplessly.
“It’s a flawed design that few people know about,” he said calmly as he checked his scope for the remaining fighters. “When one engine goes offline, the entire fighter becomes a floating brick. The pilots are unable to reroute power into the good engine.”
She looked at him in disbelief.
He smiled wearily. “Well, you hear the strangest things in bars sometimes. You never know what a drunken pilot might say, or when those words might become useful.”
“You mean,” she began in shock, “that you’ve never done that before?”
“No, but the theory seemed sound enough. Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”
“Well,” Melissa began, straightened her posture after a moment and attempting to repair her disheveled hair, “I guess I should take back what I said about your flying abilities. You really are quite—”
“Hold that thought for a second,” he snapped as he sent the Mark-IV banking to port. When the internal gravity generator failed to compensate in time, Melissa’s hair wafted down and nearly hit Shawn in the side of his face.
Melissa let out a loud “Whooooaaaaaa!” as the Mark-IV righted itself for a split second before the captain banked the ship hard to starboard.
“You don’t need to reaffirm your skills, Mister Kestrel. I’m willing to concede your flying abilities.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything! I’m trying to save our lives! This maneuver is called a split-S. It’s used to evade missiles… like the one that’s hot on our tail right now!” he shouted, continuing to juke the ship back and forth.
“What does the ‘S’ stand for? Stupid? Because that’s how I’m starting to feel about trusting you!”
The Mark-IV slid left and right as the missile attempted to find its intended target. What had initially been a small rhythmic vibration in the control stick was quickly becoming a more pronounced tremble.
The captain dispensed a quick look over to Melissa. “Hit that blinking green button over there. The one on the rightmost panel.”
Melissa looked to the panel in question and saw a score of blinking green buttons interspersed with blue ones, yellow ones, white ones, and a few red ones that were unblinking. “Which green one? There must be ten of those over here!”
“There are twelve of them, to be exact. The one I’m talking about is the one that’s on the top right corner of the far right control panel.”
Melissa found the control and pushed it. Nothing happened. The Temkorian was still on their tale. She feared that this was just another part of the vessel that wasn’t working correctly.
“What did I just do?”
“You turned on the intercom. I can’t take my hands off these controls,” he said as he leaned in closer to the microphone. “Trent, what’s going on with the engines?”
“I can’t believe it,” the mechanic shouted angrily through the speaker. “I just can’t believe it. I spent all that time repairing the ship just to have you blow it up again. And there’s no way you’re getting out of this argument, because we both know who’s to blame for this.”
“Quit your yammering,” Shawn shouted back in frustration. “I need engine status, now!”
“Overheating fast, Captain. Starboard will go critical in about five minutes.”
“Critical?” Melissa asked apprehensively. “That’s bad, right?”
Trent replied dryly through the speaker. “Last time I checked, ma’am, blowing up was never a good thing.”
“No argument there,” Melissa offered ironically.
Trent’s voice crackled back through the speaker. “You could always try slowing down, Skipper. That might save us the trouble of dying in a huge fiery explosion.”
“Great advice, pal. If I slow down we’re goners and if I keep going we’ll be just as dead.”
Melissa checked the tightness of her seat harness. “Remind me to file a formal complaint against the Old Flamingo with the Intergalactic Better Business Bureau when I get to heaven.”
“We’re not dead yet,” Shawn replied defiantly. He watched the radar screen as the missile got closer, knowing he had only a small amount of time before it caught up with him. He turned the ship to port, then kicked in the engines over burners. Normally used for a quick atmospheric deceleration, they provided the Mark-IV just enough of an advantage to reach his goal: the remains of the long dead moon circling the planet.
Melissa looked out of the view port in horror as the debris field became larger. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I might just be,” he gritted, holding the stick tightly and angling directly for the first large fragment that came their way.
It was immense, easily the size of a small mountain. It was a jagged, rust brown chunk of the long pulverized moon spinning slowly on its own axis. Shawn flipped Sylvia’s Delight under the asteroid, then pulled up sharply and skirted the contours of its belly. The missile was still following him precisely.
“It’s still back there,” Melissa shouted as she watched the sensor scope above her head. “Got any more bright ideas before we all die?”
Shawn pointed the Mark-IV towards a mile wide cloud of smaller debris, the largest piece no bigger than a baseball. He flipped a handful of silver toggles on the overhead console, which was followed by a series of thumps reverberating across the overhead.
“What was that?”
“Counter measures. A little present, courtesy of Toyotomi. They should attract the missile and—” before he could finish there was a bright burst on the scope, then the missile was gone. Shawn looked to Melissa triumphantly. “See, I told you we’d be fine.”
She smirked at him, then turned forward and let out a scream of horror. “Watch it!”
Another mountains rock quickly spun into their path, and it was all Shawn could do to bank ninety degrees and push the stick down, expertly sailing under the rocky mass. A millimeter closer and the asteroid would’ve scratched the paint. The captain righted the craft and slowly maneuvered the ship to the fringes of the debris field where the particles were smaller—or so he hoped.
Another bust of green plasma told Shawn that his friends were still out there, and on cue one of the three remaining fighters pulled away from the group and got in behind Shawn. Instantly formulating a plan, he reached to his left and flipped a series of controls.
Melissa watched as a small panel directly in front of her slid sideways into an alcove as a control stick, identical to the one held tightly in Shawn’s hands, folded out and stopped ahead of her tightly locked knees.
“What’s this for?” she asked, waving at the control stick with disapproval.
He flipped up several more switches on the control panel to his left—or was he switching them off? Melissa couldn’t tell from where she sat.
“You need to take control of the ship for a second.” Shawn reached across his lap, unbuckled his seatbelt and began to rise from his chair.
“What?” she exclaimed, shocked at the overall casualness of his statement. “I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.”
“Well, that makes two of us. Just keep doing what I was doing and don’t stop.” As he drifted passed her, he gently squeezed her shoulder, then quickly retreated through the compartment doors without another word.
“Wait! Captain! Get back here this instant!” she said as she turned to look over her shoulder, but the door had already closed behind him.
“That’s great,” she mumbled to herself as another volley of laser blasts rocketed past the ship. “Do what I was doing”, she mocked the captains words with a bassoon tone. “That’s perfect. What on Third Earth does that mean?”
The soothing voice of D’s onboard computer took the opportunity to chime in. “Based on past flight logs, the best course of action is to damage the ship as much as possible, while simultaneously breaking every interstellar flight rule, in an attempt to safeguard all human occupants while completely disregarding my advice.”
Another series of blasts soared past the ship, sending teeth jarring shudders throughout the hull. Melissa looked down to the control panel for an instant. “Well, since you’re so smart, what advice would you give in a situation like this?”
The computer was oddly silent for a moment. “No one has ever asked me that before. Stand by while results are tabulated.”
*
After exiting the command deck, Shawn sprinted through the small passenger lounge area, then down the narrow passageway adjacent to the berthing spaces to finally end up at the first of two consecutive air lock doors that led to the aft cargo area. He turned to the right before reaching the airlock, and before him was a yellow door with a band of alternating yellow and red stripes framing its outer edges, the words ‘Engine Room: One’ painted across its surface. He entered a five digit code into an illuminated keypad and the door slid open to reveal a passageway that abruptly turned left after only a few paces into the tight space. He jogged around the bend, then down the few steps that led to the long, narrow port side engine compartment that Trent had affectionately named ‘the port bowling alley.’
To Shawn’s right was the ships primary jump drive computer—a smooth, towering monstrosity of rounded corners and sharply cut lines, undulating with layers of flashing lights and crisscrossed wires that fed the ships various power needs. Beyond it was one of the two drive engines that were currently on the verge of melting down. Barely audible in the cockpit, the engines were a whining, writhing thing in the small engine room. Some parts turned, others pistoned up and down, while still others oscillated. The whole of the thing was encrusted with status lights and conduits running in a half dozen different directions. All in all, it looked too big for the compartment that housed it, but it did its job well anyway, despite the fact that it was a tight fit. Amazing as it was to watch, it was even more extraordinary that Trent knew what each component did, and how best to keep it doing what it was born to do.
Currently, the mechanic was monitoring the cooling gauges on a series of monitors as he tried in vain to keep the engine from internally melting into a puddle of useless technological goo—again.
Trent turned around and gave Shawn a question look. “Sorry, Skipper. I don’t have time for a guided tour right now and—oh, wait—never mind,” Trent said, scanning for something over the captain’s shoulder. “You seemed to have left your little buddy up in the cockpit. I swear, I think that woman is part Velcro,” he turned back to his instruments and, placing his hand against the graphical representation of a control knob, turned it as if it were a physical thing, releasing a steady stream of super-coolant into the port flux isolator. “What’s shakin’, Captain?” Trent then asked nonchalantly.
“We are, if you haven’t noticed.”
Trent Maddox turned around and went wide eyed with derision. “We are? Oh my God! You’re right! What are we going to do? Wait! I know,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “Let’s get Trent to pull something out of his—”
“Calm down, will you? Did you forget to take your pills today?”
Trent dismissed him with an innocent shrug. “Sorry. One too many donuts for breakfast this morning. What do you need, anyway? I’m a little busy keeping this thing together.”
“I need your keys, old buddy.” Shawn said, holding out his upturned hand.
“Keys? For what?”
“That toolbox you got stowed away on the cargo deck.”
“You picked a fine time to fix that broken toilet seat. Although, that last maneuver you did almost gave me my own little accident, if you know what I mean?”
Shawn wasted little time in punching Trent in the shoulder for his crassness. “Just give me the stupid keys, and make it snappy, will you?”
Trent reached into his left trouser pocket. After a moment of searching he reached into his right pocket. “Hum, not there either.”
“Are you serious?”
Trent continued talking to himself as if Shawn wasn’t even there. “Now, where did I put those?” he asked himself, patting his chest pockets and the back of his trousers. The moment seemed to stretch on for eternity.
“If this was a woman’s contact number, you’d know right where it was.”
“If I had a woman’s number I wouldn’t be out here in this thing with you and little miss sunshine up there,” he inclined his head towards the cockpit as he continued to rummage through his pockets. “I’d be on the beach, sipping mimosas or some other kind of frou-frou drink, getting fanned by a giant palm leaf while having my feet rubbed by some exotic woman named Natasha.”
Shawn could only roll his eyes, wondering if Trent meant that he wanted a single, multi-limbed woman to do all of that simultaneously. “You do realize we haven’t got all day?”
Then the epiphany hit Trent and he snapped his fingers in delight. “Oh yeah, that’s right. The keys are in my jacket pocket. It’s hanging on a hook right between the tool box and a small paper bag that says ‘I should have listened to my father and become an accountant’.”
Shawn lightly slapped Trent on the face. “Thanks buddy. This might just save our lives,” then he turned to rush out of the space.
“Hey, just remember to put everything back where you got it from. I’ve got a filing system, you know,” Trent cried uselessly to Shawn as the captain whisked himself out of the bowling alley and back to the airlock.
*
Rushing up to the first of the two airlock doors, Shawn speedily punched in the access code to command it open, but the computer responded with a chipper, yet negative reply to his benign request. Two more times he attempted to enter in the correct sequence of numbers, twice more he failed, and twice more the computer cheerily responded that he was denied access. In his nervousness he realized he was probably hitting the numbers too quickly, and that some things in the ship responded more positively to a slower and gentler approach. The ship shuddered again—signaling another near miss by the Temkorian’s weapons. Shawn had to give credit to Melissa; she appeared to be doing an admirable job of avoiding the plasma blasts.
Knowing, however, that their luck was rapidly running out, Shawn held his hand to his mouth and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He reached out and slowly typed in the sequence once more. This time the computer blissfully accepted the input and the doors began to part agonizingly slow. In his haste, Shawn turned sideways and dashed through them when they were wide enough apart to accommodate his frame.
Trent’s jacket was exactly where he said it was, although the paper bag he’d described was curiously missing. Shawn quickly began to turn each of the pockets inside-out in his search, and it was in the last of them that he found his prey. The captain grasped the keys triumphantly for a brief second.
“Bingo.”
He slid over to the large metal tool box and gave it a quick inspection. There were six locks holding the multitude of drawers and compartments closed. He unlocked them all, and then proceeded to unhook the safety latches on the individual doors and pulled them open. Shawn then tried in vain to push the box, but something was holding it fast. He moved around to get a glimpse of the back of the large box, and found that it was being held securely to the bulkhead by a series of nylon straps. Each of them, in turn, had been tied with four different overlapping knots.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” he said in exasperation. Shawn reached into his jacket and withdrew the polished blaster he’d retrieved from his room on Minos. Twisting its barrel to produce the narrowest beam possible, he aimed it at the large wad of overlapping straps and fired a shot that neatly incinerated the entire bundle. He then pulled the rest of the straps free of the box and, thankful for the hover casters, easily pushed the massive chest away from the bulkhead.
He maneuvered it as close to the front of the cargo hold as he could, nearly blocking the airlock entrance. Satisfied with his plan, he slipped back into the main corridor and resealed the compartment. As he did, Trent emerged from the port side bowling alley and, in their similar haste, very nearly collided headlong with one another.
Trent gave him a startled look. “Um, I know I’m not a super savvy space pilot like you, but I’m fairly certain you can’t avoid our certain death by flying the ship from the cargo hold,” Trent offered with his best sarcastic tone. “What were you doing back there, anyway?”
Shawn stepped around the mechanic without a hint of slowing. “Just getting ready to unzip our fly.”
Trent nodded in silent approval and slipped through the starboard engine room door. As the captains words sank into his mind, Trent poked his head back through the still open door in puzzlement. “You’re going to do what?” However, the captain was already through the far door leading to berthing and out of earshot.
*
“Where have you been?” Melissa asked with annoyance, turning to face the captain the moment the doors opened onto the command deck.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Shawn jumped into the pilot seat and grabbed the flight yoke at the same instant his feet came into contact with the control pedals. When he attempted to turn Sylvia’s Delight into a slow bank to port, he found that the stick refused to budge more than half an inch. Looking over, he saw Melissa still had a firm grip on the copilot’s lever in front of her, the white tips of her knuckles indicating that Shawn might have to pry the stick from her hands.
“We can’t both fly this thing, Miss Graves,” he said sharply, then noticed a fine bead of sweat on her forehead. He realized then that she hadn’t physically acknowledged his presence since he’d climbed into his seat. Shawn had seen this kind of behavior during the war, when a pilots brush with death would cause them a sort of minor paralysis. “Its okay, Melissa,” he said in the calmest tone he could muster. “Just let go of the stick.”
She blinked once, shifting her eyes to the captain without turning her head, then trained them back out into space.
“Come on, Melissa,” he said more instantly. “Let go. I’ve got her.”
As if she’d just realized she was gasping a dangerous animal, her hands opened wide and released the stick. “Sorry,” she said nervously. “It’s just that… I’ve never done this before.”
“What’s that?” he asked, taking the ship into a slow dive. “Fly a ship?”
“No, not flying you idiot. I mean dying! I’ve never done that before!”
“We haven’t done that yet, my dear, and we’re not about to… not if I can help it.”
Suddenly feeling out of place, she looked around nervously, wondering if she should be doing something more. Wait, did he just call me ‘dear’? ”What were you doing back there, anyway? Did you need an emergency bathroom break?”
He chuckled at the irony of her statement. “No, but I am about to relive us of our little problem.”
“What on Third Earth does that mean? Is that more uncouth pilot jargon? If it is, I’m getting really tired of it.”
The captain smacked the intercom switch and began speaking before Trent could acknowledge. “Hang on back there. The ride is about to get pretty rough.”
Trent confirmed Shawn’s statement, but not without a torrent of expletives describing the captain’s less than adequate flying habits. Shawn turned his attention to Melissa. “You better get another grip on those armrests, lady. There’s bound to be some turbulence.”
“Turbulence? In space?” she scoffed. “Sounds like you’re the crazy one around here, if you ask me.”
Shawn reached up for the cargo bay controls. “Crazy like a fox,” he whispered to himself, then pressed the emergency safety override controls. The indicators to the left of the safety override changed from red to flashing green. He quickly moved his hand to the left and allowed his finger to hover over the now blinking control switches. Using all of his available strength, he gripped the control stick with his free hand. If this doesn’t work, we’re in deep trouble. He began the countdown aloud. “In five…four…three… two… one. Now!”
“What happens now?” Melissa asked just as Shawn pressed the control.
Instantly the ship jerked violently backwards and down, as if Sylvia’s Delight had come face-to-face with a brick wall in space and lost. The Mark-IV bucked and rolled abruptly, like it was a living thing that was sternly objecting to the punishment it was being subjected to. The computer, sounding somewhat less positive than usual, voiced her concerns over its wellbeing. “Danger: explosive decompression. Hull damaged. Attitude controls at fifty percent of normal. Please land and affect repairs immediately.”
In the vacuum of space, the rear cargo ramp ejected out from the hull of the Mark-IV. In an impressive feat of acrobatics, the Temkorian executed a perfect roll and avoided the ejected door by inches. However, half a second after the door was blown out, Trent’s toolbox—and all of the tools in it—began cart wheeling through the gaping stern of the ship. The tools formed an instant wall of shrapnel, and the Temkorian fighter was holed through a dozen times over as it passed directly through its center. The ensuing explosion lit up the whole area of space, and an ambient yellow and red glow all around the cockpit told Shawn his gamble had paid off.
Sylvia’s Delight leveled off as she became accustomed to her new configuration. Trent, frantic as ever, was back on the ships intercom. “If that’s your idea of unzipping your fly, I’m afraid to ask… but, did anything fall out?”
“Nothing we can’t replace. Glad to hear you’re alright back there,” Shawn replied, then looked to Melissa who was, surprisingly, smiling at him with a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
In truth, she wasn’t sure if she was about to cry, break out in laughter, embrace the captain in a joyous hug, or simply close her eyes and be silently grateful for being alive. The only thing she knew for certain was that Captain Shawn Kestrel had delivered. “Very nicely done, Mister Kestrel,” she finally said with a shaky nod.
Shawn throttled the engine back to maneuvering speed and checked the computer scope. “Thanks, but we’re not out of it yet. There’s still two more of those buggers out there, and Trent’s going to keel-haul me when he finds out what I did with his tools.”
“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously. “What happened to his tools?”
Suddenly the ship slammed forward, the visible stars on the main view port falling off to starboard as the Mark-IV nosed over hard.
“We’ve been hit, Captain” Trent’s voice yelled out of the speaker. “The backup navigation screens are down, main power output has been cut in half, and life support is failing!”
Chapter 10
Like a tiger pursuing an impala on the great African planes of First Earth, the Temkorian fighter was hot on the trail of Sylvia’s Delight, deftly mirroring each bank and dip Shawn made in an attempt at evasion. With the Mark-IV’s overheated engines throttled back to maneuvering speed, the captain knew it wouldn’t be long until the enemy fighter was in point blank weapons range. There were still two Temkorian fighters remaining, each presumably loaded with deadly missiles, and definitely armed with enough power in their plasma cannons to turn the Mark-IV into slag. And, with Sylvia’s Delight’s cargo bay now open and unprotected, she would be an even easier target than before.
That’s when the Temkorian scored its first hit. The blast glanced off the gaping cargo hold door frame, sending a shower of sparks momentarily out into the dark void. Immediately another blast struck solidly against the inside of the cargo hold, blowing a five foot wide hole straight through into the starboard engine compartment. Now, with the forward navigation screens down, Shawn had no protection against the horde of debris near the moons remains. Having little choice in the matter, he maneuvered the Mark-IV back into open space.
Luckily, Trent had made it out in time and was safely back inside the port engine room. But, with the starboard bowling alley now completely devoid of atmosphere, there was no way the he could get over there to stop the cascading failure of the engine that was sure to transpire at any moment. Inside the port engine room, Trent could only stare helplessly at the status monitor as the heat signature for the starboard engine approached dangerous levels.
Meanwhile, Shawn was trying desperately to keep the Temkorian fighter from gaining a tighter foothold on his six o’clock position. He knew it was only a matter of time until the fighter blew a bigger hole in his ship. The starboard engine was near its breaking point. Once that happened the ship would be far too slow to stay ahead of the Temkorians, and the game would be over. The tiger, it seemed, would get its dinner tonight.
Melissa tried to hold herself steady as Shawn banked sharply from one side to the other. “Can’t we jump yet?” she asked nervously.
“Not yet. Those two fighters are still projecting a localized dampening field,” Shawn said as he jerked his head over his shoulder to indicate the pursuing ship. “Besides, our starboard engine is toast. Trent will need to balance the mixture controls before we can jump, and the engines will have to be at near idle for him to do it.”
“Would any more prayer help?” The annoyance in her voice was unmistakable.
Shawn turned his head to face her. “It might. Unless I can get D behind him—which I don’t see how that’d be possible at this point—we’ll be in his kill zone in less than a minute.”
“I thought he wanted us alive?”
“All we know is that he wants you alive. Considering he doesn’t seem to care about turning my ship into Swiss cheese in the process, I’m not so convinced about his method.”
She tossed her hands briefly into the air in defeat. “Well, I guess it’s been nice knowing you then.”
The other enemy fighter joined the fray, and another series of blats rocketed over the ship, causing Shawn to dip the nose down sharply. As he pulled the Mark-IV into a tight turn to port, Melissa watched as a yellow indicator—easily twice the size of most others on the control panel—flashed in sequence three times before becoming steady for five seconds and then repeated the cycle. Not long after, the most irritating and ear shattering noise Melissa had ever hear began sounding throughout the compartment, punctuated by brief respites of silence long enough for the computer to state its quandary: “Proximity alert. Take evasive action, Captain.”
“Dear Lord, I think my ears are bleeding!” Melissa shouted over the din.
Both of Shawn’s eyebrows raised in contemplation. “That’s odd,” he said calmly, as if he didn’t hear the noise at all.
“What’s so odd about that?” Melissa cried.
“That Temkorian’s are too far away to induce the proximity alarm.” Shawn double checked the sensor readings, tapping at a series of controls on an overhead display.
“What does it matter,” she said resolutely. “In thirty-seconds they’ll be on us. Then we’ll just sit and wait for your buddy Jack to send up a salvage ship to tow us in—that is, if we don’t go deaf first from that maddening sound.”
The grid of the radar screen—usually represented by the three dimensional view of a sub-divided plane—suddenly changed shape, distorting as if someone had just dropped a heavy ball into the center of a rubber membrane. Shawn’s eyes went wide eyed as he suddenly realized what was happening. A gravity well was forming outside the ship—and only four hundred yards from his current position. “Hang on!” he shouted, then slammed the ship hard forward again.
An instant later, in a brilliant flash of light that lit up space for half a parsec, an enormous craft appeared seemingly from nowhere directly along the heading of Sylvia’s Delight. Shawn nimbly dipped beneath it while the two Temkorian fighters pulled up sharply, barely able to avoid their own impact with the interloper.
The newcomer was immense. Shawn’s sensors showed that it was over three thousand feet long and nearly five hundred feet wide. Initially, all Shawn could discern was a wide, mouth-like opening on the vessels bow that’d threatened to swallow Sylvia’s Delight before the captain had maneuvered out of its way. He’d swung his ship wide, taking D on a leisurely turn that would give him a better perspective on the new arrival.
“What is it?” Melissa asked in awe as the large starship slid across the view port. Even at half a mile distant, the behemoth took up the entire field of view.
“Sector Command, that’s what,” Shawn grunted as D became orientated at the bulky ship. “It looks like a fleet carrier, but I’ve never seen one that size before.” He brought up the schematics for the vessel on the Mark-IV’s sensor display. A wire frame diagram of the carrier was drawn on the screen, which was followed by fighter and crew compliment information. In the upper corner of the screen flashed the angular eagle crest of Unified Sector Command. Shawn had heard rumors of a new carrier design that was supposed to be completed in the next few months, and could only guess this was that same ship. At three-quarters of a mile long, it was the largest ship in Sector Command’s inventory. Indeed, it was touted as one of the largest ships ever constructed in the known galaxy. Now, with its visage taking up Shawn and Melissa’s entire field of view, he could scarcely argue with those anecdotes.
“Hull identification marks and IFF show it to be the Sector Command carrier Rhea.”
“IFF?” Melissa said, suddenly feeling ignorant about something she should know.
“Identification: Friend or Foe. It’s used by the ships targeting computer to tell the good guys from the bad ones.”
She turned her attention back to the carrier, which had since slowed to a near crawl after its space jump. Suddenly, from the gaping maw near the bow, two solitary flames sped out into space.
“Looks like their launching fighters,” Shawn nodded towards the pinpoints.
Melissa scowled at the enormous carrier. “I don’t like the way this looks.”
Shawn moved the sensors away from the carrier, orientating them towards the recently launched fighters. “Yeah? What’s to like?”
The sensor readout screen was curiously blank, save for the message ‘Data unavailable. Try again later.’ slowing blinking in its center.
Melissa was silent as Shawn tried once more to get a reading on the fighters, but each time he tried the screen flashed the same message. “Computer, you’re not coming down with a virus again, are you?”
The tone of the computers voice could almost have been described as perturbed. “Negative, Captain.”
He quickly made some minor adjustments. Still, the sensor display showed only the carrier and the Temkorian fighters, although Shawn and Melissa could clearly see the blue-white thrusters of the Unified interceptors as they closed in on their targets.
Alternating between the sensor readout and what he could see out of the forward view port, Shawn watched as the Unified fighters broke formation, taking on each Temkorian fighter individually. If the Sector Command pilots followed protocol, they would first attempt to ward the Temkorian’s off to avoid any conflict. However, Shawn and Melissa watched as one of the Temkorian fighters began parading his ship aggressively before opening fire on the Sector Command pilot. Shawn shook his head gravely, having a very good idea what was in store for the ignorant Temkorian.
True to form, the Sector Command fighter quickly got the upper hand on the alien, disintegrating the Temkorian in a hail of rapid laser fire. Not surprisingly, the remaining Temkorian made a beeline back to Minos unmolested.
“That was quick,” Shawn offered with an air of disappointment. “At least we won’t have to deal with them anymore.”
“That may be true, but I think we have a much larger problem on our hands now,” Melissa said as she nodded towards the view port and the lumbering carrier beyond it.
*
“Acknowledge this transmission,” the agitated female voice repeated through the speaker once more.
Irritated that he couldn’t seem to escape angry people shouting at him this week, Shawn reached out and hesitantly pressed the ship-to-ship communications button, it’s once flashing yellow glow turning to a steady white. “That’s confirmed, Rhea, we’re receiving you loud and clear.”
“Can’t we just leave,” Melissa whispered nervously. “Isn’t the dampening field gone now?”
Shawn didn’t need to look at his instruments to tell him that the field was indeed gone. It had completely dissipated the moment the last Temkorian fighter returned to Minos. Unfortunately, Sylvia’s Delight was still in pretty bad shape, and then there was the matter of the Sector Command fleet carrier to deal with. While Shawn could have limped back to Minos to tend to any of the repairs his ship needed, he also realized that Jack would undoubtedly make another attempt to secure Melissa—probably a far more successful one than his previous endeavor. There was also the fact that Shawn had deliberately thrown all of Trent’s tools out of the back of the ship during the fight with the Temkorian’s. Even if the captain could land the ship safely back at the Old Flamingo hangar, he’d be grounded—probably permanently—the moment he touched down.
In the last few minutes, the Sector Command interceptors had flown within visual range of Sylvia’s Delight. Shawn had to admit that he’d never seen anything like them before. They had a pointed center fuselage that gently swung back to widen and house two side by side engine pods. On the sides of the pods were small vertical stabilizers, useless in space, but required for atmospheric flight. In the rear, jutting forward at near forty-five degree angles to the fuselage, were long, graceful wings. The cockpit of the fighters, pushed far back on the body and aligned parallel with the wing roots, appeared to have a wraparound front screen, with smaller triangular windows on either side of the craft. Near the forward tip of the fuselage were small rearward swept wings, the same shape but a fraction of the size of their larger counterparts. He licked his lips absently as he imagined what it must be like to be behind the controls of one of the sleek silver and yellow trimmed fighters.
Glancing back down, there was still nothing registering on the radar outside of Sylvia’s Delight except the carrier, though he could plainly see the two fighters out of his windows less than a hundred feet away.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, shaking himself from the daydream as he remembered Melissa had asked him a question. “No, we can’t just leave. Aside from the starboard engine problems, we have a gaping hole in our rear.”
“And landing back on Minos is out of the question,” she agreed.
“It has less to do with that and more to do with that carrier out there,” Shawn said as he inclined his head toward the Rhea. “You see, they’re obligated to help us out if we are in distress. And, by obligated, I mean ordered to—and that means not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Besides, right now we’re in as much distress as someone can get out here. If I don’t accept their help I could get my license pulled.”
“I’m not keen on the idea of going aboard that ship,” Melissa sulked, slinking down in her chair as if to hide her face from anyone on the carrier that might be trying to look at her through the view port.
“It’s better than going back to the planet and quite a bit safer. Besides, they can patch up the ship and we can be on our way.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “Will I have to leave Sylvia’s Delight?”
Shawn pursed his lips and then looked out of the window at the fighters once more. “I would think so. They’ve probably already scanned the ship, and I’m sure they’ll want to talk to anyone onboard.”
“So, they know I’m here?”
She sounded nervous. “If you’re asking if they know that you personally are onboard, I’m fairly certain they can’t read your DNA at this distance. Unless their scanners have vastly improved in the last few years, all they probably know is there are three humanoid life signs on this ship.”
Her nervous expression indicated that this was not at all what she wanted to hear.
Shawn turned his head to her and offered her a smile. “Just relax. It’ll be fine. It’ll be just fine. We’ll be back on our way to Corvan before you know it.”
It was then that Trent came rushing through the door to gaze at the carrier. “Whoa, now that’s a thing of beauty. Sector Command?”
“Yeah,” Shawn replied.
“Finally, a chance to get off of this death trap.”
Shawn scowled at the remark.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean death trap literally,” Trent corrected. “This is a fine… fine ship we’ve got here, Skipper. Unfortunately, it’s not really a ship anymore, since most of the propulsion systems are dead. And, someone was also kind enough to let all of the heat out of the cargo hold… and I’m not even sure the airlock is one-hundred percent sealed. All indications show that we’re slowly leaking oxygen. Oh, and the water purification system is down… as well as the waste processing units. So, I thought I’d come up and share the news about it with you all.”
“Engineer’s description of the vessel’s status is confirmed,” The computer piped up cheerfully.
Melissa opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the communication speaker crackling back to life with the voice of the perturbed female flight controller. “Your ship has been identified as a Hypervarion Mark-IV commercial transport, designated Sylvia’s Delight. Please confirm.”
Shawn leaned into the communication speaker. “That’s confirmed, Rhea.”
“The Unified Merchant Trade Guild identifies the owner of that vessel as Shawn Kestrel, registered civilian cargo master. Please confirm.”
“Confirmed, Rhea. This is Captain Shawn Kestrel speaking,” he tried to offer his most dashing smile to no one in particular.
Melissa and Trent both rolled their eyes.
“Prepare to lock navigational subsystems with the Rhea, Captain,” the voice said curtly. “We will slow down our data transfer rate. I’d hate to overload your computers. Please confirm.”
“The computer is still working?” Trent asked in shock. “Wow, you didn’t break everything. I’m impressed.”
“That won’t be necessary, Rhea.” Shawn said, disregarding Trent’s remark.
“Say again?” The woman asked with a slight chuckle, obviously entertained by Shawn’s statement.
“I repeat, negative on your need to streamline your data. I’ve upgraded the transfer link in my ship to Type-III specifications. As such, my systems can handle anything you can throw at it,” then he added smartly, “Please confirm.”
“You’re awfully touchy about your ship’s abilities,” Melissa said mockingly.
There was a small burst of laughter from the Rhea which was almost immediately silenced, probably by the acting senior communications officer in the room. The original woman’s voice, slightly muffled, came back online. “Confirmed, Sylvia’s Delight. Please transmit the encryption cipher key for your computer mainframe and prepare to lock guidance and navigational subsystems… and don’t say we didn’t warn you if your CPU melts down when our computer links up.”
Surprisingly, the Mark-IV’s computer didn’t offer a single response. Shawn wondered if the computer was just as unsure about the navigational link as he was, timidly holding its proverbial breath in anticipation.
Shawn kept a conscientious watch on the fighters beside his ship. Noting that they were holding their course, he realized that they were going to escort D all the way into the Rhea’s hangar. He turned his eyes back to the array of control panels before him, then entered in the sequence that would transmit the requisite codes to the carrier. A moment later the spear-shaped high-output antenna folded out from the top of the Mark-IV and began transmitting the sequence to the Rhea’s flight control officer.
A row of blue indicator lights began flashing in a near random sequence as the Mark-IV’s navigational computer system and the carrier’s own began a cautious greeting with one another. Like two boxers in a ring, the computers sized each other up, each calculating the best method of achieving their own goals. In the span of a few seconds—a lifetime in a computational sense—both Sylvia’s Delight and the Rhea had met, communicated, battled, made compromises, and finally embraced one another as kindred spirits. The once random blue indicators now flashed in unison, giving Shawn a visual indication that D had relinquished control of the maneuvering and navigational systems to the Rhea’s flight control officer—or more precisely, to the Rhea’s computer itself.
“Rhea has guidance control of your ship, Captain Kestrel. Sit back and enjoy the ride,” the female controller said a moment later.
The expression on Melissa’s face told Shawn she wasn’t enjoying their current situation at all. The captain took his hands gingerly off the control stick as he acknowledged the carrier. “Roger, Rhea. You have control.”
Sylvia’s Delight’s main engines—or what was left of them—began to shut down, and her maneuvering thrusters came online with a soft hum and a slight shudder in the ship’s deck plating. The Mark-IV banked slowly to starboard under the control of the Rhea’s landing computer, and the side profile of the carrier disappeared from the forward window, allowing the vastness of space to once again filled Shawn and Melissa’s view. Melissa took the moment to steal a look over her shoulder, watching as Trent fiddled with the computer behind her chair.
“Are we still losing oxygen?” she asked.
Trent inputted a series of commands into the diagnostic terminal, then flipped a series of switches under one of the two monitors. “I think I’ve got it stopped for now, but the oxygen scrubbers are down, meaning we’re breathing on borrowed time until we repair it,” he turned his eyes from Melissa to the back of Shawn’s head. “It’s a real mess back there, Captain.”
Shawn didn’t take his eyes from the panorama of stars before them. “It’s that bad?”
Trent nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it’s really that bad. Maybe even permanent. Those Temkorian plasma bolts did a lot of damage to some very critical systems, not to mention the fact that both of the drive engines need balancing… again.” He forlornly cast his eyes to the deck and then turned to leave the cockpit. Before exiting, however, he turned back to Shawn and managed a faint smile. “I’m just glad I brought my tools with us. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
Shawn coughed nervously, then straightened in his seat. “Yeah, well… about your tools.”
Trent’s eyes narrowed. He recalled the last time Shawn’s voice had held that tone—the last time the captain had broken the ship and had vehemently denied it. “What about them?”
Melissa likewise turned to face Shawn. “Captain?”
Sylvia’s Delight was now pointed directly at the cavernous opening at the bow of the carrier. The rectangular aperture was about a hundred and fifty feet high and over three hundred feet wide. The enormous launch bay door had been rolled up, and the interior lights of the compartment were a soft red, flooding the entire space as far back as Shawn could see from their current position—which was a considerable distance.
The proximity alarm sounded, breaking the silence on the control deck and saving Shawn for the moment. “Both of you hold that thought for a minute. We’re going to be touching down shortly.”
“No, you wait a minute! What about my tools?”
*
The sleek fighter escorts that had shepherded the Mark-IV slowed on their course, allowing Sylvia’s Delight to pull slightly ahead of them as they took up flanking positions just behind the ship. The Rhea’s landing computer expertly guided the Mark-IV slowly through the large hangar doors. As the ship passed inside, the cockpit of Sylvia’s Delight was bathed in the warm red glows of the interior lights of the hangar bay.
“Whoa,” Trent let out in slow pronunciation as he looked around the insides of the carrier. “This thing’s enormous. It looks even bigger on the inside.”
Along the bulkheads of the hangar deck, spaced roughly twenty feet apart, were angular rib-like structures extending from the deck to the overhead. Each had a series of lights built into them running the length of their surface. However, the white illumination was nowhere near powerful enough to overcome the red lights cascading down from the overhead. In the end, Melissa felt as if she were traveling inside the ribcage of some monstrous prehistoric beast. “It feels like we just got swallowed by a whale.”
“If that’s the case,” Shawn replied cautiously, “then I hope we get spit out soon.”
She looked at him skeptically. “You were in the military. You should be used to this.”
“For one thing, the carrier I was on wasn’t nearly this big,” he said, then caught site of another one of the sleek interceptors, trimmed in red and black and sporting a skull and crossbones insignia on its twin vertical stabilizers. Several of the fighter’s inspection and maintenance panels were removed, revealing bundles of glowing cables that Shawn had never seen embedded in any fighter before. “And it wasn’t nearly as sophisticated.”
A small, six-wheeled tractor carrying some large diagnostic equipment rolled alongside the Mark-IV for a brief moment, then neatly darted under her on its way to another portion of the hangar. Sylvia’s Delight began to slow in her approach, but not before another fighter—an older orange and yellow tipped design called a Seminole—drifted past her bow, carried aloft by an unseen gantry.
“Seems like a busy place,” said Melissa as she looked to the dozens of personnel scurrying about the hangar deck.
Shawn had to agree. He got the distinct impression that the carrier’s crew was on high alert, at least from what he could see from his vantage point. There were ordnance personnel moving heavy missiles from one bay into another, and twelve man personnel carriers overloaded and moving about under high speed. He took note of the multitude of fighters, scouts, and bombers—either moving into launch position or being transferred into their respective bays for maintenance or weapon loading. To Shawn, this didn’t seem at all like a ship sailing under a flag of peace.
“Do you think all this was for us?” Trent asked as he nodded his head in the direction of the view port.
A thin smile crossed Shawn’s face. “You’re asking if they went to all of this trouble to save our skins? No, I doubt it. Those two fighters they sent out were more than enough to handle the Temkorian’s. This is…” he let his words trail off as he watched a fully loaded bomber move from her bay and into a side launch tube, the bright blue bands of its squadron insignia adorning the vertical tail briefly visible before it was obscured. “This is something else entirely.”
“The Army of Light?” Melissa asked in a near whisper.
“The who of what?” Trent asked.
Shawn didn’t reply as he continued to study the cacophony of movement outside the ship.
Sylvia’s Delight shuffled slowly to port, now hovering only inches above the deck. On the ground before them was a large painted square, easily big enough to encompass the ship, outlined by broken yellow and orange lines denoting that it was a landing bay. High on the wall directly above the bay was a large, luminous number five. The retro thrusters ignited under the ship, indicating that the craft was seconds from touching down. A moment later the ship’s landing pads met the non-skid surface of the Rhea’s hangar deck, and Sylvia’s Delight stopped her descent. The Mark-IV’s computer—at the request of the carrier’s flight control officer—disengaged its systems one by one until only minimal power was provided to the most vital systems. Melissa watched from her seat as two men, outfitted in bright purple environmental suits, appeared from a nearby alcove and hooked large, tubular umbilical lines into the bottom of the ship.
“What are those for?”
Trent was watching the same men. “They’re replenishing our fresh water supply, taking out any waste in our tanks, and recharging the internal batteries. It’s standard procedure.”
Shawn reached up, flicking the switch that would open the rear cargo hatch, then remembered that the hatch itself wasn’t there anymore.
“Are we getting out?” Melissa asked nervously.
Out of the forward view port, Shawn spied a pair of fully armed marines approaching the vessel from a nearby alcove. “I don’t think staying here is an option for any of us. Besides, with the ship at minimal power, there isn’t much in the way of hot showers or warm food. At least not until we get back in to space, that is.” He bent over at the waist, searching around his feet, then ran his hands above one of the overhead consoles.
“What are you looking for?”
“My hat.”
She rolled her eyes before she too began searching, then noticed something on the floor behind the captain’s chair. It was his favorite hat alright, but half of the brim had been seared to a crisp. She handed it to him delicately, but it crumbled as he took hold of it.
“This was my favorite hat,” he said sorrowfully.
Trent kneeled down and looked under the captain’s seat. “Hum. Looks like the secondary auxiliary control linkage overheated. Your hat must have been sitting right on top of it.”
Melissa watched as the captain fumbled with the useless, burnt accoutrement. “It looks like it’ll never come out on top again,” she said, snickering at her own joke.
“I have a lot of fond memories with this hat.” He continued to fondle the hat for another moment, then tossed it on top of the instrument panel. As Trent stepped out of the command deck, Shawn unbuckled his safety harness and headed for the door. It wasn’t until he was through the opening that he realized Melissa wasn’t following him. He turned, noticing she was still firmly secured in her chair. “Let’s get a move on.”
“I’d rather not, if I have a choice in the matter.”
“You don’t, so get your butt out of that seat and follow me. There’s no way I’m leaving you here by yourself.”
“Why? It’s not like I can break anything else.”
“That’s for sure,” Trent’s voice rang out from beyond the open hatch.
Shawn didn’t turn his eyes from her.
“Besides,” she continued defiantly. “Who’s going to make me?”
Shawn stepped back into the control deck and leaned close to Melissa. “If you don’t get up, I’ll make you.”
“And you’ll get a fat lip for it.”
“And you’ll get a sore rear-end when I boot it out of this ship. Now, if you don’t mind, will you kindly get out?” He made a sweeping gesture towards the door.
Under protest Melissa unbuckled her belts in frustration and stormed out of the control area.
The trio made their way past the crew quarters to the airlock. Shawn entered in the airlock codes and they exited into the cargo hold. The entire area was in shambles. Bundles of cabling were dangling from a half dozen locations, and nearly every overhead light was out. The metallic smell of charred metal mixed with a wafting of melted plastic gave the captain a brief bout of nausea. Shawn watched as Trent moved to inspect the five foot wide hole the Temkorian fighter had blown between the cargo hold and the starboard engine room.
“I always wanted a window there,” he said, trying to make light of the situation.
With the cargo ramp now floating somewhere in space, there was no graceful way to walk out of the ship. The aft end of the Mark-IV was now three feet above the deck of the Rhea, and Shawn didn’t give it a second thought as he jumped down and began to walk away. It wasn’t until he heard Melissa cough from behind him that he turned around.
“Well, let’s go.” He said impatiently to the woman brooding at the end of the cargo hold as if she were a disobedient pet.
“Do you think you could help me down?”
Shawn muttered something under his breath, then began to walk back the few paces to the ship. Melissa leaned down as Shawn put his hands around her waist. She slid off of the ramp in a motion that was too quick for Shawn to compensate for and she landed on the deck, with Shawn’s hands firmly around her waist and their faces inches apart.
She felt her cheeks flush as she tried to gently pull away from his grasp. “You can unhand me now, Mister Kestrel.”
If she was trying to get away, she wasn’t working very hard at it, and he briefly wondered why. He looked into her eyes, smiled sheepishly, then released his grip on her.
“Say… what happened to my tools?” Trent asked, still looking at the gaping hole in the engine room. “I could have sworn that I locked them up right here.”
The captain looked up into the cargo hold at his old friend. “Stay here with D. I’m going to go find out what’s going on.”
“Why does he get to stay here and not me?” Melissa asked disdainfully.
“Because I said so, that’s why.” He then turned to Trent. “Sorry, pal. The… the, ah, Temkorian must have gotten them with that blast.”
“You jettisoned my tools, didn’t you?” Trent, seeing right through Shawn’s lie, screamed helplessly. “Why the heck did you do that?”
“It was either that or be dead.”
“I don’t take kindly to having my stuff thrown out into space,” Trent exclaimed, his hands balled into fists and jammed into his sides.
“Well, I thought you’d take less kindly to being dead.”
“Yeah, well—” Trent looked back in the cargo hold as he began to scratch his head. “You have a point there, Skipper.” Then he turned back to Shawn in a look of desperation. “But, for pity’s sake… those were my tools, man.”
“I’ll get you some more,” Shawn replied confidently. “In fact, I’m sure Miss Graves will be willing to help cover those costs,” he said as he smiled at her. “After all, the only reason we’re out here in the first place is because of her.”
She looked to Trent, who was slowly nodding his head in approval. She turned back to Shawn, who’d effortlessly made her the scapegoat, and shook her head in amazement. “You’re unbelievable.”
He turned and began to walk away, not really knowing where he was going, but sure of whom he needed to find. “Duty officer!” he screamed to anyone listening.
As he wandered across the deck, Shawn watched as the two interceptors that had come to their rescue were secured in their respective alcoves in a bay across from the Mark-IV. The two pilots extricated themselves from their vessels in a well-rehearsed manner, then made straight for Shawn’s position. The first pilot removed his helmet when they were within speaking distance of Shawn. With a flip of his head, a swath of black hair fluttered out from under the helmet, and Shawn immediately noticed that it wasn’t a him at all, but a very attractive her. She outstretched a black gloved hand and Shawn took it lightly. Her grip was quite extraordinary.
“Lieutenant Commander Roslyn Brunel,” she offered with the same dashing smile that every pilot seemed to be issued in flight school.
“Shawn Kestrel, Captain of—”
“Sylvia’s Delight,” she finished for him, then offered an almost imperceptible wink that didn’t go unnoticed by Melissa. “Mighty fine flying out there, Captain.”
Shawn found himself smiling back at the fair skinned, dark haired officer. “Same to you, Commander.”
“I never would have guessed that a ship like yours could survive a brawl with a couple of Temkorian fighters,” Brunel continued.
“There were four to begin with,” Shawn said with confidence. “I managed to take out two before you showed up.”
Brunel smiled widely. “That’s very interesting, Captain. Very interesting, indeed.”
Melissa stepped around Shawn, placing herself between the mutual admiration society with an outstretched hand. “And I’m—”
“Melissa Graves,” Brunel said with a curt nod and, as she took the woman’s hand, her smile all but vanished. “Yes, ma’am. I know who you are. In fact, I know a great deal about both of you.”
Shawn frowned as he folded his arms across his chest. “And how is that, Commander?”
Melissa caught an unmistakable sparkle in Brunel’s eyes as the commander turned her attention back to Shawn. “I’m afraid I can’t speak about that right now,” she offered politely. “However, I’ve been ordered to escort both of you to the main briefing room where we will meet with the Captain. He’ll explain everything to you at that time.”
“He needs to see us both?” Melissa asked, trying to sound confident as she locked eyes with the female pilot.
“Yes ma’am,” Roslyn replied as if she were about to scold a small child. “He was quite adamant that both of you be present for the debriefing.”
“Fine. Great,” Shawn unfolded his arms and placed his hands on his hips, “let’s just get it over with. I’m sure he’s got better things to do than deal with a couple of vagabonds like us.”
Brunel’s dark eyes narrowed as the corners of her mouth turned upwards into a near smile. “You’d be surprised, Captain.”
Melissa couldn’t help staring at the captain incredulously. “Vagabonds? Do I look like some sort of drifter to you?”
Brunel motioned towards a small door on the side of the hangar not far from their current position. “If you’ll both follow me, please. And don’t fall behind. You have no idea how immense this ship is. You’ll likely get lost if you’re more than a few paces behind me.” And with that, she turned sharply on her heel and strode gracefully towards the hatch.
Chapter 11
It didn’t take long for Melissa to realize that Lieutenant Commander Brunel’s remark about the enormous size of the Rhea hadn’t been an understatement. Even the state-of-the-art heavy carriers, the last of which was built five years before the Rhea, seemed to pale in comparison to the sheer size and internal volume of this new ship.
Within moments of leaving the openness of the hangar deck, Melissa found herself in a maze of brightly lit corridors, twisting and turning until she lost all orientation. Having already traversed three levels, the only thing seemingly different from one to the next was the banded color of paint that outlined each section of flooring, although there were probably other small nuances to distinguish them that were oblivious to the unaccustomed eye. She and Shawn, following closely behind Brunel, had started their journey on the red-trimmed hangar deck, and now found themselves on the yellow accented armory deck.
They trio came to yet another mechanical door, one no different than any of the other dozen they’d already slipped through, and it slid open silently before them. Instead of another corridor, Melissa noted that they had walked into another open bay, equal in length to the main fighter hangar, but only a third of the width. High in the overhead, the evenly spaced white glow of floodlighting dimly illuminated the long hold. Melissa’s eyes went wide as she scanned the vehicles and equipment that were organized neatly along the compartments bulkheads.
Where the flight hangar had been a bustle of activity, she and Shawn—along with Commander Brunel—were the lone occupants of this enormous military equipment hold. The sounds of their respective boot heels clicking on the floor echoed off the towering walls as they made their way down the center of the space. The enormousness of the void made her uncomfortable and, had the questions been asked, she would have been startled to know that Shawn was feeling the same thing and for exactly the same reasons as they trailed being their lone escort. She instead looked to him in silence, watching him size up the various pieces of equipment in the hold.
Parked on either side of the bay, with their angular barrels facing one another, were two rows of XT-19 Unified Marine hovertanks. At over nineteen feet long, they were the largest cavalry unit the marines deployed with. They had an overall wedge shape to them, wide in the rear and tapering to the front where the air inlet grills were positioned. The turret, placed far back on the centerline, housed a single barreled accelerator cannon as its primary weapon. On top of the turret was a quad barreled gun, which Shawn recognized as a rapid fire laser battery. The XT-19’s thickly armored hulls were painted in alternating patterns of monochromatic grey camouflage, save for the last two in the row, which were painted a flat black.
Aft of the tanks, in crates stacked in four clusters of twenty-seven each, were military issue hover bikes. Each metallic crate measured around five square feet. On the side of each container, adjacent to the label that indicated the contents of the crate, was a small red button. Shawn knew that, once pressed, the box itself would automatically unfurl and the single seat hover bike would initialize itself for its user. Shawn had experienced the maneuverability and speed of these agile little machines on more than one occasion, and now wondered why he’d never bothered to pick up a surplus one for his own amusement.
After the hover bikes, parked in four rows of two each, were what was affectionately known as ‘crawlers’. These one-man artillery vehicles were six-legged infantry units, used mainly for urban assault or jungle warfare, and could scale nearly anything placed before them. The main body module could be outfitted with various weapons, from mortars to flamethrowers. Currently, each appeared to be armed with the same twenty millimeter photocannon.
Finally, at the opposite end of the bay from where they entered, Shawn saw a trio of forklifts parked neatly next to the imposing metal wall.
“What’s all this about?” he asked before they exited the space. “I don’t recall asking for the grand tour.”
Brunel seemed to pay his statement little mind as they continued forward. “This is one of the equipment holds for the Second Marine Expeditionary Unit.”
“Just one of the holds?” Melissa replied in disbelief.
“That’s right,” Roslyn replied, and although he couldn’t see it, Shawn had no doubts that she was smiling broadly as she said it. The twinge of pride in her voice was unmistakable. “This is one of three identical holds for the Second EU. The Fourth, Sixth, and Tenth EU’s have storage areas on this deck as well, and also on the one below us.”
“What happened to the Eighth unit?” Melissa asked as her head swiveled around the room a final time. She didn’t hear the sound of the commander’s footsteps coming to a halt. Had she not turned to face Roslyn at the last moment, Melissa would have run surely headlong into the Lieutenant Commander’s nose. Mere inches from the woman’s face, Melissa smiled awkwardly and backed up a pace.
“What did you say?” Brunel asked flatly.
Melissa was startled, both by the abrupt stop and the glare coming from the woman’s near black eyes. “You said the Second, Fourth, Sixth, and Tenth marine units have their equipment on board. Shouldn’t there also be an Eighth on the Rhea as well?”
Brunel pursed her lips and nodded somberly. “There was an Eighth. That was… until a month ago.”
“What happened?” Melissa asked with curiosity.
Brunel shifted her eyes from Melissa to Shawn uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I can’t speak about it. It’s classified.”
There seems to be quite a bit of that going on around here, Shawn thought. And I have a feeling your commanding officer isn’t going to be as open as I’d like him to be about it. Still, Brunel had brought them down here for a reason. On a ship this large, there was surely at least six ways to get to the briefing rooms from the flight deck, and none of them would have required a stroll through the armory. Brunel was definitely trying to say something she wasn’t allowed to verbalize, and it was important enough to her that it be done before they reached their destination. While Shawn couldn’t piece her motives completely together, the gesture itself wasn’t lost on him. “Well, I’d still like to thank you for saving us out there.”
Roslyn smiled, dropping her defenses for a moment. “That really isn’t necessary, Captain Kestrel. It’s just part of the job.”
Knowing that it would be some time before Sylvia’s Delight was repaired, and hoping he might be able to get more information from her in the near future, he tried to offer her a way to provide it. “Nonsense. Maybe we can grab a drink in the officer’s lounge later under less formal circumstances?”
The commander smiled, and it looked as if she were seriously considering the offer. Before she could answer, however, Melissa piped in. “I believe your CO is waiting for us, Commander.”
The smile faded and Roslyn nodded curtly. “Exactly right, Miss Graves. They’ll be time enough for less official duties later.” She turned sharply, her thick long hair whipping behind her and nearly colliding with Shawn’s face as her heels thudded against the metal floor of the cargo deck.
Shawn turned quickly to Melissa and lowered his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you mind telling me just what the heck that was all that about? I thought you didn’t want to see the old man? Now it sounds like you can’t wait to be in his presence.”
Melissa scowled at him in response. “You heard the lady, Mister Kestrel. They’ll be time for a less formal chat later, whatever that means.” She turned to follow the commander, but then spun around quickly before she took another step. “And, just because we’re following her, it doesn’t mean you have to follow her. There’s such a thing as manners, you know?” She turned abruptly and took three long strides to cover the distance between herself and the retreating Lieutenant Commander. Meanwhile, Brunel had stepped into what looked like a brightly lit elevator.
Shawn looked to the overhead and raised his hands in appeal, wondering what he’d done to deserve all of this. Just as he was about to ask as much aloud, Both Melissa and Brunel’s voice rang out in unison. “Let’s go, Captain.”
*
Save for the rhythmic pulsations of the repulsers that propelled the elevator along its tracks, the ride to the upper decks of the Rhea was silent. Brunel was still being tight lipped about what was going on, and both Shawn and Melissa had had the good sense to stop asking questions about it. Shawn, standing behind the two women who were shoulder-to-shoulder with one another, idly looked around the confines of the capsule-shaped elevator. While it was large enough to easily hold three times as many people, the conveyer somehow felt exceedingly crowded. As he turned his head towards the doors, he glimpsed down between the women at the level indicator and, noting how high in the ship they were going, let a slow whistle escape his lips as his mind took in the sheer size of the vessel.
In unison, both women turned their heads in opposite directions towards the captain. It was then that Shawn realized that the elevator controls were just low enough to be in-line with certain portions of the women’s anatomy that they might not think to kindly about him staring at. Then he realized that he was indeed looking at the things he wasn’t actually looking at in the first place, and knew instantly he’d entered a no-win situation. Desperately hoping to feign ignorance, he darted his wide eyes from one woman to the other.
“What?”
Roslyn cracked an almost imperceptible smile, then turned her head back to the closed elevator doors. Melissa, on the other hand, vaporized a hole through the captain with her eyes. Shawn tried once again to shrug off the incident as a simple misunderstanding, but she didn’t seem to want any of it. Her eyes rolled up as she shook her head in disgust before slowly turning away from the captain. Thankfully the lift came to a halt seconds later and deposited them onto deck twenty three, the blue-trimmed flag deck, the area of the ship dedicated to the upper echelon of the carriers officer compliment.
Before them was a long, gleaming white hallway, framed with partitions made of a silvery brushed alloy. With Brunel in the lead, they walked quickly down the corridor, passing closed doors on each side of them. After about fifty yards they came to the end of the corridor, and Roslyn turned into the entryway of the final set of brushed metal doors. Shawn noted that the highly polished plaque beside the door read ‘Briefing Room One’. Roslyn held a palm to the door control panel and the hatch hissed opened, with an audible greeting.
“Permission to enter granted, Lieutenant Commander Brunel.” Roslyn motioned Shawn and Melissa into the room and followed closely behind.
As they entered, Shawn heard a voice call out from the far side of a long conference table. “You’re late. I was beginning to wonder when you’d show up.” It sounded discernibly annoyed, but something about it also sounded strangely familiar, but Shawn was having difficulties placing it.
Lieutenant Commander Brunel straightened and came to attention. “Sorry, sir,” then she stepped forward to introduce the civilians to the carriers commanding officer. As the high backed chair at the far side of a long, silver table pivoted in their direction, Shawn looked into the ice-cold eyes of a man he’d have been happy to have never seen again in this life.
“Krif,” Shawn said with obvious disgust, all but spitting the name out like bad roast beef. “What are you doing here?”
The well built, blond haired, blue eyed man stared intently back at Shawn. “It’s nice to see you, too, Kestrel.”
First hiding his surprise, then burying a flare of animosity, Shawn attempted to remain unmoved. “I don’t recall saying anything was nice about it.”
Captain Krif leveled his eyes at Shawn. “I’m in command here, that’s what I’m doing here… not that something like that would matter to you.” His words were measured. Even.
Nonetheless, Shawn looked at him dubiously. “You’re the Captain of this ship?”
Krif gave him a single, slow nod. “That’s right,” he said with even aloofness. “Best you remember it from here on out. I won’t tolerate any of your crap while you’re on my ship. Period.”
Melissa was surprised that Shawn stood their silently. In truth, Shawn was at a loss for words.
Krif leaned forward, the leather of his chair creaking slowly as he did so. “Aren’t you going to say how glad you are to see me?”
Shawn took a step closer to Krif’s position. “Somehow, ‘glad’ just doesn’t do this experience justice.”
Melissa didn’t budge from where she stood, but neither could she be silent any longer. No one was getting anywhere. “You know this man, Mister Kestrel?”
“Sure do,” Shawn said with his eyes still locked into Krif’s. “This is Richard Krif. If he had any friends they’d call him Richard but, since he doesn’t, everyone just calls him Dick.”
Krif glared at Shawn. “That’s Captain to you, ace.”
“Fine,” Shawn replied, shrugged his shoulders and turned to Melissa. “This is Captain Dick.”
Krif snapped up from his chair like a bolt of lighting. He slammed his palms down on his desktop, rattling a pen free of its resting place and spiraling to the deck. “Watch your mouth, Kestrel, or I’ll have you and that smart tongue of yours tossed in the brig.”
Shawn smirked. “If it gets me out of your presence then I’d say it’d be a pretty good deal.”
Melissa put a soft hand to Shawn’s shoulder to try and diffuse the quickly deteriorating situation. “Mister Kestrel, please.”
Shawn quickly jerked away from her touch, his eyes never leaving Krif’s.
Krif nodded his head in Melissa’s direction. “You better listen to your girlfriend there, hot-shot. It might save you a lot of headache.”
“Cut the crap, Krif. What are you really doing here and what do you want?”
Richard pulled his hands free from the desk, and Melissa fully expected to see to impressions where he’d slammed them a moment before. All at once Krif’s countenance seemed to change as a razor sharp smile crept across his face. “What I’m doing here is classified. And, as for what I want, I wouldn’t concern yourself with it. I have what I came for.”
Melissa watched as perplexity washed over Shawn’s face. “You came all the way here to get your hands on me?” he asked. “If you wanted to have a reunion, you could have just sent me an invitation. I’d have gladly declined.”
“Please,” Krif scoffed. “Your role in all of this is secondary, at best.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
Krif slid out from behind his desk and made his way to within a few feet of Shawn. He kept his voice low and calm, which instantly put Melissa on alert. Krif, already the size of a small bear, was like a hungry predator inching ever closer to a wounded animal. She fought the urge to step closer to Shawn, although she had no idea what she’d have done once she got there. “It means that you were a secondary objective on this mission, and it’s one that I strenuously disagreed with right from the start. The fact that I had to send two of my pilots out to save your tail should be proof enough of that.”
“There were four Temkorian’s!” Melissa countered.
“He’s handled worse,” Krif sneered. “In fact, I was half tempted to just sit back and see how long you’d last in that old bucket of yours.”
Just like old times. Shawn knew Krif was looking for any way to get under his skin and, just like the last time they’d met, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He sidestepped Captain Krif’s remark and continued. “That still doesn’t answer my question, Krif.”
“At this point I could give a rats rear about your questions, Kestrel. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly on a pleasure cruise here. I have more important things to do than chase you and our little lost lamb over there all across the sector!”
Shawn was preloaded with a retort when suddenly it faltered at the edge of his lips. He shook his head, trying to figure out if he’d just heard Krif correctly. “Did you just say… lamb? I’m sorry, did I miss something here?”
Krif rolled his icy eyes in frustration, then looked to Shawn dumbfounded. With a veil of confusion fully obscuring Shawn’s face, Krif had no alternative than to get to the point. “Our agent, Mister Kestrel. Our undercover intelligence operative right behind you, who just so happens to have caused me more of a pain in my rear than my last five physicals combined.”
“Your what?” Shawn asked in bewilderment, still trying to wrap his head around Krif’s words. As his brain slowly interpreted what he’d heard, he turned to face Melissa. “Oh, right. She’s an OSI agent, just like I’m the Prince of Persia,” he was almost laughing, but no one else seemed to sense the joke. “You’ve been off the mark before, Krif, but this time you’ve really taken the cake. I mean, there’s just no way she could—” but his words faltered once he saw the look on her face. She wore a curious mix of remorse and exhaustion. The feeling in the pit of Shawn’s stomach—the one that usually told him he’d made a huge mistake—came back with a wallop when Melissa mouthed the words ‘I’m so sorry’ across the otherwise silent briefing room.
His shoulders slumped as the weight of it all fell over him like a lead blanket. “No. No. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me?”
From behind him Shawn could overhear Krif chuckling in delight. “Wait… wait just a second. Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you didn’t know? I mean, you honestly didn’t have a clue what she really was?”
“She never really said,” Shawn replied stoically in Melissa’s direction, kicking himself for having never asked the question. Not that she would have told him the truth, anyway.
“Well maybe you should’ve asked her, hot-shot,” Krif chortled, “because she’s gotten you into a whole heap of trouble. I’ve got to tell you, though, that the look on your face right now has made everything thus far worth it.” Krif stopped just short of putting a hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “You should see the look on your face, Kestrel. You look like a fish gaping for its last few breaths of air.”
Shawn, ignoring Krif’s words, stepped a half pace closer to Melissa. “You… you’re and intelligence agent?”
She cast her eyes to the deck, then nodded silently.
“You’re in the OSI?”
Another slow nod as she brought her eyes up to meet Shawn’s
“The OSI? As in, the Office of Special Intelligence?”
To this she rolled her eyes. “Yes, Captain. The OSI.”
She looked at him, and saw that there was no way to interpret his expression as anything but what it was. He was hurt. While the thought of full disclosure had crossed her mind while they were on Persephone, Melissa had no idea that the revelation would affect the captain so profoundly—much less how she now felt about it. “I never lied to—”
“You knew!” Shawn all but shouted. “You knew this whole time who I was, didn’t you?
“No, I didn’t know about—”
“Yes! Yes you did! You intelligence spooks know everything,” his hand fluttered around as he spoke. “And I fell for it… hook, line, and sinker.”
“Mister Kestrel, please. If you’d only let me—”
“You’ve manipulated me at every turn to help you find your father, didn’t you? I’ll bet the Admiral isn’t even your father, is he? Maybe he’s just another agent… or… or your husband or something. Or someone who owes you a great deal of money? Or both. Am I right? Was that a lie, too?”
“Mister Kestrel!” she said in astonishment.
“I can’t believe it. You lied to me, and to Trent… and then you lied to Toyo.”
“No,” she said flatly. “I’m pretty sure Toyo knows.”
“Oh, great,” Shawn threw his arms up in defeat. “So now I have two people holding back on me.”
“If I could just explain—”
“And what was that song and dance about wanting to know some old war stories about your father, and all the tears in your eyes? I mean, you really had me going there for a few minutes. You’re some kind of world class actress, let me tell you.”
Krif spoke up from behind Shawn. “I’m just glad we finally caught up with her for an official debriefing before it was too late.”
If it were possible, Shawn’s eyes went even wider. “You… you’re in cahoots with this piece of space garbage?” he asked as he pointed a thumb back in Krif’s direction. “It’s all been one big lie after another, hasn’t it, lady?”
“If you’d only stop talking for a moment—”
“And now I’m in the thick of it… whatever it is. I’m sandwiched between Sector Command, the OSI, Jacques De Lorme, and God knows who else. I can’t believe this. And I can’t believe I wanted to kiss you.”
She was about to reply when the words in her mind impacted squarely with the words that had just entered her ears. It was like a hover car accident, with consonants and vowels flying in a dozen different directions, all of them trying to get out of her mouth at the same time. “Wait, what did you just say?”
“You know what? Forget it,” he said, his voice dropping down to a semblance of normalcy as he stepped to within a foot of Melissa. “I thought you were trouble the moment I laid my eyes on those legs of yours in my hangar. I just knew you’d be nothing but trouble. And I was right. You’re nothing but a lying, manipulative piece of—”
“Shawn!” Melissa shouted, then with lighting fast reflexes reached out and slapped him hard across the cheek.
“Hot damn,” Krif belted out. “That’s what I’m talking about! I’ve wanted to do that for years!”
Shawn rubbed at the red imprint quickly forming on his cheek, speaking even more calmly than before. “I thought you promised you wouldn’t hit me anymore.”
Melissa, obviously still spun up over Shawn’s outburst, wasn’t relaxing as quickly. “I promised that I wouldn’t punch you, and I’d silently included no longer kicking you into that agreement as well, even though it was against my better judgment to do so at the time. However, there is no contract in the universe, spoken or written, that takes away a woman’s right to slap a man if she feels he’s gotten out of line with her.”
“You know, I wish I had a video recording of this,” Krif injected. “That way I could watch that slap in slow motion right before I go to bed at night.” He smiled and then patted his stomach. “Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to live with the memory. Thanks for that, Miss Graves. Really.”
Satisfied that, for the moment, she’d silenced Shawn, she turned her wrath towards Krif. “Since we’re all through with pretenses here, let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Captain. I’d watch my words carefully, unless you fancy the idea of scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush. I am a senior, level-seven OSI operative. I’m not at all like the rookie field agent that’s regularly assigned to this vessel. I’m a command agent, working directly with Beta Sector intelligence. As such, I easily outrank you and anyone else on this ship. I can pull operational command from you, your crew, or this ship at any time I like.”
Krif narrowed his eyes and leaned in close to her, so close that she could smell the cheddar cheese he had on his broccoli for lunch. “Are you sure about that?” he whispered menacingly.
His tone put her back on the defensive, although she was loath to reveal that to him. “Of course I’m sure.”
“Then you need to check your facts, lady,” he sneered. “Once you went AWOL, your clearance level was immediately revoked. Your former rank and title mean exactly jack squat right now.”
There was something in his tone that gave her pause. “We’ll see about that,” she said resolutely. “All I need is a transmitter and I’ll get the OSI Director on the vid-net personally. Then we’ll see who’s suspended, Captain.”
Krif smiled wickedly. “The ships currently under a communications blackout. Besides, why waste the channel bandwidth when you can talk to him in person?”
She cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “What?”
“He’s here, now, onboard the Rhea.”
“That’s impossible,” she tried to sound confident. “The Director has hardly ever left the home system, much less the Central Core worlds.”
Krif sighed deeply. “Then that might explain why he’s really ticked-off about being here. You see, I don’t exactly know what information you’ve stolen, or what secrets you’ve got locked in that thick skull of yours that the OSI wants back so badly. And frankly, I don’t care. What I do know, however, is what a man looks like when he’s been jerked around,” Krif motioned to Shawn’s angered expression. “I give you Exhibit-A. The Director was no less upset when he came onboard, and I’m sure he’s even less congenial now that he’s been waiting nearly a half an hour for you to report to him.”
She didn’t want to give Krif the satisfaction of seeing her sweat. “Where?”
He waved his arm in the direction of the door, “As soon as you’re through, take a right. Briefing room three will be the third door on your right. And, just in case you decide to get lost again, I’ll escort you there myself.”
Melissa glanced at Shawn, but seeing the anger seething beneath his skin, refrained from saying anything that would only make things worse—if that were even possible. She turned to leave the room, wondering at the same moment if she’d ever get the chance to explain it all to him. Telling half-truths and lies came with the territory when one decided to become an OSI agent, but this time the situation was… different. She was different, and he was different. She’d not only wounded Shawn, but something inside herself as well, and it left a bad taste in her mouth. However, with the Director of the OSI waiting down the hall, she only hoped there would be time for her to explain it all to Captain Shawn Kestrel later.
If they were both still alive.
The moment Melissa and Krif had exited the briefing room, Shawn let out long held breath with a deep sigh. Paying little attention to whom else was in the room, he paced to the wall near where Krif had been standing and pressed a small blinking switch near a recessed panel. A section of the wall slid into an alcove to reveal a near panoramic view of the stars, with the planet Minos far below. Shawn leaned himself against the five foot tall window frame and stared at the beautiful blue-green world, watching as congealing cloud formation inched across the western ocean, casting a dark shadow over the otherwise unblemished surface.
After a moment of silence, Lieutenant Commander Brunel walked up beside him and peered out of the view port as she spoke. “Captain Kestrel, may I ask you a question?”
In truth, he’d forgotten she was still in the room. Not bothering to turn from the visage of the slowly receding planet, he shrugged his shoulders. “Go ahead.”
“What happened between you and the Captain? Why do you dislike each other so much?”
He grunted. “Dislike is far too soft a word.”
“Well, what word would you use?”
Shawn smirked and turned toward her. She was standing close, much closer than he’d assumed. It surprised him, but he didn’t move away. “I’m not really sure anymore. I used to call it hate. But, it’s been a long time, so maybe it’s festered into a deep loathing by now.”
“I’d still like to know why, though.”
“Is it important?”
She seemed to search for the answer. “Sure. Well… actually, maybe. Honestly, I really don’t know for certain.”
He sat himself on the corner of the briefing room table, arms folded across his chest. “It’s a long story.”
She glided to his side and propped herself against the table beside him. Her dark eyes sparkled under the florescent lights, and she smiled pleasantly. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener. Was it during the war?”
“Something like that,” he offered. “We had a… falling out, you could say.”
“I wouldn’t say. After all, I’m not one to gossip, Captain,” she said with a grin. “Though, I’ve heard more than a few stories about you from some other pilots. I guess I was just curious about the legendary Shawn Kestrel.”
Shawn shifted his eyes from the desk, briefly scanning the strikingly attractive pilot that had admittedly saved the lives of both he and Melissa. Her dark hair was spilling over her shoulders in a very un-military like fashion—a sign of lax regulations—and he wondered what other changes had occurred in the service since the end of the war. The corner of his mouth turned up into a half smile as he considered her statement. “It’s classified.”
“That’s a little childish, Captain,” she beamed.
“Maybe I’m simply playing it safe.”
She jerked her head back slightly, a look of doubt washing over her face. “Well, now that doesn’t sound like any of the stories I’ve heard about you.”
“That’s the funny thing about stories, Commander. Sometimes there’s very little truth to them.”
She looked away, as if considering what he’d just said before she advanced in her questioning. “My call sign is Raven. It’s… well, what everyone calls me.”
He nodded. “Alright then. Raven it is.”
“Well, that’s not really what I had in mind. Being that you’re a civilian, and considering that I’m off duty for the next twelve hours, I don’t think I’d mind if you called me Roslyn.”
Shawn suddenly realized that she was standing dangerously close. “Roslyn,” he repeated softly.
“Shawn,” she repeated in the same tone, adding a wink at the end.
He wanted to ask her what was to be done with him, his ship, and his mechanic. But, before the conversation got any more involved, Krif reentered the briefing room in a rush. Shawn leaped away from the table in surprise, putting as much space between himself and Roslyn as he could. Brunel, on the other hand, hadn’t moved an inch, still leaning casually against the table as her eyes shifted from Shawn to Krif, then back.
Krif locked eyes with the attractive pilot, then hurriedly tossed a metal file folder onto the pristine desktop. “Lieutenant Commander Brunel, would you excuse us, please? Mister Kestrel and I have a few things to discuss.”
She lifted herself smartly from the table “Yes, sir.”
Krif caught her attention just as the doors opened for her. His tone was lower, barely above a whisper. “Commander, I’ll debrief you at 1630. I’d like to go over your flight recorder data.”
She nodded smartly. “Of course, sir.”
As she exited the space, Shawn watched in her direction until the doors had closed. Meanwhile, Shawn was the subject of Krif’s scrutiny.
“You don’t know when to quit, do you, Kestrel?”
Shawn gave him a look of innocence. “What do you mean, Dick?”
“Brunel’s a fine officer and a darn good pilot. I don’t want you clouding her objectivity. Do you get me?”
“I’m afraid I’ve been out of the loop for a while, Krif, so why don’t you explain it to me.”
“Back off Brunel, Kestrel, and any other crewman on this ship you might think of getting involved with. Is that clear enough?”
“Relax, Dick. She’s just got a mild case of hero worship. It’s nothing to get your knickers in a bunch.”
“Listen, asshole, I didn’t come all the way here just so you could play footsies with my officers.”
“You know something? Your right, Dick” Shawn added defiantly. “You didn’t. So let’s talk about that, shall we? What am I doing here, Krif?”
“Believe me, I’ve got better things to do than waste my time recounting all the ways you could have been a better officer.”
“Then fix my ship and let me go,” Shawn replied, putting do emphasis on the final words.
“Out of the question.” The reply was sharp, and its underlying meaning left little room for debate.
Still, that’d never stopped Shawn before.
“You can’t keep me here, Dick, and you know it. I’m a certified free trader in good standing with the Unified Trade Guild and I’ve done nothing wrong—lately.”
“Semantics,” the stout officer scoffed. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have to look far into your merchant record to find something to hold you on. Besides, we just apprehended you transporting a rogue OSI agent. That alone is reason enough to hold you.”
Shawn quickly realized that the only way he was going to get anywhere was if he stopped bucking a played along with Krif, if only for a little while. “Well, you did it. Congratulations. You got me, my ship, my crewman, and the only paying passenger I’ve had in weeks. We’re not going anywhere, okay, so now can you tell me why you have me here?”
“For starters, as I said, your being here was, and still is, against my better judgment. Aside from that, I had nothing to do with it. I’m just an officer following orders. That has a familiar sort of ring to it, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play the naïve rookie, Kestrel. You know darn well what it means.”
“I’m a little rusty with standard fleet procedures.”
“You always were.”
Shawn drew his hands to his hips. “We can always put on a pair of gloves… settle it like we did back in the day.”
Krif shook his head, then leaned against the conference table in the same position that Roslyn had occupied earlier. “I don’t play those games anymore.”
“What’s the matter? Worried about what’d happen to that command pin on your lapel if you broke regulations?
Krif snorted. “While I know you won’t understand this, I have a respectable place on this ship… and in this fleet.”
“And a responsibility to safeguard the property, personnel, and civilian lives that are under that command, right?”
“That’s right.”
Shawn folded his arms across his chest. “I seem to remember that same tired line coming out of your mouth that night on Delta VII.”
“I don’t need to rehash this with you. Aside from it now being officially a classified matter, Delta VII was out of my control.”
“So you said back then.”
“And I’m saying it again now, for the record, and for the last time.”
“There’s never going to be a last time,” Shawn replied heatedly. “You made very sure of that.”
“The court of inquiry made their decision. They saw no negligence on my part of the operation. However, I do recall they had something different to say concerning your own role.”
“I remember, too. And you of all people know why I did what I did.”
Krif shook his head in disappointment. “You disobeyed the Admiral’s orders.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Then you disobeyed the Captain’s orders.”
“I had to try and save them.”
“Then you went and disobeyed my orders!”
“It was a shitty order!”
“You weren’t in a position to make that call, Kestrel!” Krif shouted loud enough for anyone in the passageway to easily overhear. Richard let out a heavy sigh, then ran his hands through the short blonde hair as he attempted to quell his frustrations. “Besides, it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway, and you know it. There was nothing you could’ve done to save her.” He slowly stood from the table and moved to the view port Shawn had uncovered. Shawn watched as Krif wiped his hand tiredly down the side of his face before he continued speaking. “There wasn’t anything any of us could have done.”
Shawn didn’t answer, but it wasn’t because he didn’t have something to say. It was because a part of him knew Krif was right. It was because a part of him had always known Krif was right, and it made him sick to finally, after all this time, admit it to himself.
Chapter 12
At the same moment Krif had interrupted the conversation between Shawn and Roslyn Brunel, Melissa had apprehensively entered the briefing room containing the Director of the Office of Special Intelligence.
The conference room was noticeably different than the one she’d last seen Shawn in. This room was much longer, with a lengthy table covered with a dull cloth dominating the center of the space. Around the table were over a dozen chairs, all of them empty, save for the one at the far end of the room. Melissa assumed that it was the Director who was seated in it, but it was difficult to tell.
She’d known for some time that the Director had a dislike of bright lights, and for highly polished surfaces that allowed for reflections. There was an unsubstantiated rumor that he’d been the victim an unfortunate accident some years ago, one that’d damaged his ability to process any form of direct light. Melissa, always one to believe in facts over fiction, never paid the rumors much attention. It surprised her very little that the compartment was dark, far darker than Melissa would have preferred for a meeting of this magnitude, and it was inhumanly cold. Only half of the overhead pot lights were on, and those that were had been set to half their normal luminance. It gave every piece of furniture in the room a faint aura without highlighting any of their other features. In the end, it didn’t matter to her why he chose to linger in the shadows during their visit. It only mattered that the visit remained brief.
Her infrequent encounters with the Director had always been cordial and professional, but the lack of light and ambient heat in whatever venue they’d found themselves in always left her with the feeling that she was meeting with a mythical creature of the night instead of the most influential intelligence officer in the Unified Collaboration of Systems. It was even speculated by some—mostly in the Unified Council—that the Director’s absolute authority gave him even more power than the UCS President himself.
For her part, Melissa always considered the Director to be the power behind the scenes, manipulating people and events to better suit the needs of the majority. As such, the weight of the entire Unified Collaboration of Systems was said to rest on his lithe shoulders, but he appeared to carry it smoothly, as if he were born for it. In fact, an offhanded joke amongst junior agents fresh out of the academy suggested that he was made for it—genetically engineered to be the perfect intelligence officer—which would’ve certainly explained his appearance. The man who sat there in the briefing room looked by all accounts to be in his mid-forties. However, Melissa knew of no one in the service who could remember another person occupying the Director’s position. That meant that the Director was at least in his seventies—if not considerably older.
Also quite legendary was his fast switching temperament. It was said that he could be entirely rational one moment, only to become animated and enraged the next. She’d never witnessed it herself and—always conscious of the problems associated with making waves in the upper echelons of command—she’d continually strived to stay in his good graces. In fact, it wasn’t until the disappearance of her father that she’d experienced a falling out with the agency and, by default, the Director himself. She knew it’d been a career ending mistake the moment she’d done so, and knew with equal certainty that she’d eventually be apprehended. She’d hoped that, by the time that happened, she would have discovered more about her father’s mission. However, it was not to be. Too much time had been wasted, time enough for Sector Command and the OSI to catch up with her and Shawn.
Yes, she thought forlornly. Shawn. What was going to happen to him? She’d fully accepted the consequences of her actions the moment she’d ignited her own private search for her father—a search unsanctioned and even forbidden by the OSI She’d risked everything she had to save the one person in her life that she loved. Did she have a right to ask Shawn to do the same? Did he even understand what was happening? Back in the briefing room, the look of betrayal on his face had hurt her to the very core, and Shawn still didn’t even know half of the truths about why they were looking for Admiral Graves in the first place. She’d never had the time to explain it all to him, and now it looked as if that, too, would never come to pass. For the first time in her professional life, she felt wretched for having lied to a truly innocent person to get what she wanted, and something inside her hoped that it would be the last time she did so.
With a single, cautious step, Melissa neared the waist-high seatback of the dark chair opposite of the Director’s still form. Mindful of the dim spotlight casting a soft glow directly over her chair, she carefully remained in the shadows and out of the glaring scrutiny of the Director.
From her vantage point, separated by twenty feet of dull gray tablecloth, she could barely make out the form of the man in the dim light. There was, however, little doubt she was staring at the person whose image had come to symbolize the intelligence community for decades. Like all agents, the Director wore a uniform of dull grey, sharp creases all around, and accented with black stripes running the length of his arms and legs. The golden badge attached to the left breast of his coat, unlike all the others in the OSI, lacked its usual polished surface, and was instead covered in a satin-like veneer. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, completely out of uniform for an agent, and altogether unnecessary in the dark space of the Rhea’s briefing room. Yet, while she couldn’t see his eyes through the dark lenses, she surmised from the direction and inclination of his head that he was staring intently at her. His hands, covered in skintight black gloves, were folded neatly on the tabletop before him.
Despite the murkiness of the room, she could quite clearly see the two uniformed OSI agents standing at attention on either side of the Director, each positioned under their own respective spotlight. To the Directors left was a human male, perhaps in his mid-twenties. The other was a female, but Melissa could only base that assumption on her body shape. Her face seemed anything but feminine, with an angular jaw line and protruding, heavy set eyebrows. Her pug-like nose caught the overhead light in all the wrong places. Both of them, dressed in the same black and gray high collared uniforms, stared past Melissa as they stood motionless like stone monoliths. Nevertheless, Melissa knew that they were watching her closely in their periphery with marked apprehension. If she made even the slightest of unplanned or uncoordinated moves, they wouldn’t hesitate to neutralize her with anything at their disposal. Melissa could see their respective sidearm’s slung tightly to their waists, an unusual accoutrement for an OSI agent to display in the open. She deduced that it was likely one the Director had insisted on personally.
There was a drawn out silence in the room, punctuated only by the soft hum of the Rhea’s air recirculation system piping clean oxygen into the space. Melissa shivered as a waft of cool air brushed past her face, and fought the urge to rub her hands briskly together to induce a fresh bout of much needed circulation. It was at that moment the Director slowly turned his head to the right and simultaneously addressed the two agents behind him.
“Agents, you are excused,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone.
The two briskly snapped to attention, then strode forward in perfect time with one another on either side of the long table. They exited the room without giving Melissa the slightest indication that they’d acknowledged her presence. The room became deathly silent once more. Melissa’s heartbeat was pounding in her ears, and she wished the Director would say something to break the tension in the space. He didn’t move, nor did he speak, but she knew he was waiting for the perfect moment to do so. She surmised that, if this was to be the end of her career in the OSI, she would face it like a professional. Taking charge of the situation, she slid aside the tall chair and placed herself fully under the overhead light, revealing herself fully to the Director in the process.
“That’s better,” he began. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you.” The tone of his voice was low and soothing, almost hypnotic as it echoed off the barren walls of the conference room. “It’s been a long time, Miss Graves.”
“Yes sir,” she replied meekly. If there was one thing she detested, it was drawn out speeches. Come on, her mind screamed. Get it over with.
The Director’s lips, hardly parting enough to construct his words, were the only part of his body showing movement. “You know, I’ve always thought highly of your performance in this agency.”
“Thank you, sir.” She tried not to sound too anxious.
He nodded once, slowly, as if a brick were tied to his chin. “You’ve been a very valuable asset; not only to the OSI, but to myself as well. Your performance, in short, has been stellar.”
She nodded sharply. “Thank you.”
The Director suddenly shifted his body, and the movement took Melissa by surprise. He unfolded his hands and leaned back into his chair almost casually. The leather surface chafed slightly against his uniform in a series of soft pops that assaulted her ears. “What always impressed me the most was your ability to put aside any difficulties that less experienced agents would have easily succumbed to in the line of your duties. You’ve been very methodical… exacting. You never left a mess for someone else to clean up, and you always obeyed orders without question. I would even go so far as to say that you’ve earned my personal… admiration.”
True, she’d always prided herself on those same abilities, even the times when she felt her grip on her own humanity had suffered for it. It hadn’t been until recently, in fact, that she had begun to question her role in a number of the things she’d been directly responsible for. Her service record was littered with awards and accolades, most of which would never be publicly heralded due to the secrecy of the individual operations. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single one of those honors that hadn’t come at the cost of someone else. If her father hadn’t disappeared those months ago, she had no idea where she’d be right now—she only knew she would be a very different person. Her acknowledgement to the Director required no words, only a simple nod.
His long fingers slowly laced themselves together as he placed his hands in his lap. “However, I have to say, Miss Graves, that I’m sorely disappointed with you over your actions in this current situation.” His tone was unchanged. It was all but impossible to tell if he was angry or not, although there was no mistaking that he was dissatisfied.
Here it comes. Be strong.
“I understand, sir.” Where most agents would have started blathering, trying to use words to explain away their own actions, Melissa knew better. Words, no matter how eloquent or well spoken, wouldn’t get her out of this menagerie. The cage she occupied was constructed of bars she forged herself over her years of service. It was her lot to accept her punishment, and she wanted to do so with dignity.
The Director leaned forward in his chair, bringing his laced hands up to the tabletop. His head leaned slightly forward before he shook it slowly, almost as if he were submersed in water. The very tip of his pointed nose glowed under the scrutiny of the overhear light. “No, Miss Graves. I don’t believe that you do. In fact, I’m quite sure that you don’t.” His tone was different now. The pitch was higher, but no less ominous. “You see, you’ve gotten yourself in way over your head—not to mention your pay grade on this—to say nothing about the security breach you’ve committed by bringing civilians into a classified operation. This is all very serious, Miss Graves, and could carry a very substantial sentence.”
When there was a marked silence after his words, Melissa deduced the Director was waiting for some kind of response. She sucked in her breath slowly, trying not to betray her nervousness at the situation. She had to choose her words carefully, remembering not to use twelve of them when six would suffice. “Most of the files were sealed, sir. I don’t know any more than I did when I left the Core Worlds.”
He smirked, the first Melissa had ever heard of him doing so. Even through the gloom, she could see the contours of his face crack and split in unusual places, and she resisted the urge to cringe. “Remember who you’re speaking to, Miss Graves. Deception is… unbecoming of you in this conversation. You see, I am aware that you do know something.”
“Sir?” Did he know? How could he know? Oh, don’t be naïve, woman! Of course he knew. You don’t get to be the Director of the OSI by having a lack of knowledge.
“Aside from what Mister Kestrel may have already told you, I also know that you spoke to Toyotomi Katashi.”
Damn. Is Toyo playing both sides? How else would the OSI already know about their conversation? Perhaps Toyo’s information organization had been compromised. If that’s true, he could be in more danger than even he realizes. It’s all water under the bridge for now. In the meantime, remember your training: evade and dissuade as long as possible; get as much information as you can without looking like you’re trying to get as much information as you can. “Mister Kestrel has told me nothing, save for some anecdotal war stories about my father.”
“Then you don’t deny speaking to Toyotomi Katashi?”
“No sir.” So, something Toyo told Shawn and I had a ring of truth to it? Whatever it was, it was something the Director was trying hard to keep under wraps, that much was for certain. There was no way the Director would have come this far from the Core Worlds for something so trivial as wild rumors or unsubstantiated speculations. If Toyo was right, if there was more than a modicum of truth to the Army of Light, than these truly are ‘dangerous times’.
The Director only made a slight humming sound as he acknowledged her reply.
She was still trying with all of her internal strength to keep her emotions in check. “Shawn… Mister Kestrel… he doesn’t know anything, sir.” Melissa knew full well that if Shawn did know anything, he’d be a threat to whatever secret the Director was trying to keep out of the public networks. She also knew from firsthand experience how the OSI dealt with internal intelligence threats.
“I simply hired him to ferry me to Corvan, sir. Nothing more.”
“Come now, Miss Graves,” he asked with an air of contempt as he shook his head slowly. “You of all people know the futility of a statement like that to someone such as myself. After all, how many times have you been in the reverse of this situation with others in the course of your duties? And, in those instances, what would you have done about it?” he shook his head indifferently. “No. I’m afraid, Miss Graves, that you’ll have to do better than that.”
She attempted to keep her self-control as an image of Shawn floated across her mind, the face of a man she—and everyone else in the universe—would likely never see again after today. The Director, in no short terms, had made his intentions about Shawn’s and Toyo’s fate clear. All she could do now was beg. “Please, sir,” her voice cracked under the weight of the situation. “Let him go.”
The Director leaned back in his chair, making his already obscure face even more hidden by the shadows. “It’s too late for that. Your joint meeting with Katashi has, regrettably, sealed all of their fates.” His tone was laced with sorrow she knew full well he didn’t feel. “It’s very disappointing. Both Mister Kestrel and Mister Katashi were people to be admired.”
She wondered what Shawn could have done to warrant such high regard from the Director. “Captain Kestrel doesn’t know anything.”
The Director only shook his head and slowly repeated himself. “Such a pity, for all parties concerned.”
So, she thought miserably. That’s it. First Shawn would conveniently disappear, then Toyo. That would mean me, too… and Trent. Maybe even Jacques De Lorme. Okay, so loosing De Lorme wouldn’t be so bad. Still, Jack was something of an innocent in all of this. None of them deserved the judgment they would never see coming, save for Melissa herself. She had brought this down on all of them, and she wished with all her heart that she alone could bear the punishment. Unfortunately, she knew that was not the way of the OSI.
“What are you going to do now, sir?” Her eyes began to fill with tears. She chided herself for not being stronger, but she managed to keep the majority of her emotions locked inside.
The Director gradually leaned forward, causing a single overhead spotlight to shine down directly across the top of his head. No longer shrouded by the darkness, first his nose, then his prominent cheekbones came into an unobstructed view. He reached up and slowly removed the dark sunglasses, gingerly placing them on the table top. When caught at just the right angle, the Director’s eyes looked as if they’d been replaced by softly glowing aquamarine orbs—like cat’s eyes caught in the light of oncoming traffic. Never in her life had she seen such a thing on a human before. Other species, yes, but never like this. It was as terrifying as it was fascinating, and it sent chills up her spine as he coldly stared at her.
“The real question, Miss Graves, is what are you going to do?”
“Me, sir?” she asked back in utter confusion.
He smiled a malicious, toothy grin which did nothing to ease the trepidation she was currently feeling. “Yes, Miss Graves. You.”
*
Shawn brought a hand to his chin and rubbed absently at the stubble as he pondered Krif’s statement. “So, if you’re telling me that it wasn’t your idea to get me up here, then whose was it?”
Krif shrugged. “I could give you any number of names in the admiralty that wanted this to happen, some of whom you even know—all of whom will remain anonymous for the time being. Hell, even the Council had a say in it. But, I’m thinking you want to know who it really boils down to. Am I right?”
Shawn stiffly nodded once.
Krif’s only response was to nod his head in the direction of the briefing room door.
It took only a moment for Shawn to make the connection. “The OSI?”
Krif turned to face the view port, and with his arms folded tightly across his chest, nodded once. “To more precisely answer your question, it was probably the Director himself, or someone else with an enormous amount of clout in the Unified government.” Krif then shook his head wordlessly before he continued. “Now that you’re here, and considering you’re not going anywhere anytime soon, does it really matter?”
“I think it does.”
“Well I don’t,” Krif snapped. “As for me, I personally received the order—”
“From who?”
“Damn it, Kestrel!” Krif yelled, spinning sharply on his heel to face Shawn. “From Sector Command, who do you think?”
“Are you saying the Director doesn’t have you wrapped around his little finger?”
“I work for Sector Command, hot-shot. My orders came directly from the Commander, Second Fleet, Admiral William Blackwell. He tells me where to go and I go. No one else.”
The name Blackwell sounded familiar, and Shawn promised himself a moment to research it later. He eyed Krif dubiously. “With Sector Command silently bowing to the OSI in this matter, it would seem.”
“You need to check you facts, Kestrel, and quit listening to Toyo’s rumors.”
“You’re going to tell me the OSI Director came all the way out here just to take Melissa into custody? Any rookie field agent could have done that. So please, quick jerking my chain and give me the whole story. I can’t work with half of the facts.”
Richard pursed his lips as he moved away from the view port. “You want to be in the loop? Fine.” He looked down to the metal file folder he’d placed on the table top and slid it closer to Shawn. “I’ve been told that it’s all in there.”
Shawn looked down to the inconspicuous metal container. It was about the size of a small stack of paper, two inches thick with hinges along one side and a thumbprint scanner on the right. It was nothing more than a standard secured folder; save for a thick orange stripe around its midsection indicating that its contents were classified as top secret—even going so far as to have the words stenciled across it’s surface.
Shawn regarded the folder without touching it. “What is this?”
“An explanation, Kestrel, or so I’ve been told. At least, it’s as much of one as I’m authorized to give you at this point in time. It’s been specially encoded to your fingerprint. Even I can’t open it.”
Shawn looked at him doubtfully. “So, you don’t know what’s in there?”
Krif shook his head. “I have to say, though, that I’m pretty curious. I’d sure like to know why I’m out here in the nether regions of the Outer Rim staring at your ugly face when I have better things to do.”
“So that’s a no, I take it?”
Krif expression was noncommittal. “I’m an instrument of policy, Kestrel. Therefore, I know what I’m told to know.”
“Why can’t people just say what’s on their minds? Why the big cloak-and-dagger bit? We’re all on the same side out here.”
“In case you’ve had your head in the ground for the last few years, let me remind you: No, we’re not ‘all friends’, and that’s one of the reasons why I’m out here in the first place. This isn’t a cruise liner, if you hadn’t noticed, and the men and women on board the Rhea aren’t tourists trying to get to the Elixir Springs on Goshan. I’ve got enough firepower onboard this ship to devastate a planet three times over, and I’m charged with using it to make sure everyone plays nice out here in the boonies.” He moved to a food dispenser bin in the far wall and withdrew a steaming cup of liquid. Taking a tentative sip, he put the mug down with a look of disgust.
“Coffee?” Shawn asked inquisitively.
“Tea,” Krif looked at the liquid scornfully. “I’ve been told it’s better for my indigestion. Anyway, what makes you think I owe you an explanation for anything? You think I’ll breach protocol, not to mention direct orders from Admiral Blackwell, just because you and I served together back in the war? That crap doesn’t fly with me, Kestrel. Never has. Never will. I follow orders, plain and simple. I do what I’m told, when I’m told to do it. That’s how I got to where I am right now, and I plan on staying here awhile. At least, until they decide to pin a nice shiny star on my lapel and put me behind a desk, that is.”
“I know I’ll sleep a lot more soundly when that happens.”
“Is that all you’ve got left, Kestrel; your quick jibes and your witty retorts? Tell me, is that why you turned into a space hauler instead of making a real career for yourself in the service? You had something, you know? I’m not saying it was exceptional, I’m not even saying it was great. But you definitely had something that most pilots these days lack: raw talent, maybe even a gift. But like a piece of garbage you threw it all away, and now you’re perfectly content hiding out in your own little corner of the galaxy, peddling freight to the has-beens and would-be pirate princes of the universe.”
Shawn had no idea why he felt the need to justify himself to Richard Krif, so it shocked him to hear the words shoot angrily out of his mouth. “I had enough death to fill three lifetimes, Krif. I was done.”
“You were done? You were done? Is that all it was to you—a vendetta?”
Shawn didn’t answer, but Krif could see the anger welling up behind his eyes.
“So, you quenched your proverbial thirst and stepped back from the fountain? You killed enough Kafaran’s to justify what they did to you and then you called it quits?” Richard shook his head disapprovingly. “That’s really sad, man.”
“The war was over,” Shawn said with finality.
Krif balled his fist and held it an inch from Shawn’s face. “But the fighting went on! Just because the Kafaran’s headed out of our space, it didn’t mean we all packed up and went home. There were still renegade systems to retake, and pirates in every corner and crack of the Outer Sphere. Borders had to be redrawn, and new treaties had to be negotiated—then there were the battles over those same treaties; not to mention the fact that commercial trade was smashed. Then, to top it all off, the core of the Unified Collaboration splintered. The Outer Sphere dissolved completely, not to mention what happened to our colonies way out on he frontier. Do you have any idea the kind of chaos that Sector Command was in?”
Shawn let the words that had haunted his dreams slip passed his lips before he could capture them. “It wasn’t my concern.”
Instead of pushing his clenched fist into Shawn’s face, Richard smashed it down into the briefing room table top, sending the metal file folder scurrying across its surface. “It was everyone’s concern, and you were one of the few people that was in a position to do something about it!”
“I did my duty and moved on.”
Krif shook his head slowly, his words dripping with disappointment. “That’s not how William saw it, and that’s not how Sylvia would have seen it.”
The unspoken word oozed out of every pour in Krif’s body: he’d just called Shawn a coward. Shawn pulled back and brought his fist up to Krif’s face.
Having anticipated Shawn’s outburst, Krif was already one step ahead. Before the fist had an opportunity to make contact, lightning fast reflexes allowed Krif to catch it mid-flight inches from his own nose.
Shawn made no attempt to pull another punch, nor did he decrease the force behind his initial blow. He continued to push against Krif’s hand, silently praying that the Rhea’s captain would lose his grip and cause his fist to crash into the pompous, upturned nose.
After a tense moment, when Krif felt Shawn’s force begin to wane, Richard pushed the hand aside and stepped two paces back from the enraged merchant. Krif exhaled slowly, watching as Shawn neither advanced nor retreated on his position as the two men regained their composure. With a final exhale, Richard shook his head and turned back to the open view port.
“Wasn’t your concern, you say? Wasn’t your concern.” Krif repeated it several more times, each one softer and slower than the previous. He leaned against the heavy frame of the window and looked to Minos, now several thousand miles astern of the Rhea. “Well, congratulations. It’s your concern now.”
“I don’t want it,” Shawn replied, still fuming from Krif’s earlier remark.
“I’m sorry to say, you have very little choice in the matter, hot-shot. Believe me, I’m really sorry.”
“Then I refuse.”
Krif offered a light shrug without turning to face Shawn. “You can do that, and I won’t stop you. But, I don’t think it’d be a wise life decision. Then again, you’ve made those before.”
“Are you threatening me, Dick?”
“Threaten? No. I can’t do that. What would Sector Command say about one of their captains threatening a civilian?” He frowned, then turned and locked eyes with Shawn. “And, that is what you are, you know? A civilian.” He spat the word as if the taste were disgusting. “While I don’t have sway over you now, just think of what the Unified Trade Guild could do to you and your… business.”
Shawn shook his head in revulsion. “You’d have them pull my license?”
“No. Not me, personally,” Krif said, then raised his eyebrows. “Regardless of what you may think of me, I could really care less if you’re out here plying the space lanes hauling crates of plastic trinkets for the rest of your life. Come to think of it, it gives me a sense of satisfaction. However, there are other parties who could make it their personal mission in life to see that you’re as absolutely miserable as possible, and I’d think pulling your license would be the least they could do.”
“They’d take my ship, too?”
Krif’s turned his attention back to the slowly retreating planet beyond the window. “Who’s to say? By the time your ship is repaired, we’ll be well beyond the Outer Rim, not to mention outside of the protection of Sector Command. Why, you could just… disappear.” And with that, Krif quickly snapped his fingers. “And none would need to be the wiser.”
He was being threatened, and Shawn didn’t need to read between the lines to see it. Nonetheless, it didn’t matter. He’d been in sticky situations before, and had just as easily gotten out of them. This one would be no different. On the other hand, there was certainly something going on here, something that Admiral Graves gave his life for and something his daughter was willing to sacrifice her future for. And Richard Krif, while he may not have all the answers, certainly knew more than he was admitting to.
No, this was not his fight. William and Melissa had—whether deliberately or not—chosen their own fate. Shawn still had a way out of this mess, and all he had to do was take it. He thought back to Toyo, someone with his own choices and agenda. Toyotomi had decided to take up arms and fight against an enemy he knew might someday come knocking at his door. Shawn suddenly began to feel like he was on the outside of an exclusive club, an observer to events that were being shaped beyond his control. Needless to say, it was not his favorite position. Knowing it was best to hear both sides of the argument before rushing to judgment, he decided to throw Krif a bone.
“And what’s in it for me if I agree?”
Krif walked back to the metal file folder on the table, tapping his index finger near the black thumbprint reader. This was where his personal feelings ended, and his orders from Sector Command took over. “Full reinstatement back into the fleet, with no loss of rank or privileges. You’ll pick up where you quit. I mean, where you dropped out.” Krif sneered at his own words. “Sorry, I’m having a hard time finding the right phrase.”
“I get your point,” Shawn snapped back.
“This is top secret information, Kestrel. Once you touch this scanner, it’s all done, because once you’re in this loop you don’t get out. If you decide to leave because you don’t like what you find in there, you’ll be considered a deserter, and subject to the full punishment as such.”
Shawn’s eyes were on the file container. He could see his reflection in the smooth surface of the scanner. “Meaning death.”
“The current accepted version is instant organic incineration,” Krif agreed. “But I’ve heard they take their liberties with the term ‘instant’ when it comes to deserters and traitors.”
Shawn grunted. He’d heard the same rumors. “What else are you offering?”
“My word. When did you turn so opportunistic?”
Shawn glared at him. “The moment my livelihood was challenged.”
Krif nodded in approval. “Glad to see you can still adjust to a quickly changing environment.”
“So, what else? And what happens to Trent and Melissa? And what about my ship?”
“As for the details about your re-commission and your assignment, it’s all in the file. Considering your mechanic was once a specialist with Sector Command, he gets the same deal you do. He’s been a part of what’s been going on down on Persephone and Minos, so he’s just as much of a security risk as you are. Besides, he’s the only one who knows how to fix that hunk of junk you parked on my hangar deck. I’d like nothing more than to push that menace to navigation out of the nearest airlock and use it for target practice, but my orders on this matter are quite clear: you’re ship goes where you go, on board or not. As far as your girlfriend is concerned, that’s not up to me to say. She’s in enough trouble with the OSI as it is. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they shit-canned her and shipped her out to a penal asteroid within the hour.”
Shawn felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. While he was still angry with Melissa’s betrayal, the thought of her confined to a worthless rock, mining iron ore, caused him some concern. It was simply no place for a woman of her position and intelligence, even if she was as loopy as a donut. Although, since she had been the one to mention it, the idea of her scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush did give Shawn some minute sense of satisfaction. He pushed the thoughts of corporal punishment aside for the moment and refocused his attention to the closed file on the briefing room table.
“How long do I have to decide?”
“Simple. You have six hours. The repairs on your ship are scheduled to be completed by that time. You’ll have a full load of fuel, so you should be able to limp back to Minos with no problems. However, six hours and ten minutes from now the Rhea will be jumping out of the system, so after that we’ll be too far away for you to safely make the journey back in one jump. I suppose you could sit yourself down on some nice rock along the way. Considering our current heading, there are more than a few I can think of. Perhaps you’ll even make a new life for yourself amongst the natives, but I doubt it. Most of the systems we’re going to encounter seceded from the UCS for one reason or another, and I’m sure they wouldn’t take too kindly to you invading their space.”
Shawn looked to the sealed file for a moment, then to the view port and the now very distant planet beyond it, wondering how Trent would take the news. “While I’m considering it, I want you to get one of your people to take me back to my ship.”
“I’ll get a marine to escort you back down to the hangar.” Krif turned, stepped away from Shawn and headed for the door, pausing in it midway once it had fully parted. “You have six hours, Kestrel, starting five minutes ago.”
Chapter 13
Inside the immense hangar of the Rhea, Sylvia’s Delight sat patiently in her own dimly lit corner, poised for flight as the carrier’s technicians completed their work fitting the newly fabricated cargo ramp onto her stern. It’d been just over four hours since Shawn’s arrival on the carrier, and nearly as long since his meeting with Captain Krif in the briefing room. Once the unwanted reunion had concluded, Shawn had all but sprinted to the hangar to supervise the process of getting his ship space worthy and underway once again. When Shawn had reached the hangar, and he was delighted that his faithful mechanic was already there tending to the Mark-IV.
Only a short trip to the ships galley—grabbing a bite of something that could loosely be called food—had taken him away from the repairs. Roslyn hadn’t been there, and that didn’t surprise him. On a ship as large as the Rhea, there were thousands of crewmembers, and the chance of catching her within that small window had been slight.
Back in the hangar, the Rhea’s metal fabricators had done an adequate job of building and replacing the rear cargo hatch that Shawn had blown out during their escape from Jacques De Lorme’s Temkorian thugs. Under Trent’s watchful gaze, the Rhea’s astronautic technicians were hard at work performing their last operational checks of the hatch, making sure that it fully sealed to protect the Mark-IV’s cargo and crew from the vacuum of space.
The color of the hatch set the new component apart from the rest of the ship. It was the same angular shape as the previous one, but the new hatch was gleaming—a far cry from the battered and mottled hull of the rest of the ship—and the strut operation was nearly silent.
As the technicians lowered the hatch one final time, Trent stepped quickly between them and entered the aft cargo hold of Sylvia’s Delight. The two technicians seemed unfazed by the mechanics presence as they continued to scan the periphery of the new hatch for any sign of internal weaknesses. As the two men withdrew various hand-held scanning devices and aimed them at the ship, Shawn wasted no time in rushing to catch up to his mechanic. By the time Shawn had entered the command deck, Trent was already seated in the copilots chair performing a check on the starboard engine.
“How does it look?” Shawn asked as he unceremoniously plopped down in the vacant pilot’s seat.
“It looks… eh.”
Shawn gave the mechanic an upturned eyebrow. “Could you define ‘eh’, please?”
Trent shrugged. “Eh, it means just that. Eh.”
“Look, I said I was sorry about your tools three hours ago. Then I said it again an hour and a half ago, so can we drop this once and for all?”
If Trent’s silence was any indication, Shawn understood the answer loud and clear. He tried to placate Trent as best he knew how. “I even got you a brand new set from the Rhea’s supply store,” he said. “Not even you can argue that they’re not better than the stuff you had.”
“That’s not the point,” Trent said sullenly as he continued to pre-check the navigational computer. “Those tools had a personal value to me. I’ve had some of those tools since I was an apprentice. My mother bought me some of those tools.” He looked up from the computer to stare squarely into Shawn’s eyes. “It’s not just something I can forgive and forget, you know?”
Shawn cast his eyes to the deck, then nodded slowly in understanding. “I see. Well, this ‘personal value’ you say those tools held? How much will it cost me?”
Trent looked shocked. “Captain, I’m appalled that you think my emotional connection to this can be bought.”
“Uh-huh,” Shawn nodded. “How much did you say?”
“I’m sorry, Captain. You must have me confused with someone with less scruples. Now, if you’ll excuse me, those technicians bungled the installation of the new starboard bulkhead in the cargo hold. Two of the main power flow conduits were severed, and I now have to nullify their neutrino matrix resonations,” he replied flatly, turning back to the computer and entering the commands into the smooth keyboard.
“Well, I’m truly sorry,” Shawn said as he got up to leave the cockpit. Just as he was at the door, there was a cough from the copilot’s chair. He turned to see Trent holding his hand to his mouth, which was followed by another fit of coughing. “You okay?” Shawn asked.
“Yeah, I think so… maybe.” This was followed by yet another round of expulsions.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“Well, now that you mentioned it…”
“Yes?” Here it comes, Shawn thought.
“Well, I noticed on the Rhea’s parts manifest shows that they have a few graviton coils lying around in storage.”
“Graviton coils?” Shawn smiled and repeated.
“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice scratchy. “Wow, this must be getting really bad. So, since you’re going to pick up the coils, you may want to just pick up a new baseline diagnostic terminal while you’re there… the one with a spectrum analyzer and sequential optical inputs.”
Shawn nodded slowly. “Baseline diagnostic terminal…”
“Yes. And a new waveguide splicer.”
“Waveguide splicer,” he repeated, continuing to nod deftly at the mechanic.
Suddenly, without looking in Shawn’s direction, Trent held up a scrap of paper over his shoulder. “I took the liberty of writing down the model numbers, bin locations, and general physical characteristics of each piece, plus a few other assorted things you could get if you have the time.”
Shawn stepped up with a smirk and retrieved the list in time for another round of coughs. “And this is going to make your little… uh… problem go away?”
Trent turned to him, smiling like a small child who’d just been asked if his tummy felt better. “Yes, sir. I’m sure I’ll feel great after you pick up those things.”
Shawn couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “I’m sure. So, before I go shopping, can we get back to how the repairs to the rest of the ship are coming along?”
The mechanic brightened up, all traces of infirmity gone. “Well, these fleet techs got her back to operational shape, but it’s far from the best work I’ve ever seen.”
“Good enough to get us home?”
Trent’s head wavered from side to side. “Sure, if you can manage to avoid getting us into any more scuffles with Temkorian fighters.”
Shawn folded his arms defiantly. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Hey, I’m just throwing that out there. All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t try to push these engines in the state they’re in. So, if we pet them really nice, say a few encouraging things to them, and promise them a warm oil bath when we get home, we just might make it without any problems.”
“Aren’t the engines fully repaired?”
“Yeah, but only to safe operational condition. They may still act a little wonky at higher speeds.”
“And there’s nothing else you can do?”
“Sure there is. We could replace the engines themselves. Heck, they even have a near direct replacement in stock on the Rhea, considering the typical Mark-IV uses the same basic engines as the L-22 Mammoth that Sector Command assigns to logistic squadrons. We’d see an increase in range, smoother operation, and far better fuel efficiency.”
“You planned this out already, have you?”
“Are you kidding? There’s a pair of engines sitting on the far side of the hangar right now. I would have had the swap done already if we had the time. If we can stick around for another three hours, I’m sure I could—”
“No. That’s not going to happen. Just make sure you can get us home with what we’ve got.”
“Sure. I think I have a few rolls of duct tape in the back that should do the trick.”
Shawn shook his head in incredulity. “I am so glad to have the best mechanic in Beta Sector at my side right now.”
Trent disregarded the sarcastic tone in Shawn’s voice and grinned widely as he continued to enter diagnostic requests into the navigational computer. “Ah, don’t mention it, Captain. I’m just glad to be here, you know?”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Trent initiated the particle detector with his left hand, giving Shawn a dismissive wave with his right. “I know, I know. But please, stop. You’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m going back aft to check the medical supplies. You think you and your ego can manage up here for awhile without me?”
Trent paid little attention to Shawn as he watched the detector’s gauge slide from yellow to green, indicating that the forward sensor array was operating within specifications. “Sure, boss. Whatever you say. Oh, and don’t forget about my list, and maybe grab me a glass of water on your way back. I think I feel that cough coming on again.”
Shawn quickly moved out of the cockpit before Trent could add anything else to his list of demands.
*
As he entered the small lounge between the control deck and the berthing passageway, Shawn lifted the bottom of the bench seat on the starboard wall to inspect the contents. Reaching inside, he withdrew a makeshift prop rod that would hold the seat bottom up as he rummaged through the supplies. He moved aside several small, translucent bags and extracted the small medical kit, itself not more than a simple white container with only the most basic of supplies. He inventoried the contents, checking to see if he was missing anything he would need before Sylvia’s Delight parted company with the Rhea. After all, it was against USC policy to allow a ship to leave a government controlled port or ship without proper medical supplies, and Shawn was adamant about getting as much out of the Rhea’s supply stores as he could while it didn’t cost him anything. In the distance, he overheard the fleet technicians cycling the aft cargo hatch once more, causing a soft vibration to reverberate throughout the hull as they did so. When Shawn finished creating a mental list of needed supplies, he placed the kit back in the far corner of the under-seat compartment and reorganized the remainder of the contents as he’d found them.
As he shuffled the materials in the tight space, he failed to hear the airlock door slide open. Due to his precarious position—with his head buried deep in under the seat—he also failed to hear the muted footfalls of someone approaching stealthily from behind.
Shawn was having a hard time getting the medical kit stowed properly, and realized that the vintage shotgun he kept under the seat was interfering with more than a few emergency items in the cramped space. He reached for the weapon, shaking it furiously as he tried to dislodge it from its jammed location. There must be a better way to organize all of this stuff.
“Captain Kestrel?”
The sound came as a complete surprise to the captain. Shawn quickly yanked his shoulder back, knocking off the prop rod in the process, which in turn caused the seat bottom to come crashing down on his shoulders. Momentarily trapped with his upper torso inside the storage compartment, he flailed about for an instant and grabbed for the shotgun—which had somehow come loose in the commotion. In a fraction of a second he’d extricated himself, slumped back on the floor against the seat frame, and fanned the weapon around the room in search of his would be assailant.
The firearm was somewhat lighter than he remembered as his eyes fell on Melissa Graves. Shawn looked at her through slitted eyes. “Oh, it’s just you. Perfect.”
“Thanks,” she replied cynically.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. I could have killed you, you know?”
“Are we going for a swim?” She asked, smiling broadly.
“What?”
She pointed a dainty finger at Shawn’s firearm—which wasn’t a firearm at all. In his haste to get out from under the seat, he’d managed to withdraw one of the ores for the emergency inflatable boat. “I’m afraid you aren’t going to do much damage with that, Captain.”
“That depends on who’s on the receiving end. I have a good mind to bend you over my knee and use this thing on you.” He then tossed the ore aside and slowly stood up.
Melissa stifled a smile at Shawn’s predicament. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind,” he said as he straightened out his shirt and sighed deeply. “More uncouth pilot jargon. I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I’m a bit shocked myself.”
Shawn regarded her in silence for a moment, not knowing where to begin. Unfortunately, there were things to be done before D got underway, and the captain had little time for staring contests or silent treatments.
“What do you want?” His heart wanted the words to be softer, but his mouth delivered them like a judo punch.
Melissa shuffled her feet before she spoke. “I came to… apologize.”
“For hitting me?”
“For lying to you.” She said softly.
“But not for hitting me?”
“You deserved it.”
“I deserved you lying to me?”
“No, you fully deserved me hitting you.”
“And what about the lying?”
“I said, I was sorry.”
“But you’re saying I deserved it?”
“The hitting?”
“No! The lying!”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Then why’d you do it?!” His hands flew to his hips.
“Because—”
“Because… “ In their banter, he didn’t realize that it was her turn to give an explanation before he cut her off. His expression softened as he tried to salvage what remained of their conversation. “Because of what?”
Melissa was still in her flight suit, her very formfitting flight suit. With her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders and her green eyes sparkling, she looked every bit as lovely as she did the first time he laid eyes on her. That, he reminded himself, was at the heart of the problem. After all this time, he was still a sucker, and she’d played him for one from the beginning.
“Because I didn’t think you would help me if you knew that I was with the OSI”
“Yeah? Well, you’d have been right.”
“There! You see,” she countered. “I was completely justified.”
Where did she get off thinking she was justified? ”Now you wait just a minute…”
“No, sir. You wait a minute!” she raised, stepping up to him with a finger pointed at his chest. “I asked you for help at first because I needed it. You knew things I didn’t have access to… you knew my father.”
“What do you mean you didn’t have access? You’re some fancy intelligence agent, right? Don’t you have access to everything?”
“It may surprise you to know, Mister Kestrel, that not all OSI agents have access to every file in our database. There is something called ‘privileged information’.” Melissa began to calm herself down as she continued to speak. “Besides, most of the files had been sealed to a level above my authorization.”
“Well, what made you think I was going to know anymore than you did? It’s not like I have access to—” then it dawned on him. He nodded approvingly at her craftiness. “So, you were hoping I’d take you to see Toyo?”
She folded her arms and shrugged, looking at him defensively. “I may have had some small part in arranging that impromptu meeting.”
“You… but, how?”
She raised a soft eyebrow. “Really? You’re going to ask a senior level OSI agent how she managed to organize a conversation with another covert agent? Isn’t that a bit like one fighter pilot asking another one how to…I don’t know… land or something?”
So, Toyo was still an active agent? Shawn scoffed as he leaned against the far bulkhead. “Did he tell you what you wanted to hear?”
She smiled thinly. “More or less.”
Her expression was impossible to read. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I wish I could say,” she sighed as she cast her eyes momentarily to the deck.
“You know,” he replied defiantly, “I risked my life out there for you. You could at least humor me.”
She turned away in frustration, and the ensuing silence told Shawn that his line of questioning was over. He decided to try something else. “Speaking of the OSI, how did your meeting with the Director go?”
Melissa held her wrists aloft for his inspection. “Well, as you can see, I wasn’t arrested.”
“Still, I’m sure he wasn’t happy.”
“No,” she replied in a hushed tone. “The Director was definitely not that.”
“So, you did disobey direct orders?”
She blinked once and then nodded slowly. “In a manner of speaking.”
“How so?” He’d been there, done that himself on more than one occasion. So, who was he to judge? In fact, something about her having a rebellious streak endeared him to her even more.
“I was a senior supervisor with the OSI That means I was a command level agent.”
The plot thickens. A typical field agent was something to fear by themselves, but a commanding agent was downright fear-provoking. Shawn knew full well that their abilities and procedures were almost above the law. “That’s pretty high up on the chain of command.”
“Not high enough, it seemed. The files on my father’s disappearance had been sealed and not even I could read them. So, I tried to gain access to them by other means.”
Shawn was beginning to see the picture. “I’ll bet they didn’t like that very much.”
She shook her head. “When I was… denied, I began an investigation of my own. When the OSI got wind of my snooping, I was told to back off. Any other agent would have been terminated on the spot”
Shawn was quite sure by her tone that the word ‘terminated’ didn’t just mean being fired. Melissa must have had some serious clout in the department. It wouldn’t have been a fate easily sidestepped. “And, of course, you couldn’t do that, could you?” Shawn offered matter-of-factly.
Done with pretenses of being a simple ‘lady in distress’, she held her hands out to appeal instead to his common sense. “Damn it, Shawn! It was my father. You know him, probably just as well as I do. You should know I couldn’t. So, that’s when I left.”
“And you came looking for me?”
“Actually, you weren’t my first choice… or my second. Even though my father requested I find you before I did anything else, I had others in the OSI that I trusted… others I thought would help.” She turned from his gaze and inspected a spot of dirt on the bulkhead.
“And, based on the fact you eventually ended up in my hangar and then on my ship, can I infer that they didn’t give you the kind of help you were looking for?”
“A few did, but most didn’t,” she stepped to the side of the room, running her hand thoughtfully over the smooth vinyl surface of one of the couches in the lounge. “It’s a curious thing how many would-be friends fall by the wayside when you hit a rough patch.”
“Well, becoming a fugitive is a little more complicated than just a rough patch.”
She turned her attention back to him fully. “I was provided some credits, an alias, and passage on a high speed shuttle to Minos. You’re the only person my father mentioned with such high regards, and, well, you just happen to be the only one—”
“The only one not still in the service,” he completed, remembering it from one of the first conversations they’d had.
“I was going to say the only one not under the jurisdiction of the Unified government, but essentially, yes.”
“And what if I didn’t want to help you? What would you have done then?”
“I would have gone out on my own. I can handle myself, Captain, if you hadn’t noticed. The only reason I got caught when I did was because I was on your ship.”
He smiled faintly, remembering both how well she’d handled herself at Jack’s place and of how she’d danced when held in his arms on Persephone. If that was just a taste of her skills, then she was quite the talented agent. “So, you must know all about me then, what with your clearance and everything. I’ll bet you scoured my record and found every little sordid detail that intelligence has on me, didn’t you? After all, that is the best way to manipulate people into getting them to do what you want, isn’t it?
Melissa lifted her hands in a defensive posture. “No, no. You don’t understand. Your records are… were sealed as well.”
“Why?”
She shook her head slowly. “At the time, I didn’t know why.”
“But you do now?” Shawn was more than a bit curious. His mind raced with everything he’d done during his tenure with Sector Command, wondering what he’d seen or overheard that would have caused his file to be sealed with such a high classification that even a top OSI agent couldn’t access it.
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you right now.”
Shawn felt the wall of secrecy descend again like a steel curtain. He had to remind himself that he was still on the outside looking in. “So, they didn’t fire you, but you still can’t talk about it? I don’t get it.”
“No,” she cast her eyes to the deck in embarrassment. “They didn’t fire me.”
“Well, what exactly did they do to you?”
She looked into Shawn’s eyes, searching for a hint of compassion. “Come on, Shawn. After what I did to you… what I put you through and all of the lies… don’t tell me you are at all concerned about my wellbeing.”
Shawn didn’t remember when she’d started calling him by his first name. He only knew that he approved. “Call it morbid curiosity.”
She seemed to gather her thoughts as she took a deep breath. “They’ve offered me… a promotion.”
The look of amazement on Shawn’s face was unmistakable. “Seriously? A promotion? To what, head troublemaker?”
She understood his frustrations, and she didn’t blame him for them. It was, after all, her fault for getting him into this situation in the first place. The best she could do now was to remain calm and not let her feelings run her mouth. “My clearance has been reinstated.”
“And that means what, exactly? And at what cost does it come?” Shawn guessed that the Director would never have offered her this deal if there wasn’t something in it for the government or the agency itself. Something else was going on here, and he knew he’d never be able to trust her until it was resolved.
“The cost is my obedience,” she replied. “My objective, however, is unchanged.”
Obedience. She said it in a way that made Shawn recognize she probably hated the term as much as he did. He simply nodded as he processed the information. “By ‘objective’, you mean the search for your father?”
“I do.”
“And you’ll risk putting yourself in this same situation all over again? I doubt the OSI is this lenient twice.”
“They’re not. I’ll be operating within the guidelines of the agency on this matter from now on.”
“In what capacity?”
“As… as the lead investigator.” She stammered, although she had no idea why.
“I see. So, as long as you acquiesce to his whims, you’ll have your clearance back, all the personnel you’ll ever need, and enough resources to make finding your father a hundred times easier than with just me?”
Melissa pursed her lips and nodded. “It would seem so.”
“But why? I don’t get it. Maybe you can explain—”
“Stop it, Shawn!” She seemed on the verge of either breaking down emotionally or striking out against him. “I… I can’t talk about it with you!”
“Then it looks like you’ve got all the cards in your hand. Since this is a game you clearly don’t want me to play, you’ll have to excuse me. I need to finish prepping my ship.” Shawn brushed passed Melissa and exited the passenger lounge. He heard the heels of her boots rushing to catch up to him as he strode through the berthing area corridor on his way to the cargo deck.
Once in the hold, she’d managed to quickly bypass him, and as he reached up to press the control that would lower the new cargo door, Melissa quickly sidestepped him and placed her hand over the control. Shawn, already in the process of activating the door, pressed his finger gently into the palm of her hand. It took him a moment to realize that he was touching her, and it took Melissa and even longer moment to realize she was being touched. She was standing close at his side, close enough to feel the heat radiating through his clothes. Her eyes fell on his finger, then followed up his arm, until she was staring intently into his eyes.
“No, Captain. I don’t have them all,” She gently pushed back against his finger. “Not yet, anyway.”
Her eyes were sparkling and wide. She was so close, so dangerously close, that he could see the infinitely fine hairs on the periphery of her cheeks. The gloss of her lips caught the overhead light in just such a way as to make them look undeniably kissable. She was stunning, of that there was no question, but she was also devious and unpredictable. Shawn wasn’t sure if this was the last person he should ever get involved with—or if she should have been the first.
“Tell me why,” he said in a near whisper, their closeness requiring nothing more. “Give me one good reason why I don’t throw you back out there amongst the wolves. You can’t possibly need my help anymore, so what is it?”
She swallowed hard. “This maybe one of those times that you tell me that I’m acting foolish or irrational—”
“You mean crazy?”
She smiled softly. “Yes, that too… but I don’t care. I… you should consider staying.”
“Do you have any idea what that would mean for me?” he whispered with conviction.
She shook her head solemnly. “I only know what it means if you don’t.”
Forgetting his anger, he turned and placed his hands on her shoulders. Instinctively, she placed her hands around his wrists, neither pushing him away nor drawing him closer. “Don’t get me wrong,” he whispered, “I care deeply about your father, but if what Toyo said was true—and I’ve got good reason to believe it is—then things could get crazy around here real fast and this isn’t—”
“This isn’t your fight?”
The same bitter taste he’d experienced when he spoke to Krif earlier returned to his mouth. “Something like that.”
She gently released his hands and stepped back, just out of arms reach. “I understand you’ve been offered a commission back to your old rank. That sounds like quite a noble thing, Captain.”
Shawn closed the gap between them once more, pleasantly surprised when she didn’t retreat. If anything, she seemed to welcome it. “It’s not for me, not anymore,” he said as he gently shook his head.
Suddenly Melissa was fighting back tears, wanting to scream and cry all at the same time. “So, you’ll go back home then… to Minos? Life goes on and all of that, right?” The question was rhetorical. She understood full well that once he left the Rhea, the chances of him making it back to Minos decreased with each passing light-year, and that this moment would likely be her only chance to do something about it.
“All things considered, yes. I suppose it will.”
Melissa nodded solemnly. If she’d had the ability to voice her thoughts, she would have told Shawn about her mistrust of the Director and of his promises. The simple fact remained that there was simply no telling whether Sylvia’s Delight was bugged, and whether their entire conversation was currently being recorded or not. For her safety, as well as for Shawn’s, she knew she couldn’t chance it.
“And I’m sure you’ll be happy there,” she continued, “tending to your business and your clients, flying your ship to the edge of space and back and living in relative peace and tranquility with little to no rules to guide you.” She didn’t wait for his acknowledgement before she continued. “That is, until the Kafaran’s come back to power. And don’t try to deny it, Shawn.” She moved closer, and Shawn leaned his head down to stare in her eyes once more. Only inches of empty space separating their faces. “It’s going to happen; sooner or later… we both know that it will. Then Minos will be just another target for their destruction. You, your friends, everyone you know… you’ll be corralled and turned into slaves for their war machine… or worse.”
“I’ll be fine.” He mustered his most convincing smile, although he had his own trepidations about the statement he’d just made.
She swallowed hard again as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Before it reached her jaw line, Shawn reached up and gently brushed it away. This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen, she thought regretfully. She reached a trembling hand up to cover Shawn’s and shook her head slowly. “No, Shawn. No you won’t.” She slid her free hand behind his head and pulled him slowly down into a brief but gentle kiss. When their lips had parted, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and guided his ear closer to her mouth. “I can protect you if you stay, but if you go… and please make no mistake about this, Shawn: they will kill you.” Her words were barely above a whisper.
“De Lorme?” Shawn whispered back.
Her breath tickled his ear as she spoke as softly as she could, her whispers tinged with distress. “The agency. The Director.”
All it once it dawned on Shawn: they were being watched. Somehow, someway, the OSI had tapped Sylvia’s Delight, and Melissa knew it. He pulled back slightly from her embrace and stroked her cheek once more. This time it was he that initiated the kiss, which took Melissa completely by surprise. She should have somehow put a stop to it, but somewhere in that kiss she forgot entirely where she was and what she was supposed to be doing there. As the kiss became more passionate, Melissa didn’t realize she’d begun stroking the back of his neck until he pulled his lips away and moved towards her ear. And it wasn’t until after he’d moved away that she realized she hadn’t wanted him too.
“How can you protect me?”
She collected her thoughts before she spoke. “If you agree to reactivate your commission, you’ll be placed directly under my command for the duration of this mission.”
He held her tightly, lightly stroking the small of her back with his hands. “And once that’s done, once we retrieve your father?”
His touch was like fire through her uniform and she was finding it difficult to concentrate. What’s wrong with me? Get a grip. “I’ve been told you’d be free to go.”
“Do you believe him?” His warm breath raced across the surface of her ear and neck.
Her grip around him intensified as she leaned closer to his ear once more. “I believe he’d stop at nothing to protect the security of this mission and the agency.”
“And if I refuse?” Shawn’s hands moved from her back to her hips. He pushed away from her gently, then leaned his forehead down until it nearly touched her own, his eyes searching hers for more than just answers to his immediate questions.
“I’m quite sure there is a bomb hidden on your ship.”
A bomb? Here? Shawn couldn’t help but smile. “You make one heck of a compelling argument for me to stay.” Trent has been with the ship every second since we came onboard. Still, was it possible something could have been slipped in the ship without their knowing it? Maybe inside one of the replacement parts? Hell, it could be inside the new cargo ramp I’m standing right next to and I’d never even know it. ”Just one thing: you said that at first you needed my help.”
She continued stroking the hairs on the back of his neck, refusing to look him in the eyes. “Yes?”
“Does that mean… that now you want my help?”
She pulled her head away and looked into his bright blue eyes, then drew him into another kiss—not for deception, not for the mission, not even for her father. This one was for her. She slid her lips free from his, and embraced him tightly, as if she might never see him again after this moment. “I… I can’t promise anything. All I can offer you is that you’ll need to stay to find out.”
At that moment her fear overcame her, fear of rejection—fear that… what she felt at that moment could be so easily pushed aside for selfish reasons by a man who, by all rights, shouldn’t care about her at all. She pulled back from him and slammed her palm into the emergency release on the door control before Shawn had a chance to give her a reply. The pistons that would have normally have slowed the hatch opening instead disengaged completely, permitting the ramp to slam to the Rhea’s hangar deck with a thundering clap. She held her hand to her face, wiping away the tears as she jogged down the ramp and into the jumble of crewmembers scurrying about the hangar deck. In a flash she’d disappeared into the crowd and out of Shawn’s sight.
Shawn was left with uneasiness as he stood there in the open hatch, staring at the crowd, looking for a sign she would turn and come back. After a few minutes, Trent came bounding down the cargo hold towards Shawn.
“Hey, did you just hit the emergency release?”
“It must have been an accident.” Shawn didn’t turn from the crowd, his eyes still searching for Melissa as the taste of her slowly retreated from his lips and her pleasant perfumed passed from the physical to a memory.
“You seem to be having a lot of those lately.”
Shawn snapped out of the fruitless search and turned to face Trent with a half smirk. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” It was then that he noticed Trent was wearing a dark blue Sector Command ball cap, emblazoned with a likeness of the Rhea stitched across it.
Trent nodded and looked at the Captain questionably. “And, this mistake of yours? It wouldn’t happen to be about yay tall and have red hair, would it?” Trent held his hand out parallel with the deck and up to Melissa’s approximate height.
“It might,” Shawn smiled delicately. “Nice hat, by the way.”
“You know, a guy like me would love to have some of your accidents,” Trent said with a sly smile. “And I got the hat from one of the techs doing the work on the cargo hatch. Pretty sharp, right?”
Shawn turned back toward his ship, glanced around the innards of the cargo deck and nodded with approval that everything seemed to be secured for flight. Still, was there something onboard he missed? Could someone really have hidden an explosive device somewhere? He knew every inch of his ship, every crack and crevice, and so did Trent. The question was, should he take the time to search it out, and would he know what to do once he found it?
“How much more time until D’s ready?”
Trent checked his wristwatch. “About forty minutes. I’m mostly done with the checkouts, so we’re just waiting on her to get fueled up. Then we can be on our way.”
Shawn nodded leisurely. “I want to give her one final inspection before we get underway,” he then reached up and placed a tired hand on Trent’s shoulder. “Stem to stern, if you catch my drift? Once were done with that, why don’t we head down to the officer’s bar and grab a drink?”
Trent looked to Shawn and smiled. “I’m going to need a drink or two before I get back into space with you at the controls.”
“Well, it so happens that we’ve got a few things to talk about, and I think you’re going to need at least two. I know I will.”
Trent, never one to turn down an offered drink, pulled his newly acquired cap off and swiped it in front of him, bowing in a grand gesture towards Shawn. “Lead the way, my good Captain. No matter where you go, there I’ll be.”
Shawn smiled, then reached out and put a firm hand on the mechanics shoulder. “You say that now, but I’m warning you: be very careful what you wish for.”
The two strode side by side back into the ship for one final inspection, the cargo ramp closing slowly behind them and blocking out every sound from the Rhea’s busy hangar.
To be continued…
Thank you for taking the time to read my novel. If you enjoyed it, please visit the link below and leave a quick review:
http://amzn.com/1482311437
And don’t forget to pick up the next exciting installment in the Kestrel Saga...
ICARUS
About the Author
Born and raised in Southern California, Stephen A. Fender joined the Navy at the age of 18. During his last deployment in 1999, he decided to take up the keyboard and write his first story. Having spent ten years of his professional life as a mechanic, he changed gears several years ago and now works as a software developer. During that time, he’s produced seven novels. Stephen lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife, where he enjoys boating, hiking, camping, playing music and spending time with his wonderful family.
The Army of Light is his first published novel.