“I know—if I folded them.” He flashed her a brilliant smile as their eyes met. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
She harrumphed. “I guessed we have.” Sitting herself down on the bed, she watched as Shawn slid a chair beside her. “I’m sorry I hit you,” she said sheepishly.
“It’s okay. You were right. I should have found the time to come down.”
“More disobeying of orders?”
Shawn smiled as he nodded. “Krif told me how you got yourself thrown in the brig. I’m impressed.”
Melissa snorted. “You know, I should have just punched him when I had the chance. At least I would have felt better.”
“And it would have made a better story for you to tell your kids someday.”
She shot him a sideways glance, opening her mouth to speak, but then changed tactics mid-thought. “So it appears I’ve been detached from my current duties.”
“Right,” Shawn replied slowly. “That other guy … Agent what’s-his-name … Valerie—”
“Mallory.”
“The guy—”
“Senior OSI Agent.”
“He’s really taking over for you on board the ship?”
Melissa cocked her head. “So it would seem.”
“You think it’s permanent?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I don’t see why not. I mean, my primary mission was to find my father and to discover what had happened to the Valley Forge and her fleet. With both of those things accomplished, I see no reason for me to stay on board.”
“You don’t think a conspiracy and attempted cover-up at the highest levels of the Unified government is reason enough to continue your mission?” he asked. “Not to mention that there’s a spy on board the Rhea—one who broke into both my cabin and my ship and stole highly classified Unified data.”
The sarcasm of his tone wasn’t lost on her. “Of course it’s important, Shawn. But I think my talents are better suited to our current diplomatic mission. Besides, Agent Mallory can more than handle the Rhea from here on out. I’ve read his record. It’s impressive.”
“You’ll forgive my lack of faith in Agent Celery.”
“Mallory.”
“I know. That time it was on purpose.”
She slapped him gently on the shoulder. “In any event, my original mission is over … as far as the OSI is concerned. Time to move on.”
“And it seems we’ll be doing so together.”
She smiled, her cheeks reddening despite her best efforts otherwise. “Someone must think we’re a pretty good team.”
“I’m starting to agree with them.”
Melissa leaned in, kissing him. “I can’t think of a better pilot to get me in or out of trouble.”
He smiled, leaning in for another kiss. Melissa held her finger to his lips, slowing his lunge until it was all that separated them. “We have a mission briefing to go over.”
“We do?”
She smiled. “I’d say it’s a rather informal one. Because I’m the intelligence agent assigned to protect Ambassador McDermott, and because you’re the one who’s going to protect me, I thought I’d go over everything I’ve learned in the last hour.”
“What do you know about McDermott?” he asked, his eyes still on the ship outside.
“A great deal, actually. Despite his young age, the Ambassador has been instrumental in a number of border disputes between member and non-member worlds in the Unified government for quite a long time.”
“What type of disputes?”
“Mostly territorial, often when scarce natural resources are involved.”
Shawn turned to face her. “Has he ever done anything like this before?”
“If by ‘this’ you’re asking me if he’s ever negotiated between two warring cultures, then I would say no. The ambassador’s efforts have a tendency to diffuse hostilities before they become an issue.”
“I don’t suppose you learned anything about our other passenger?”
She shrugged. “Colonel Tausan is a bit of a mystery, which I know you’ll just love.”
Shawn folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not a big fan of surprises, no.”
There was a knock at the door, and Shawn watched as Melissa admitted William into the room. The admiral looked worried as his eyes shifted from Shawn to Melissa.
“What’s going on?”
“I just got off the comm channel with Commodore Savath. He’s informed me that one of the Kafaran border worlds near Unified space has just been attacked by the Meltranians. No survivors. Everything on the surface is lying in ruins. A passing Kafaran cargo freighter spotted three Meltranian collector ships, similar to the one that was destroyed here, heading toward Unified Space.”
Melissa shook her head in shock. “How close is the nearest Unified colony?”
“Osa’Mara is roughly a week from the border. I’ve sent a message to the planetary governor, warning them to be on guard. Sector Command has also dispatched as many vessels as we could to ward off any attack, but our number of ships in the nearby sectors is pretty sparse. I don’t think they’ll be able to hold off the Meltranians for very long.”
“What about the Rhea?” Shawn asked.
“Due to the damage suffered during the battle with the Meltranians, the Rhea will remain on station here at Second Earth for the time being. A repair tender is on route to our coordinates and should arrive within the next thirty-six hours. After the major repairs are completed, we should be able to jump into the Damara Valala systems slightly ahead of the Meltranians, but we’ll still need more firepower.”
Melissa looked to her father expectantly. “Do you really think the Rugorians are going to help us?”
“It’s Ambassador McDermott’s job to make sure that they do. And it’s your job—both of yours—to make sure that he and Colonel Tausan get there safely.”
“Do I need to watch my back around him?” Shawn asked.
“Tausan follows orders, and has a knack for coming up with inventive solutions to problems,” William said. “I’ll be honest with you about one thing, though: the Colonel seems to have a chip on his shoulder about something.”
“Could you be more specific?” Melissa asked.
“He wasn’t overly pleased to be working directly with humans.”
“I’m not overly pleased to be working with him, either,” Shawn retorted.
“I think it’s a little deeper than simple bigotry, Shawn. As I said, I can’t put my finger on it. Be cautious, be vigilant, but avoid unconcealed mistrust. Remember, the Unified government and the Kafaran Alliance are loose partners when it comes to defeating the Meltranians. They need us as much as we need them. Don’t forget that, and I want you to make it your personal responsibility to make sure our friend the Colonel remembers it as well.”
Something in William’s tone with how he ended his statement gave Shawn a smile. “Of course, sir.”
*
The doors leading into the Rhea’s hangar bay opened to admit Shawn Kestrel into its depths. Catching the gleam of the overhead lights on the forward view ports of Sylvia’s Delight, Shawn exhaled a sigh of relief as he approached the old craft. Running his hands along the uneven hull plating of the Mark-IV, he felt an immediate sense of ease come over him.
As he rounded the stern, Shawn was glad to not only see the loading ramp folded down, but to see Trent Maddox hard at work. Despite Trent’s constant upkeep, D seemed to require more and more maintenance these days, and Shawn had to wonder how much longer the craft would remain spaceworthy. After all, there were only so many patches and shoestring repairs that one could perform on a craft that was constantly being asked to keep out the dangers of outer space. Shawn sighed heavily at the thought of ever retiring his faithful ship, and the noise seemed to draw Trent’s attention from what he was doing.
“What’s going on, Skipper?”
Shawn wrapped his hand around one of the cargo ramp struts. “It’s just that whenever I look
at her, I start to feel out of place again.”
“I know the feeling,” the mechanic replied with a soft smile. “That’s one of the reasons I’m down here so often. Makes me think of the old days, you know.”
“Yeah.” The old days. About a million years ago. “Is she fit to fly?”
Trent nodded, then looked up at the ship lovingly. “As a fiddle, Skipper.”
“We’ll be taking on some passengers for the trip. I assume you got the manifest for the modifications?”
“If by passengers you mean that Kafaran, then yes. I installed that alien gizmo per specifications sent over by the Kafaran technicians.”
“That gizmo is his food processing unit. Kafarans don’t eat the same things we do. Anyway, how did you get it hooked up so fast?”
“What do you mean? They sent me the schematics.”
Shawn shrugged. “Sorry. I just didn’t know you knew how to read Kafaran schematics, that’s all.”
“The laws of physics are pretty universal. After deciphering some of those scribbles they call nomenclature, it was pretty straightforward. There was a little guesswork, but I got it all figured out.”
“Did you test it?” Shawn asked skeptically.
“You should see what came out of that thing when I turned it on,” Trent said with a shudder. “Disgusting. Looked like baby food … smelled like baby—”
“I’ll take your word for it. Let’s just hope you got it hooked up right.”
Trent looked over Shawn’s shoulder and nodded. “Looks like we’re going to find out.”
Shawn turned and followed Trent’s gaze. Colonel Tausan stormed across the hangar, stopping only when he was within spitting distance of Shawn. He let out a guttural barrage of clicks, pops, snaps, and a smattering of gurgles, which Shawn knew was their native language, and the small computer at the Colonel’s side interpreted the mess of sounds.
“You call this a spacecraft?” the digitized bass voice boomed. “I have seen more spaceworthy hulls floating in a garbage dump.”
Looking past the Kafaran, Shawn could see both Melissa and Ambassador McDermott approaching—with the Ambassador a little too close to Melissa for Shawn’s liking. In an effort to quell interspecies hostilities, Shawn forced a thin smile. “It’s what we’ve got, Colonel.”
Tausan grunted in disgust, then regarded the Mark-IV once more. “If we are engaged in combat, you will kindly show me to the nearest airlock. If it were discovered that I died in such a craft, it could bring great dishonor on my family.”
Shawn beamed. “Believe me, Colonel, I’ll show you out myself with the greatest of pleasure.”
Melissa coughed uncomfortably, and McDermott’s jaw all but hit the deck. Shawn approved of the expression.
“Commander Kestrel, did you get the colonel’s food processing unit on board?” McDermott finally asked.
“My technician and I were just discussing that, weren’t we, Sergeant?”
“Indeed we were, sir,” Trent said with a nod.
“And I believe that we have it in perfect working order.” Shawn couldn’t sound more pleased with himself if he tried.
Tausan let out another series of pops and gulps. “I will be the judge of that.”
“If you insist,” Shawn said, then turned to Trent. “You heard the … uh … man. Go grab him some lunch.”
A moment later, Trent bounded down the cargo ramp, his nose upturned and pointed away from the grotesque-smelling dish.
When the smell wafted past Melissa’s nose, she instinctively tried to pinch it shut, etiquette be damned. “Oh, dear God,” she murmured and turned away.
Even the prideful ambassador was looking a little green around the gills, and Shawn surmised it was all the man could do not to vomit all over the hangar deck.
Trent cautiously handed the food to Tausan, who gave it a tentative sniff before instantly downing the entire canister.
If the sounds coming from McDermott’s innards were any indication, chaos on a diplomatic scale was about to ensue.
Tausan looked from Shawn to McDermott, and then to Trent. The colonel grunted, then stepped within inches of Trent. “You have done well, technician. In fact, I believe you have improved the recipe.”
Apparently the colonel’s breath left much to be desired, and poor Trent looked as if he might pass out at any moment.
“Don’t … don’t mention it, Colonel.”
Tausan then turned to the rest of the assembly. “You would all do well to follow this human’s example. His dedication to his craft is to be rewarded.” The Kafaran then turned back to Trent, eyed him approvingly, and stormed into D’s cargo hold.
Shawn, amazed, got to Trent’s side just as the man was about to collapse. “Good job, buddy. Whatever you did, you sure made his day.”
“Remember how I said there was some guesswork in installing that food unit? Well, let’s just say I had to add some special ingredients and leave it at that.”
Shawn slapped him hard on the back, nearly doubling the man over. “Keep up the good work. Your dedication to your craft should be rewarded.” Then he glided past him on his way to the control deck.
Ambassador McDermott was next, holding his clenched fist close to his mouth. Fearing that something might blow past his lips, he simply offered Trent a thumbs-up as he, too, entered the cargo hold.
On her way up, Melissa look at Trent apologetically, then gently brushed his arm. “Try not to think about it—ever again.”
Behind her, and the last to enter Sylvia’s Delight, was the lone Marine assigned to the team. Sergeant Wilcox, dressed in full armor and with his rifle slung across his back, locked eyes with Trent and then shook his head. “You really need to man up and grow a pair.”
“Yeah…that’s what my mom used to tell me.”
“You should have listened. Try coming down to the platoon barracks sometimes. You’ll smell worse things than that Kafaran food.”
When the sergeant was in, Trent pushed the actuator and drew the cargo ramp up.
“Hatch secured, Skipper,” he called into the intercom.
“Good,” Shawn replied. “Double check that everything is locked down tight and then get up to the flight deck.”
“Yes, sir,” Trent replied, offering the microphone a lazy salute. Then he passed out.
*
Three hours after departing the Rhea, Shawn found himself relaxing comfortably in his cabin. On their current course heading, the journey to Rugor would roughly take two days, and Shawn decided to take the first few hours of the journey to catch up on some rest. Lying flat on his bed, he was looking out the view port on the opposite wall, drifting in and out of consciousness, when there was a knock at his door. Not wanting to get up, he flipped a switch near his bedside that allowed the door to slide open.
“I’m not bothering you, am I?” Melissa asked as she poked her head into the small compartment.
“I thought you were flying the ship,” Shawn asked groggily as he rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t hit anything, did you?”
She looked at him dubiously. “In space? We’re in the middle of nowhere. What could I possibly hit?”
Pivoting, Shawn sat upright. “We’re not exactly in the middle of nowhere. Rugor is even closer to the Kafaran border than Second Earth is.”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“This whole region of space was pretty active during the Galactic War: lots of small skirmishes, and quite a few major battles. There’s bound to be some wreckage floating around out here.”
“I didn’t see anything on the sensors a few moments ago when I left. I’m sure we’re going to be just fine.”
Shawn braced himself against the bed, then looked around the compartment cautiously.
“What are you doing?” Melissa asked.
“As soon as you say something is ‘fine’ the ceiling usually caves in on me. I’m just trying to be ready.”
“I didn’t come down here to get ridiculed,” she said with a sc
owl.
“Then what’s so important?”
“Lunch, Commander. You need to eat.”
Shawn let out a heavy sigh. “When did you become my mother?”
“When you started acting like an adolescent.”
It was Shawn’s turn to scowl. “I don’t see any trays in your hands.”
“We’ll be dining in the passenger lounge.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it referred to so formally,” he said with a bemused smile.
Melissa stepped closer to the bed and outstretched her hand. “Come on, you.”
*
Looking around the cramped lounge, Shawn realized that he was the last of the crew to enter the compartment. Everyone, save for Colonel Tausan, was seated around the small table that Melissa had somehow decorated with candles Shawn didn’t know he had. The Kafaran representative was standing some feet away, motionless near the sole starboard view port.
Crew? More like a ragtag group of the best and worst representatives in all of Beta Sector.
Sitting down between Trent and Melissa, Shawn was amazed at the variety of food Melissa had prepared. His amazed look wasn’t lost on her.
“I managed to acquire a few supplies before we departed the Rhea,” she said, addressing his approving look.
“I can see that.”
“She’s a hell of a cook, too,” Trent mumbled with a mouth half full of food.
Reaching for a plate of his own, Shawn turned briefly to his mechanic. “Shouldn’t you be up manning the helm?”
“Ship’s on autopilot,” Trent muttered, small particles of chicken flying out with each syllable.
Dodging a rather slimy projectile, Shawn offered his old friend a napkin, which Trent quickly declined with a raised hand.
“No thanks. Got one already.”
Shaking his head, Shawn began dishing a large helping of food onto his plate. He hadn’t realized how famished he was. “How’s our heading?”
Trent took a large swallow of water before speaking, then tried unsuccessfully to stop a rather large belch from emanating deep within his innards. “On course and steady.”
In the Presence of My Enemies Page 5
