“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.”
<
br /> 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 hell 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 rea
l, 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.
The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) Page 4
