The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga)

by Fender, Stephen

  “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 as
k, 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 sachel.

  “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.