The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga)

by Fender, Stephen

  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 whole 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 s
ide. “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 the whole 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.