The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) (21 page)

    
“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
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.