The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) (9 page)

    
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Captain.” She then looked at his empty
hands quizzically. “Weren’t you going to get us some drinks?”

    
He was about to respond when she withdrew a cloth from her purse and, smiling
softly, dabbed off a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. There was an
unmistaken twinkle in her eye.

    
Whatever he was about to say was cut off before it left his mouth when a voice
heavily laced with a French accent oozed from somewhere behind the two.
“Captain Kestrel, how good of you to grace my fine establishment.”

    
Shawn turned to the staircase and saw the immaculately dressed Jacques De Lorme
leering down from its top, the thin silver stripes in his pleated slacks
picking up the light from a dozen different directions like diamonds.
Hell,
they probably were diamonds.

    
“If you’re through playing games with my patrons, please join me in my study,”
Jack said calmly. While he was speaking, two large and heavily armed
Temkorian’s, one with a paw around Trent’s arm, stepped up behind Shawn and
Melissa, pistols pointing squarely at their backs.
“And
Captain?
Please bring your enchanting companion with you.”

    
If the bar’s lower floor was considered comfortable, than Jack’s second floor
office could best be described as opulent. There were burning brass torches,
glistening new metal furnishings, several full length mirrors, a holographic
pool table, and an ornately carved and well-stocked private bar in the back.
All this was centered on an enormous blue and white Framalian tiger skin rug in
the middle of the floor, complete with still lethal poisoned tipped fangs.
While Trent and Melissa had taken to the overstuffed leather chairs opposite
Jack’s desk, Shawn was more than comfortable standing between the two.

    
“It’s good to see that you’ve made it here safely, Captain,” Jacques De Lorme
slithered, his voice heavily laced with a native French accent. His suit, black
with purple and silver accents, was well tailored and looked exceedingly
expensive. The shine from his studded cuff links was like staring into small
super-nova’s
as the Frenchman relaxed comfortably behind his
desk.

    
Shawn’s brow unconsciously furrowed. Whatever Jack was trying to say, it had
nothing to do with his implied distress over the captain’s wellbeing. “What
exactly is that supposed to mean?”

    
Jack looked genuinely shocked at Shawn’s words, which the
captian
knew was far from the truth—a testament to how truly insidious he knew De Lorme
to actually be. “I’m merely talking about the reliability of your quaint little
skimmer. I would have detested hearing that you could have become stranded in
the waters off of my island… with no way of getting back to your own small
corner of the world.”

    
Shawn didn’t attempt to restrain the look of contempt on his face. “I
appreciate your unheard-of concern, Jack.”

    
De Lorme lit a long cigar, inhaling deeply and exhaling the smoke slowly in
Shawn’s direction. “Think nothing of it, Captain.” His words were slow and
cold.

    
“I need the engine parts that Trent called about.”

    
Jack’s face contorted into a devious smile. All that was missing, Melissa
mused, was a pair of horns and a pitch fork.
“Ah Shawn, my
old friend.
You’re always so direct. No chit-chat or idle, boring
conversations for you, no?” Jacques slipped out from behind his desk, propping
himself up on the side closest to Shawn and the others. “It’s been ages since
our last face-to-face encounter. Surely you’d like to discuss old times, yes?”

    
Shawn answered Jacques with silence and a none-too-subtle scowl.

    
“No?” Jack’s pleased facade quickly morphed into one of contempt and his voice
took on a tone of menace. “Then perhaps we shall discuss that little
debacle
of yours near
Donatue
III.”

    
“I’d rather get what I came for.”  

    
Jack slammed his palms on the side of his desk. “And I’d rather you be more
cordial to the people who are trying to help you!”

    
“Cordial and helpful aren’t words I’d normally associate with you, so maybe you
could help define what they mean to a man such as yourself.”

    
Jack’s anger transmuted effortlessly back into one of tranquility. “You could
start by introducing me to your charming companion, Captain.”

    
Shawn looked over his shoulder and smiled. “You’ve already met Trent, but I
never said he was charming. I do, however, think he’s gotten better looking
since you last saw him.”

    
Trent, with his hands still in the air as if he’d been arrested, looked to
Shawn and smiled.
“Really?
Thanks man.”

    
Jack’s eyes flicked toward one of the Temkorian’s, who proceeded to prod
Shawn’s back with a rifle butt. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but it
definitely got the captain’s attention.

    
Melissa, in an attempt to quell the building tension in the room, took it as
the sign to speak up. “My name is Stillman. Bethany Stillman,” she said,
getting up and stepping a pace closer to Jack with an outstretched hand.

    
Jack’s ensuing smile was cold as he shook his head for a moment,
then
nodded to the Temkorian behind Shawn. This time the
shove from the rifle was both more pronounced and aimed at the back of Shawn’s
knee. The captain went down quickly in a grumbling heap.

    
“Captain!”
Trent called out, but was likewise dropped
by a similar maneuver before he could help his friend.

    
“Try again,” Jack said in a raised voice with a mouth full of cigar smoke.

    
Melissa’s eyes never left his. “Graves,” she replied softly. “My name is
Melissa Graves.”

    
The oily-slick smile reappeared. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? We are
all better off if we can be honest with one another, yes?”

    
Trent helped Shawn back to his feet. Shawn stole a quick peek at Melissa,
and he could swear that she looked at him with what could only be described as
definite concern.

    
“You are here to pay me and get on with your merry life with no time for poor
Jacques to recount the tales of adventures of the past,” Jack ended with a
tisk-tisk
sound. “What a pity.”

    
“Some other time, Jack,” Shawn said through gritted teeth. “I need the parts
Trent called in, and we’re in something of a hurry.”

    
“I agree, you do seem to be in desperate need of these parts,” his smile was
sharp enough to cut a diamond. “I hear those 
pirate
connards
 really
gave your ship a thorough pasting.”

    
Shawn wasn’t about to give Jack any satisfaction. “Nothing I can’t repair.”

    
“Then it’s fortunate that I have just what you seek. So… please tell me, is it
a matter of life or death, 
Capitaine
? I
do love a harrowing adventure.” Another mischievous smile played across Jack’s
chiseled face as he folded his long arms across his immaculately tailored suit.

    
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Shawn replied with a forced smile.

    
“
Cest
infortuné
,” Jack
began blowing smoke circles as he examined Melissa lasciviously from head to
toe. “Well, since you cannot, or do not wish to tell me, then the price is…
double
.”

    
“Double!” Melissa leapt another step forward. The Temkorian’s were quick to
react. Before she’d reached the desk, Shawn was back down on his knees with a
muzzle now pointed dangerously at the back of his head. From his vantage point,
Shawn saw that the other bodyguard had both of his
sidearm’s
drawn, one aimed directly at Melissa, the other at Trent. All that was required
was a simple look from Jacques and it would be over for all of them.

    
Standing close enough to strike him with her fist—far closer than Shawn had
ever seen anyone physically stand to De Lorme and not get physically
ill—Melissa glowered at him angrily. “You are a pirate, aren’t you?” she
hissed.

    
“That’s quite an obscene accusation from such a beautiful woman.” Jack lifted
himself from his desk and stepped closer to her. He leaned his head over her
shoulder, close enough that wisps of her hair fluttered across his high
cheekbones. “Where on Minos did you find such an
enticing
creature,
Captain?” As he looked at Shawn, the two men shared a stare of such intensity
that it threatened to ignite the combustible material in the room. Jack let out
a hum of satisfaction. “She smells like jasmine, Captain,” he whispered
lecherously.

    
As Shawn slowly staggered to his feet, Jack inched back from Melissa and
propped himself back onto his desk.
“If you want double,
fine.
We’ll pay it,” Shawn said calmly, then slowly reached into his
pocket and withdrew three stacks of credits, then tossed them in a flurry onto
De
Lorme’s
ornately carved desk. “Just give me the
damn parts, Jack.”

    
De
Lorme’s
eyes never left Melissa’s. A smile seeped
across his face before he puckered his lips into a pseudo-kiss, followed by a
slow wink.

    
Shawn would be more than content to never be on the receiving end of the glare
she gave him in return. The Frenchman only bowed his head slightly,
then
flicked his fingers limply in Shawn’s direction. The
trio heard the sound of the doors behind them open for a moment before closing
tightly once again. Two large aliens, more Temkorian’s, carrying a dark wooden
crate entered the room,
then
placed it on the floor in
front of Trent.

    
“There are your parts, Captain Kestrel.  Take them and go. But please,
feel free to have a drink on the house as you depart.”

    
“Let’s go,” Shawn turned and nodded to Trent. They each grabbed the heavy crate
by its thick rope-like handles. With Melissa in the lead, the two men headed
for the door.

    
“I trust next time your visit will be more… social?” Jack said darkly as they
neared the door.

    
Before exiting, Shawn craned his head around and lobbed Jack a stone-faced
glare. “I don’t make those kinds of promises, Jack.”

    
Whatever questionable first impression
Lexy
had made on Melissa, it was
now completely gone. The beautiful little craft was parked right where they’d
left it, eagerly waiting to return them to Tericeria. The ride back had been
blessedly uneventful, the small skimmer making the voyage without incident.

    
For her own safety, Shawn had suggested that Melissa stay in the Old Flamingo’s
office for the night. While she had reluctantly agreed, she didn’t realize then
she’d be regretting that very same decision in the morning.

    
The surplus military cot that she’d bunked on was undoubtedly the most
uncomfortable sleeping arrangements she’d ever encountered. Its stiffness was
equaled only by its inadequate length, and what little rest she actually
received was fleeting. She awoke the next morning to the sound of metal panels
being repeatedly beaten, as a blacksmith might forge a piece of crude steel.
Unable to sleep through it, she dressed quickly and sauntered out to the
hangar. Once inside she rounded a corner to get a better look at what was going
on, only to have a large piece of anodized hull plating land at her feet with a
loud clang.

    
“Head’s up,” someone shouted from the other side of the ship.

    
“Thanks,” Melissa yelled back with tired sarcasm, “but it’s a tad
late.”   

    
She bent down and peered beneath the ship, noticing a pair of feet that had
turned and began walking aft. She maneuvered around the fallen debris and
likewise walked to the rear of the vessel to greet her would be assailant.
However, before she reached the rear of the ship, Shawn poked his head around
the stern. He gave her a wide-eyed smirked, followed by a half-hearted
wave. 
What right does he have to be so chipper?

    
She returned his gesture with one of her own, conveying efficiently that she
was not quite the morning person he appeared to be. He seem to pay it
little mind. 

    
“Good morning. Sleep well?” he asked.

    
“No, Mister Kestrel. I most certainly did not. Whatever you call that thing in
your office, it’s not a bed.”

    
Shawn disappeared behind the ship without a response. Melissa then heard what
sounded like metal being brushed against metal.

    
“Well, we here at the Waldorf-Astoria are quite proud of our surplus military
furnishings,” Shawn replied laboriously.

    
“Mister Kestrel,” she started, but was silenced by his voice.

    
“Please, we’ve been through so much. Call me Shawn,” he said from behind the
ship, but tilted his head around the corner long enough to finish with
“Melissa.”, before he vanished again.

    
Deciding now was not the time to correct
him,
she
simply scowled at his former location. “Mister Kestrel, this is taking entirely
too long. I would’ve hoped you’d be ready after all that banging and prattling
around you’ve done this morning.”

    
He grunted with exertion. “Well, space flight is an exacting science.”

    
She then heard several dull thumps from the other side of the vessel. She was
about to step around the corner to see what was going on when she heard a loud
smack. So loud was the sound, in fact, that the noise stopped her in her
tracks. She cautiously moved around the ship and saw Shawn, hands on his hips,
a bead of sweat running down his brow as he looked defiantly at the side of the
vessel. Melissa followed Shawn’s glare and saw a perfect footprint stamped into
the center of a panel.