The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) (25 page)

    
“Bingo.”

    
He slid over to the large metal tool box and gave it a quick inspection. There
were six locks holding the multitude of drawers and compartments closed. He
unlocked them all, and then proceeded to unhook the safety latches on the
individual doors and pulled them open. Shawn then tried in vain to push the
box, but something was holding it fast. He moved around to get a glimpse of the
back of the large box, and found that it was being held securely to the bulkhead
by a series of nylon straps. Each of them, in turn, had been tied with four
different overlapping knots.

    
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” he said in exasperation. Shawn reached into his
jacket and withdrew the polished blaster he’d retrieved from his room on Minos.
Twisting its barrel to produce the narrowest beam possible, he aimed it at the
large wad of overlapping straps and fired a shot that neatly incinerated the
entire bundle. He then pulled the rest of the straps free of the box and,
thankful for the hover casters, easily pushed the massive chest away from the
bulkhead.

    
He maneuvered it as close to the front of the cargo hold as he could, very
nearly
blocking
the airlock entrance. Satisfied with
his plan, he slipped back into the main corridor and resealed the compartment.
As he did, Trent emerged from the port side bowling alley and, in their similar
haste, very nearly collided head-long with one another.

    
Trent gave him a startled look. “Um, I know I’m not a super savvy space
pilot like you, but I’m fairly certain you can’t avoid our certain death by
flying the ship from the cargo hold,” Trent offered with his best sarcastic
tone. “What were you doing back there, anyway?”

    
Shawn stepped around the mechanic without a hint of slowing.
“Just
getting ready to unzip our fly.”

    
Trent nodded in silent approval and slipped through the starboard engine
room door. As the captain’s words sank into his mind, Trent poked his head back
through the still open door in puzzlement. “You’re going to do what?” However,
the captain was already through the far door leading to berthing and out of
earshot.

*          
*           *

    
“Where have you been?” Melissa asked with annoyance, turning to face the
captain the moment the doors opened onto the command deck.

    
Without a moment’s hesitation, Shawn jumped into the pilot seat and grabbed the
flight yoke at the same instant his feet came into contact with the control
pedals. When he attempted to turn 
Sylvia’s Delight
 into a slow
bank to port, he found that the stick refused to budge more than half an inch.
Looking over, he saw Melissa still had a firm grip on the copilot’s lever in
front of her, the white tips of her knuckles indicating that Shawn might have
to pry the stick from her hands.

    
“We can’t both fly this thing, Miss Graves,” he said sharply, then noticed a
fine bead of sweat on her forehead. He realized then that she hadn’t physically
acknowledged his presence since he’d climbed into his seat. Shawn had seen this
kind of behavior during the war, when a pilots brush with death would cause
them a sort of minor paralysis. “
Its
okay, Melissa,”
he said in the calmest tone he could muster. “Just let go of the stick.”

    
She blinked once, shifting her eyes to the captain without turning her head,
then trained them back out into space.

    
“Come on, Melissa,” he said more instantly. “Let go. I’ve got her.”

    
As if she’d just realized she was gasping a dangerous animal, her hands opened
wide and released the stick. “Sorry,” she said nervously. “It’s just that… I’ve
never done this before.”

    
“What’s that?” he asked, taking the ship into a slow dive. “Fly a ship?”

    
“No, not flying you idiot. I mean dying! I’ve never done that before!”

    
“We haven’t done that yet, my dear, and we’re not about to… not if I can help
it.”

    
Suddenly feeling out of place, she looked around nervously, wondering if she
should be doing something more. 
Wait, did he just call me ‘dear’?
 ”What
were you doing back there, anyway? Did you need an emergency bathroom break?”

    
He chuckled at the irony of her statement.
“No, but
I am about to relive us of our little problem.”

    
“What on Third Earth does that mean? Is that more uncouth pilot jargon? If it
is, I’m getting really tired of it.”

    
The captain smacked the intercom switch and began speaking before Trent could
acknowledge. “Hang on back there. The ride is about to get pretty rough.”

    
Trent confirmed Shawn’s statement, but not without a torrent of expletives
describing the captain’s less than adequate flying habits. Shawn turned his
attention to Melissa. “You better get another grip on those armrests, lady.
There’s bound to be some turbulence.”

    
“Turbulence?
In space?” she scoffed. “Sounds like
you’re the crazy one around here, if you ask me.”

    
Shawn reached up for the cargo bay controls. “Crazy like a fox,” he whispered
to himself,
then
pressed the emergency safety override
controls. The indicators to the left of the safety override changed from red to
flashing green. He quickly moved his hand to the left and allowed his finger to
hover over the now blinking control switches. Using all of his available
strength, he gripped the control stick with his free hand. 
If this
doesn’t work, we’re in deep trouble. 
He began the countdown aloud.
“In five…four…three… two… one.
Now!”

    
“What happens now?” Melissa asked just as Shawn pressed the control.

    
Instantly the ship jerked violently backwards and down, as if 
Sylvia’s
Delight
 had come face-to-face with a brick wall in space and lost. The
Mark-IV bucked and rolled abruptly, like it was a living thing that was sternly
objecting to the punishment it was being subjected to. The computer, sounding
somewhat less positive than usual, voiced her concerns over its wellbeing.
“Danger: explosive decompression. Hull damaged. Attitude controls at fifty
percent of normal. Please land and affect repairs immediately.”

    
In the vacuum of space, the rear cargo ramp ejected out from the hull of the
Mark-IV. In an impressive feat of acrobatics, the Temkorian executed a perfect
roll and avoided the ejected door by inches. However, half a second after the
door was blown out, Trent’s toolbox—and all of the tools in it—began cart
wheeling through the gaping stern of the ship. The tools formed an instant wall
of shrapnel, and the Temkorian fighter was holed through a dozen times over as
it passed directly through its center. The ensuing explosion lit up the whole
area of space, and an ambient yellow and red glow all around the cockpit told
Shawn his gamble had paid off.

    
Sylvia’s Delight
 leveled off as she became accustomed to her new
configuration. Trent, frantic as ever, was back on the ships intercom. “If
that’s your idea of unzipping your fly, I’m afraid to ask… but, did anything
fall out?”

    
“Nothing we can’t replace. Glad to hear you’re alright back there,” Shawn
replied, then looked to Melissa who was, surprisingly, smiling at him with a
grin that stretched from ear to ear.

    
In truth, she wasn’t sure if she was about to cry, break out in laughter,
embrace the captain in a joyous hug, or just
close
her
eyes and be silently grateful for being alive. The only thing she knew for
certain was that Captain Shawn Kestrel had delivered. “Very nicely done, Mister
Kestrel,” she finally said with a shaky nod.

    
Shawn throttled the engine back to maneuvering speed and checked the computer
scope. “Thanks, but we’re not out of it yet. There’s still two more of those
buggers out there, and there’ll be hell to pay when Trent finds out what happened
to his tools.”

    
“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously. “What happened to his tools?”

    
Suddenly the ship slammed forward, the visible stars on the main view port
falling off to starboard as the Mark-IV nosed over hard.

    
“We’ve been hit, Captain” Trent’s voice yelled out of the speaker. “The backup
navigation screens are down, main power output has been cut in half, and life
support is failing!”

    
Like a tiger pursuing an impala on the great African planes of First Earth, the
Temkorian fighter was hot on the trail of 
Sylvia’s Delight
, deftly
mirroring each bank and dip Shawn made in an attempt at evasion. With the
Mark-IV’s overheated engines throttled back to maneuvering speed, the captain
knew it wouldn’t be long until the enemy fighter was in point blank weapons
range. There were still two Temkorian fighters remaining, each presumably
loaded with deadly missiles, and definitely armed with enough power in their
plasma cannons to turn the Mark-IV into slag. And, with 
Sylvia’s
Delight
’s cargo bay now open and unprotected, she would be an even easier
target than before. 

    
That’s when the Temkorian scored its first hit. The blast glanced off the
gaping cargo hold door frame, sending a shower of sparks momentarily out into
the dark void. Immediately another blast struck solidly against the inside of
the cargo hold, blowing a five foot wide hole straight through into the
starboard engine compartment. Now, with the forward navigation screens down,
Shawn had no protection against the horde of debris near the moons remains.
Having little choice in the matter, he maneuvered the Mark-IV back into open
space. 

    
Luckily, Trent had made it out in time and was safely
back
inside the port engine room. But, with the starboard bowling alley now
completely devoid of atmosphere, there was no way the he could get over there
to stop the cascading failure of the engine that was sure to transpire at any
moment. Inside the port engine room, Trent could only stare helplessly at the
status monitor as the heat signature for the starboard engine approached
dangerous levels.

    
Meanwhile, Shawn was trying desperately to keep the Temkorian fighter from
gaining a tighter foothold on his six o’clock position. He knew it was only a
matter of time until the fighter blew a bigger hole in his ship. The starboard
engine was near its breaking point. Once that happened the ship would be far
too slow to stay ahead of the
Temkorians
, and the
game would be over. The tiger, it seemed, would get its dinner tonight.

    
Melissa tried to hold herself steady as Shawn banked sharply from one side to
the other. “Can’t we jump yet?” she asked nervously.

    
“Not yet. Those two fighters are still projecting a localized dampening field,”
Shawn said as he jerked his head over his shoulder to indicate the pursuing
ship. “Besides, our starboard engine is toast. Trent will need to balance the
mixture controls before we can jump, and the engines will have to be at near
idle for him to do it.”

    
“Would any more prayer help?” The annoyance in her voice was unmistakable.

    
Shawn turned his head to face her. “It might. Unless I can get 
D
 behind
him—which I don’t see how that’d be possible at this point—we’ll be in his kill
zone in less than a minute.”

    
“I thought he wanted us alive?”

    
“All we know is that he wants 
you
 alive. Considering he
doesn’t seem to care about turning my ship into Swiss cheese in the process,
I’m not so convinced about his method.”

    
She tossed her hands briefly into the air in defeat. “Well, I guess it’s been
nice knowing you then.”

    
The other enemy fighter joined the fray, and another series of blats rocketed
over the ship, causing Shawn to dip the nose down sharply. As he pulled the
Mark-IV into a tight turn to port, Melissa watched as a yellow indicator—easily
twice the size of most others on the control panel—flashed in sequence three
times before becoming steady for five seconds and then repeated the cycle. Not
long after, the most irritating and ear shattering noise Melissa had ever hear
began sounding throughout the compartment, punctuated by brief respites of
silence long enough for the computer to state its quandary: “Proximity alert.
Take evasive action, Captain.”

    
“Dear God, I think my ears are bleeding!” Melissa shouted over the
din.   

    
Both of Shawn’s eyebrows raised in contemplation. “That’s odd,” he said calmly,
as if he didn’t hear the noise at all. 

    
“What’s so odd about that?” Melissa cried.

    
“That Temkorian’s are too far away to induce the proximity alarm.” Shawn double
checked the sensor readings, tapping at a series of controls on an overhead
display.

    
“What does it matter,” she said resolutely. “In thirty-seconds they’ll be on
us. Then we’ll just sit and wait for your buddy Jack to send up a salvage ship
to tow us in—that is, if we don’t go deaf first from that maddening sound.”

    
The grid of the radar screen—usually represented by the three dimensional view
of a sub-divided plane—suddenly changed shape, distorting as if someone had
just dropped a heavy ball into the center of a rubber membrane. Shawn’s eyes
went wide eyed as he suddenly realized what was happening.
A
gravity
well was forming outside the ship—and only four hundred yards
from his current position. “Hang on!” he shouted,
then
slammed the ship hard forward again.

    
An instant later, in a brilliant flash of light that lit up space for half a
parsec, an enormous craft appeared seemingly from nowhere directly along the
heading of 
Sylvia’s Delight
. Shawn nimbly dipped beneath it while
the two Temkorian fighters pulled up sharply, barely able to avoid their own
impact with the interloper.