The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) (5 page)

    
Shawn backhanded the mechanics shoulder hard enough, he hoped, to leave a
sizable bruise. “I said drop it.” He then turned and stormed off towards his
office.

    
As Shawn neared the door, Trent offered up one last remark. “You know, we’re
friends. You can tell me if you hit something. I won’t be mad, skipper.
Honest.”

    
The slamming of the office door gave Trent all the answer he needed.

*          
*           *

    
The minor jostling of the sleek shuttle as it descended through the atmosphere
caused Melissa to stir from her otherwise peaceful slumber. The warm, immensely
comfortable padding of her seat crumpled slightly as she moved into an upright
position. She’d been dreaming of her father and of the last time they’d been
together on their home planet of
Thress
. As her
grogginess quickly wore off, she began to feel the familiar sensation in her
stomach that signaled natural gravity was taking control as the shuttle slid
toward the surface of the planet. She watched out of the generously wide view
port to her right as the blackness of space effortlessly transitioned into a
brilliant blue sky.

    
“We’ll be through the upper cloud layer in just a moment, ma’am,” the pilot’s
voice said over the intercom. She looked around at the other passengers,
then
quickly remembered that she was the only person in the
sleek interplanetary transport. It hadn’t been difficult for her to acquire the
shuttle for the trip, considering what she’d done for the owner a few years
back. The vehicle, one of the fastest models in Beta Sector, had whisked her
from
Thress
to her destination in only a few days’
time. Of course, a slower vessel would’ve been less conspicuous, but time was
no longer on her side.

    
As the shuttle swooped below the cloud layers, a small chain of islands began
to appear on the distant horizon. In the center of them stood an enormous
volcano, projecting into the sky and into the thin clouds like a monolithic
headstone. Seconds later the shuttle slipped past the imposing feature,
entering a circular landing pattern as it waited for an authorization to touch
down.

    
“We’ll be on the ground in less than five minutes, ma’am,” the pilot voiced
again. “Make sure you’re buckled in. These islands can have some fairly stout
crosswinds.”

    
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Melissa verified her seatbelt was secured and looked
through the view port once more. She could see the waves braking against yellow
sandy beaches, and large blue and purple palm trees gently swaying under the
tropical breeze. Breaking his temporary orbit of the tropical island, the pilot
slipped past the coast at an altitude of five hundred feet, gliding through a
lush valley created by two flanking summits.

    
“As I’m sure you’re aware, I won’t be able to keep the shuttle here for very
long. I hope you’ve arranged for transportation off of the planet once your
stay is complete.”

    
“I’ll manage something,” she replied wistfully.

    
“Yes, ma’am.
I understand. In any case, prepare to
touchdown, and welcome to the island of Tericeria.”

*          
*           *

    
Shawn wasn’t sure, but he got the distinct impression that the leathery skinned
alien on the other end of the vid-call had just insulted his mother. The
Temkorian in question, a member of a rather surly race of known interstellar
freelancers, seemed to be the quintessential member of his species: demanding,
nefarious, and just about the ugliest son of a bitch Shawn had ever
seen.    

    
“Look, um… sir, I understand you’re frustrated, but I assure you that your
delivery will arrive on time and just as you’ve requested,” Shawn said
sympathetically into the transmitter. However, the more he tried to appease the
alien, the worse the Temkorian seemed to react. The distraught creature on the
screen was threatening to take his business, his ship, and the few parts of his
anatomy Shawn thought might actually be worthwhile to keep. If he hadn’t needed
the money so badly, Shawn knew for certain exactly where he’d tell the alien to
go shove his requests. The distraught Temkorian on the screen represented
the strong arm of the eventual owner of the weapons, a mister Toyotomi Katashi.
There’d never been any discord between Shawn and Toyo, as they considered each
other close friends. But, this transaction wasn’t about friendship.

    
This was about business.

    
When he’d left Trent in the hangar a half an hour ago, Shawn had gone to his
office in search of a drink. He’d poured himself a stiff glass as he began to
work on his operating budget once more. It wasn’t that business had been bad—it
just wasn’t as consistent as it used to be. The Old Flamingo cargo
transportation business was simply in need of steadier sources of income. Over
the last several months, when the transfer of consumables and goods around the
local systems had slowed, Shawn had agreed to take on certain ‘special
assignments’, which he quickly realized were little more than questionably
legal hauls. While it’d been against his better judgment to do so, his
wallet—and his belly—needed the filling. So it came to pass that he’d agreed to
the forthcoming transfer of weapons that had since found a home inside his
hangar. He hadn’t asked what they were for because he didn’t want to know, nor
was it any of his business anyway. All he wanted to do was
get
paid—which seemed a relative impossibility, considering the current state of
his ship. 

    
The Temkorian continued shouting multiple layers of obscenities, a few of which
Shawn understood and a great deal he didn’t want to—but Shawn clearly
recognized the tone of the words.
With a courteous ‘Yes, sir.
It’ll be there tomorrow night’ he quickly disconnected the call.  His
thoughts began to wander back to when he’d first opened the Old Flamingo, what
his motivations were at the time, and where things had taken a turn for the
worse. If he hadn’t already poured himself a drink, he’d have poured himself a
drink.

    
Just as he took a sip of the whiskey, the small brass bells hanging near the
front door of the outer office let loose a torrent of jingles, informing Shawn
that someone had entered the waiting room. The captain hesitated for a moment
in hopes that Trent would be there to greet the patron. In his current state,
the captain wasn’t in the mood to be asked to fly so-and-so’s in-laws,
chickens, magnostaplers, alcohol, or whatever to such-and-such a location—or to
spend the time recounting the reasons to the customer why he couldn’t do it.

    
“Hello,” a woman’s voice called inquisitively from the front office. “Is anyone
here?”

    
When there was a second round of unanswered inquiries from the woman, Shawn
stood slowly from his chair and donned his well-worn leather flight jacket,
emblazoned with the colorful insignias of his past squadrons. 
Might as well look the part, even if I’m not taking off today.

    
“Yes, ma’am.
What can I do—” he started as he opened
his office door, but was greeted by a curiously empty room. Seeing the bells
still swaying near the front door, Shawn strolled out of the office and noticed
a bright pink taxi cab hovering in one of the many available parking spots.
Half way to the vehicle the drive extended an index finger and pointed Shawn in
the direction of the hangar.

    
Not thinking anything of it, Shawn strode confidently into his hangar as he’d
done a thousand times, but stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes fastened
onto a pair of nicely toned legs sprouting from beneath a knee length skirt.
Based solely on her build and posture, this was obviously no native. And, if she
had chickens or magnostaplers to transport, she clearly had no room left in
those clothes to hide them. She was in heels, standing on her tiptoes and
peering into the portside windows of 
Sylvia’s Delight
’s cargo hold.
Apparently she hadn’t heard Shawn enter the hangar. Deciding to respect her
personal space, he stepped to within a few feet of her, and craned his head
over her shoulder, wondering what on Third Earth she was hoping to see inside
the ship.

    
“Can I help you?” he asked politely, despite the fact she was a borderline
trespasser.

    
She jumped in surprise,
then
quickly spun on her heel
to face the captain. Shawn’s first impression was that she was stunning, in a
girl-next-door kind of way. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back into a
ponytail that was flopped over her left shoulder, and the front of her black
and white polka dotted dress seemed to be even more form fitting than the back.
Her ivory skin seemed to glow despite the dim light in the hangar. 

    
“You startled me,” she said as she flattened herself against the side of the
ship. “That’s no way for a man to greet a lady, you know?”

    
Judging by the cut of her expensive looking outfit—and the designer label on
her handbag—Shawn surmised she wanted nothing to do with the Old Flamingo’s
services
and was probably just a lost tourist.

    
“See anything you like?” Shawn asked as he inclined his head toward 
Sylvia’s
Delight
.

    
The woman pushed away from the side of the ship, and the captain watched as her
eyes quickly scanned him from head to toe. “I beg your pardon?”

    
He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets,
then
flashed his most brilliant smile, thankful that he’d brushed his teeth after
finishing his lunch. “I asked if you’ve seen anything you like? You were
gawking into my rear hold.”

    
She didn’t return the smile, instead straightening her posture, awash in
complete seriousness. “I, sir, do not gawk. And I didn’t see anything I like,
as you put it. Tell me, this… ship,” she asked waving her hand dismissively at
the Mark-IV, “did you build it yourself?”

    
Before Shawn could reply she kicked absently at a scrap piece of metal on the
floor. “And this has got to be one of the dingiest and most rundown hangars
I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

    
Shawn’s friendly smile quickly faded. “Is that a fact? Well, I didn’t know that
I was due for an inspection today. Besides, you don’t strike me as the kind of
woman who’d
lay
anything in a hangar.”

    
She stepped closer to him, her deep red hair blowing slightly in the breeze
provided by the open hangar doors. “You know,” she began, stepping around him
in a slow orbit, “I could probably spend all day nit picking at the
inadequacies of this building you call a hangar, as well as your rear
hold, but I have more important things to do then deal with you.”

    
“Is that a fact? Well, it just so happens that I do, too. So I’ll ask you once
more before I throw you out of my hangar: What can I do for you?” His threat
was empty, and he knew it.

    
Shawn watched as her nose slightly crinkled before she spoke, surmising she
caught a whiff of the whisky on his breath. “You can point me in the right
direction, if you’re capable of maneuvering away from your booze long enough. I’ve
been told there’s a great pilot here, and you seem to have the only hangar on
this side of the island. I
seriously
doubt that you’re him, so maybe you
can tell me where I might find him.”

    
“Oh… well, I don’t know about ‘great’, but I’d say I’m a fair pilot. And as far
as anyone else, I’m the only ‘fair’ pilot within a hundred miles of here. So
either you got the wrong part of the island or you got the right man.”

    
She offered an upturned eyebrow at him before reaching for a leather satchel
she had slung over her shoulder. “I’m quite sure I have the wrong man.” She
withdrew a small
holocard
and handed it to Shawn.
He’d seen it many times before. “I’m looking for a Captain Shawn Kestrel,” she
said confidently. “Considering how small these islands are, I’m sure you’ve
heard of him.”

    
“I certainly have, but my friends call me Shawn,” he said, handing the card
back to her. “Please keep it. I’ve got more.”

    
The woman regarded him dubiously for a moment. “I find that hard to believe.”

    
Shawn extended his hand in friendship. “Take my word for it: they call me
Shawn, and I have a whole box of those in my office.”

    
She shook her head lightly. “That’s not what I mean. I mean I find it hard to
believe that you are who I’m looking for.”

    
“There’s no other Shawn Kestrel on this planet, I assure you.”

    
She looked contritely to his outstretched hand. “No, I think not. At least not
until
you’ve
bathed once or twice.”

    
He examined his clean-
ish
hand before withdrawing it.
“And you are? Wait… let me guess.” Shawn said, bringing his hand to his chin in
momentary contemplation, then snapped his fingers in revelation. “You’re
looking for the person who dropped a house on your sister?”

    
The woman balled her fists and threw her arms to her side. “For heaven’s sake,
why must you all be so obnoxiously predictable in your limited mentality?”

    
“I don’t know who ‘you all’ are, but I feel like I just got insulted for the
second time today.”

    
“I came here to find a great pilot, a man who was a good friend to someone very
close to me. I was told… I was told he could help me.” Her frustrations quickly
turned to grief as tears began to well in her eyes. “You may be him by name,
but you are not the man I’m looking for. Perhaps you once were, and I strongly
emphasize the word perhaps, which only tells me how far you’ve fallen. Good
day, sir!” And with that she turned and briskly stormed from the hangar.