The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga)

by Fender, Stephen

  Thirty minutes later the Lexy was on her way, hovering two feet above the crystal clear waters of Tericeria Bay. Melissa stepped outside of the cabin and looked into the glasslike water, pleasantly surprised at the unmolested view. It was like looking into the largest aquarium she’d ever seen. Under the craft, a large animal—perhaps three times the size of Lexy—swiftly passed the skimmer with no warning. Melissa jumped back, startled at the nearness of the large, spine backed creature. “What was that?”

  Trent glanced over the side of the craft and smiled. “Minosian Goliath.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  Trent chuckled over the whine of the engines. “Only if you can swim three hundred feet down. They don’t come up any shallower than that.”

  “That thing is three hundred feet down? It looked like it was right under the skimmer.”

  “The clear water can play tricks on your eyes. Try not to stare to long.”

  She couldn’t agree more. She stepped back into the cabin behind Shawn’s chair. “How long until we get there?”

  “About two hours,” Shawn replied over his shoulder. “It’ll be sunset by the time we arrive.”

  “Who are we going to see?”

  “Jack.”

  The simple name did nothing to quell her curiosity. “Who is this Jack person?”

  Shawn smiled to himself while scanning the horizon. “He’s… well, he’s Jack.”

  “That tells me a lot.”

  Shawn let out a short laugh. “His name is Jacques De Lorme, but everyone calls him as Jack. He’s a businessman… of sorts.”

  De Lorme. The name did sound familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “What sort of business does he do?”

  “Any business that has the potential for profit.”

  Melissa grunted. “It sounds like someone who’d be associated with you.”

  Shawn conferred to her a look of disapproval, but quickly turned back to the open waters ahead of Lexy. “Yeah… well, Jack and I go back quite a ways. Besides, he’s got the parts we need.”

  “So, you trust him?”

  He jerked his head in her direction. “Me, trust Jack De Lorme? Are you out of your mind? No way, lady.”

  “But you’re sure he’ll give you the parts you need?”

  “Jack doesn’t give anything, but I’m sure he’ll sell it to us.” He nodded his head, but his tone was far from convincing. “Pretty sure, anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s reassuring.” She turned and walked back to her seat.

  “Don’t concern yourself over Jacques De Lorme. I can handle him just fine.”

  Melissa watched as Shawn pulled out a military issued pistol from within his coat. Its antique patina did nothing to detract from the lethality of the sidearm. She watched as Shawn checked its charge, then placed it back into a holster at his side.

  “Who said anything about being worried?” she whispered.

  Slightly ahead of schedule, the Lexy sputtered into the jetty on Axa Island. The long, narrow piers, lit every dozen yards by faintly glowing orbs, seem to spread out like outstretched fingers, all meeting at a single point—a large tavern built into the side of a rocky outcropping and spilling over a small beach. Finding one of the last available spaces, Shawn parked Lexy on top of a small, floating platform that was barely wider than the skimmer itself.

  Once he’d stepped out, he instinctively offered Melissa a hand, which she regarded dubiously. Glancing first at her skirt, then at the pier, she weighed her options before reluctantly accepting his assistance. As her fingers slipped over his palm, she was surprised by the softness of his hand. The captain held her firmly as he guided her out of the skimmer and onto the pier. Once she was squarely on the deck, the two locked eyes before separating themselves. “Thank you, Mister Kestrel. That’s the most gentlemanly thing you’ve done since I met you.”

  Her words seemed to catch him off guard. “Well, I couldn’t leave you here by yourself. Who knows what pirate would come haul you off?”

  “Really, Mister Kestrel. Pirates,” she chuckled, but then noticed Shawn wasn’t sharing in the absurdity she found in his statement. “Pirates?” she repeated desolately.

  He nodded solemnly. “Just stick close to me, okay? And please, try not to get into any trouble.” He turned and began walking down the long wharf with Melissa jumping in step close behind him.

  Trent looked back to the skimmer and offered the little craft a farewell wave. “See you soon, I hope,” then he rushed to take up the rear of the troop.

  *

  Jacques’ was raucous tonight—more so than most nights—and the fact that it was happy hour certainly wasn’t helping. The large bar, which seemed to dominate this whole side of the nearly mile wide island, was awash with bright lights and loud music. The establishment consisted of three buildings, all circular in shape, with the center building twice the diameter of the outer two. The smaller buildings, mirrors of one another, were nothing more than conical thatched roofs about sixty feet wide, held up by a dozen wooden poles around their circumference. The central building had a square structure built as a second floor, which had its own slightly oversized thatched roof. On the center of the steeple was a large, glowing red sign that read ‘Jack’s Place’. There was a single window in the upper portion lit from within, while the bottom floor was dominated by an enormous bar and filled with patrons of all types.

  For gamblers and wayward travelers, Jack’s Place was a beacon in this quadrant of Beta Sector. At any given time, you could find a dozen different games from just as many worlds being played in the main casino hall just inside from the bar, or at the high rollers tables downstairs. There was even a large pool out back that could be easily set up for water polo, aqua billiards, or the ever popular—albeit highly dangerous and very illegal—Du’guwam of Tirana VII.

  Shawn cautiously approached the translucent, saloon style doors separating the interior of the bar from the deck outside, not knowing who or what might get thrown through them at any moment. He gingerly pushed them open as he stepped in, with Melissa and Trent close behind, and strode directly for the bar on the opposite side of the room on a mission to find Jack De Lorme and get some drinks, but not necessarily in that order.

  Before he’d made it half way to his destination he was met by one of the local merchants, an alien named Timo.

  “Shawn Kestrel,” the squat being slurred. “My old buddy, Shawn.”

  “Hey, Timo,” Shawn tried to wave off the man as he continued walking toward the bar. Timo was a dumpy, pint-sized Polysaurian merchant captain. His short, dark fur was sticking up from his scalp, a sure sign that the long tailed being was inebriated. Timo was shuffling his three flip-flop clad feet across the planked floor of the bar as he chased after Shawn.

  “Been a long time, Shawn,” Timo continued as he came up beside him.

  “I don’t have a lot of time to chat,” Shawn replied, paying more attention to his destination than to the conversation. He reached into his pocket and drew out a golden five credit coin and flipped it into the air, which was quickly snagged by two of Timo’s three hands. “Go buy yourself another round, compliments of the Old Flamingo. Keep the change.” He finished by giving Timo a soft pat on his whiskered cheek, careful not to rub the neurotoxin tipped quills that doubled as his eyebrows.

  “Hey, thanks Shawn. You’re a real pal! You know, I never forgot about that time on Tagus! When you did that thing with the… well, whatever it was. Man, I owe you big time for that, old buddy. You really saved my fur.” Timo kept praising the captain even as the small creature waddled to the bar to order his next drink.

  Melissa leaned curiously over Shawn’s shoulder. “What was that all about?”

  “Long story.”

  She found herself smiling, although she didn’t quite know why. “Maybe you’ll tell me about it sometime.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Shawn arrived at the counter and caught the attention of the bartender. The barkeep, a rather lar
ge and scaly creature with long black tusks, asked Shawn what he’d like.

  “Tell Jack that Captain Shawn Kestrel is here. He’s expecting me.”

  “I ain’t no messenger, Earther.”

  Shawn wordlessly tossed him… her… it a gold coin, similar to the one he’d given Timo, and the bartender acknowledged with a nod. However, before he ambled away, the creature jerked his head in Melissa’s direction. Shawn slowly spun to see two surly looking patrons, a human male and a fish-faced Erkelian, slowly approaching Melissa, who wasn’t right behind him where she should have been. From nowhere a crowd had quickly formed, blocking every available route to the young woman.

  As soon as the tall, thin, inebriated human outstretched his hand to grab her, Melissa had him doubled over with a kick to the stomach. When the Erkelian’s unblinking, saucer like eyes saw his buddy lying in a heap on the floor, he lunged at Melissa with webbed fists flying. “Wench,” he snarled.

  She was ready for him before he got within five feet of her. As he came within range, she smoothly stepped aside, allowing his momentum to carry him past her before dealing a strong kick to his backside that sent him crashing through a table near the bottom of a narrow staircase. The bar went silent, everyone staring at her and the two men on the floor—Shawn included. Using the lull in the fighting to extricate himself from the bar, he deftly moved to her side.

  It was just as well, because two additional men, both humans this time, came to the aid of the fallen friends. One rushed Melissa, the other intent on taking down Shawn. The captain tried a maneuver similar to Melissa’s, but couldn’t side step the man fast enough, instead getting tripped up and losing his balance. The drunk took the offered advantage and swung a wild left hook that connected with the side of the captain’s mouth. Stunned but not defeated, Shawn, using the full power of his weight, planted one foot into the floor and the other into the drunks’ abdomen, sending the assailant sailing backwards over a table and into a transparent purple piano at the end of the bar. With the thunderous tang of an F-minor chord, the man slowly rolled to his belly and slithered out of the bar.

  Meanwhile, Melissa and her assailant were having a standoff around another small table. Surmising that she had no escape in either direction, the bronze skinned man brazenly attempted to leap over the table, but with mixed results. While he’d managed to get his meaty hands on Melissa’s waist, the cost was at his own footing. He was now sprawled across the tabletop. Melissa dropped an elbow between his shoulder blades, causing him to instantly release his already faltering grasp on her. In a blur that was nearly too fast to catch, Shawn watched as she crouched down and swept her legs under the table, taking out two of its supports before she rolled and stood to its side. The attacker looked to her nervously as the table slowly teetered, then with a loud creek fell forward, sending the drunk face down into the unforgiving wooden floor, knocking him out cold.

  Shawn rushed to her flank. “Hey, I thought I said no trouble.”

  “It’s not my fault,” she offered defensively as she straightened her still pristine skirt. “Besides, they accosted me and got what they deserved.”

  “And then some,” he agreed without reservation. “By the way, remind me to never piss you off.”

  “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.”

  Chapter 4

  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.”