Shawn got the message. “So why my transport? Why not any one of the dozen military ones you have on board?”
“The smallest vessel I could put you in is fifteen feet longer and eight feet wider than the Mark-IV. That seemingly large hole in the bow of the cruiser is too small for our craft to safely navigate. You following me?”
“Wait just a damn minute, sir. You want me to pilot my ship into that thing?” Shawn then pointed a stiff finger at the image of the Icarus. “That’s beyond crazy. That’s asinine.”
Richard was unfazed by Shawn’s concerns. “All the docking ports on the Icarus are either jammed shut or blown out. You’re the ace here, Kestrel. Make it happen, and make doubly sure Agent Graves gets back here in one piece and undamaged. Those are your orders, Lieutenant Commander Kestrel.” Krif then turned to Melissa. “And frankly, I don’t care what you think about it, in case you were looking to object.”
“I can get someone else to bring me on board the Icarus, Captain. I don’t need him.”
Shawn snapped his head toward Melissa. “Like hell you don’t, lady! I’m not letting anyone but me behind the controls of my ship.”
“For now, Agent Graves, I’m reluctantly going to agree with Kestrel on this. No one currently knows that ship better than he does, and it’s the only one that can ferry you over at the moment. I can’t open any larger access points in the hull of the Icarus without jeopardizing the vessel’s structural stability.”
“Meaning?” she asked in frustration.
“Meaning, my dear, that you’re stuck with Kestrel, he’s stuck with you, and you’re both leaving in ten minutes. Deal with it and move on, people. You can have a lover’s quarrel about it when you get back.”
“Now wait just a minute, Captain!” Melissa faltered, and Shawn noticed that her posture was like that of a tiger getting ready to pounce on its next meal. He decided a hasty retreat was in order, and cut her off with a grab of her forearm, pulling her away from Krif and out of the command center.
“Unhand me, Commander. Unhand me this instant!” She continued to offer Shawn various rebukes, some more colorful than others, until the CIC doors had shut firmly behind them.
*
With his hand now firmly around Melissa’s right bicep, Shawn guided her along the winding passageways of the Rhea until they’d come to a deserted t-shaped intersection. He released her the moment they came to a stop and whirled on his heel to face her. “Would you mind telling me what all that was about?”
“Of all the nerve!” she spat furiously. “That man is so exasperating! It’s a wonder you two don’t get along better than you do.”
“And just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She threw her arms out to her sides in frustration. “I’ve never before been as angry in my life as I have been over you two in the last twenty-four hours. You and Krif seem to come from the same stock when it comes to your ways with women.”
“Okay, let’s not get nasty here. After all, you’re the one talking about sending out my ship without me at the controls. You mind explaining that little oversight to me?”
“I was just trying to look out for your safety, Commander.”
“I can look out for myself, lady,” he said, throwing a thumb into his chest for emphasis. “And now it seems I’ll be looking out for both of us.”
“I can take care of myself, too, you know. It may surprise you to know that I got along just fine before I met you.”
Shawn took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm his already-frazzled nerves. “Yeah, I know you can. That still doesn’t mean I’m keen on the idea of you going over there without me.”
Melissa likewise took a calming pause. “I’m…I’m sorry, Shawn. It’s just when I saw the Icarus…and realized it was from the group sent out to find my father, I—” Tears began to well in her eyes as her speech drifted into silence.
Shawn reached out a hand to her, which she took as an invitation to jump into a tight embrace with him. She began to sob softly into his shoulder as he lightly stroked the back of her hair.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered in a consolatory tone. “We’re going to find him.”
“I’ve never been so scared,” she cried. “Please, tell me he’s going to be alive. Tell me that everything will be okay, and that this has all been a bad nightmare.”
He wished he could, for both of their sakes.
“I don’t want to lose him. I can’t.” She held on to him a moment longer before her grip loosened.
Shawn lightly kissed the top of her head as her sobs became more pronounced, shutting out any chance that she could even hear the words she’d wanted him to say. Eventually, Melissa gently pushed away from him, and he gave her a soft kiss on the lips. She collected herself, sniffling and running a hand across her face to wipe away the tears. Seeing that she was still shaken, he curved his arm loosely around her waist and led her without further incident to her quarters. Once he’d deposited her there, with a promise from her that she’d soon be ready to depart the Rhea, Shawn left for his own cabin to get ready for the mission and to call Trent to have him ready Sylvia’s Delight for the journey.
*
After requesting the assistance of a very disgruntled Trent—apparently disengaging him from an extremely lucrative conversation he’d been having with a female technician—Shawn put on the dark gray flight suit that had recently been cleaned and hung outside his door. Under the suit he wore a bright yellow t-shirt, matching the same shade as the emblem adorning the patch of the 538th Unified Interceptor Squadron that was neatly sewn above the left breast pocket. He hurriedly put on his flight boots when Melissa called from her stateroom, saying that she would meet him in the main hangar deck as soon as he was ready. He went to the computer safe that was imbedded in the starboard bulkhead and entered his personal code, the birthday of his late wife. With a pop and a hiss the hatch opened, and Shawn reached in to withdraw his standard issue sidearm. He inspected the lightweight, black pistol that was nearly the length of his forearm. Checking that it had a full charge, he put it back into its holster with a snap. “You never can be too careful,” he said aloud, then left for the hangar.
On the hangar deck, Trent Maddox was giving D a final once over before Shawn and Melissa departed.
“Everything look okay?” Shawn asked.
“Picture perfect. In fact, she was perfect when I got here. I don’t see why you needed to pull me away from a very stimulating conversation.”
“I didn’t know you were busy. Besides, I really don’t care.”
“I care about your love life, you know. You could make an exception for mine.”
Shawn gave an exaggerated shudder. “Please, I don’t want to think about what your love life would look like. I mean, have you seen some of the women on this ship? Rough doesn’t even come close to—”
“I finished adjusting the environmental controls, Trent,” a soft voice called out behind Shawn.
Trent’s blue eyes lit up as he smiled over Shawn’s shoulder. “Thanks, Clarissa.”
Realizing that the originator of the voice was right behind him, Shawn, flabbergasted, looked to Trent, who only gave a subtle nod before inclining his head to his newest assistant. Shawn turned around to see his very own maintenance and supply officer, the garrulous Ensign Clarissa McAllister. She was dressed in a set of dark blue technician coveralls, her blonde hair spilling casually over her shoulders. She was cradling a lightweight aerolevel in her hands as she smiled at Shawn, her violet eyes twinkling.
“I think she’s all ready for you, Skipper,” McAllister beamed with pride.
“Thanks,” he said, dumbfounded. Shawn had to admit that, although McAllister was somewhat loquacious, she was nonetheless quite attractive. “I had no idea you were versed in mechanics.”
“I did my first two tours in engineering, sir,” she replied as if this were something he should have known from reading her personnel file—which he had yet to
do.
“Yes. Yes, of course you did,” he stammered.
Completely disregarding protocol—to say nothing about military bearings or restrictions about enlisted men fraternizing with officers—Trent rounded Shawn and put a gentle arm around Clarissa’s waist. “Have I told you what an absolute angel you are?” he cooed.
Shawn watched as an enormous smile of satisfaction crossed her face. “Not in the last ten minutes.”
Trent moved in, nuzzling her nose with his own. “And have I told you how attractive you look with that aerolevel in your hands, and how exciting it is that you know how to use it?”
Clarissa put her arms around his neck. “Yes, about ten times. But you can always tell me again.”
Feeling exceedingly uncomfortable on multiple levels, Shawn coughed loudly, hoping to bring the overt display of affection to an end before he lost his lunch.
Trent and Clarissa reluctantly disengaged themselves from one another, and Shawn got the distinct impression that McAllister gave him a brief look of resentment.
Shawn looked from one to the other, then back, before finally leveling his eyes sternly on McAllister. “Ensign, I’m not going to tell you that, as an officer, you…” he started, but then lost his train of thought. He swiftly pointed a finger at Trent. “And, as for you, I’m not going to say that you have to…you know…as an enlisted member of the crew, I mean…” then he lost his thoughts on the matter once more.
Both Trent and Clarissa exchanged nervous side-glances with one another as Shawn silently teetered an accusatory finger from one to other for several seconds before speaking again.
“You know what?” Shawn asked rhetorically, then waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it. Just forget it. You’re both old enough and, Lord willing, smart enough to know what you’re doing.”
The two seemed to share an exhalation of relief.
“Just, for pity’s sake, try to keep it in your respective cabins, okay? I don’t want to give the rest of the crew the impression that I don’t know how to handle my own people.”
“Yes, sir,” McAllister said with well-trained military precision.
“Of course, Skipper,” Trent likewise replied, but with marked casualness.
“Good. I’m glad we…you know…got that settled.” He then raised a hand to his forehead in a perfect salute. “By all means, carry on, you two.”
They both saluted Shawn, then departed the hangar in a near-jog. Shawn didn’t want to think of where they were going, or what they were going to do when they got there. He just hoped no one else noticed.
Melissa entered the hangar with one of the ship’s Marines close on her heels; both of them were nearly bowled over by the retreating couple slipping out of the maglift. Melissa had changed into a flight suit very similar to Shawn’s. However, he was pleasantly surprised to see that hers was far more formfitting.
She smiled as she stepped closer. “They make a cute couple.”
“Who says they’re a couple?” Shawn asked defensively, wondering if he were the last to know about it.
“I’m with the OSI,” she said with a sly smile. “I know everything.” She nodded in the Marine’s direction. “This is Sergeant Adams. He’ll be our escort today.”
Shawn nodded to the sergeant before looking back to Melissa. She had tied her hair into a ponytail that jutted loosely from the back of a black Sector Command ball cap embroidered with a likeness of the Rhea on its front. Shawn saw that, on her uniform, she wore the patch of his squadron.
“My, my. Really trying to make yourself a part of the team, aren’t you?”
“I thought we were a team.” She then looked over her flight suit casually. “Besides, it’s Raven’s.”
“I see,” Shawn said, smiling ever so slightly.
“It wasn’t my idea, if that’s what you’re thinking. She suggested it would make me look less conspicuous.”
“Who said I was thinking anything?”
“You were leering again.”
Shawn feigned shock. “I was not. I was simply inspecting. I’m concerned that if you’re going to continue to masquerade as one of my people, then I expect you to keep a proper uniform. I wouldn’t want a shoddy-looking officer under my command wandering through the decks unchecked.”
She rolled her eyes, held out her hands, and did a quick twirl. From somewhere almost beyond earshot came a wolf whistle, probably from one of the maintenance technicians on the far side of the bay. Melissa either didn’t hear it or didn’t care to dignify it with a response. She simply looked to Shawn for approval. “Well, sir?”
“Sir?” Shawn couldn’t help but smile. “I like the sound of that coming from you. And if you’re wondering, you look fine.”
“Is that all?” she asked incredulously, and he surmised she was expecting more from him.
“Fine. If it makes you feel any better, you’ll probably make pinup pilot of the year in that outfit. Every other pilot pales in comparison to your monumental ability to wear informal command attire. Better?”
She scowled at him. “Very funny. Now get on board before I throw you on board.”
Shawn flashed another picture-perfect—albeit it unnecessary—salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And stow that ‘ma’am’ stuff. I’m not my mother, you know.” She turned and stormed up the cargo hatch. “And don’t stare while I’m walking.”
Shawn quickly averted his eyes and absently checked his watch. “What was that?”
“I’m sure you can get up this hatch without staring at my backside,” she said, continuing up the ramp without turning to him.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m only looking for the next target for my foot,” he said under his breath, but still couldn’t help noticing a slight swagger to her walk. He strode up the ramp behind her and smacked the hatch closure panel on his way to the command deck.
Once there, he saw that Melissa Graves had already made herself more than comfortable in the copilot’s chair. She was placing a communications headset over her ears as Shawn climbed into his chair on her left.
“You’re not going to even ask to sit up here anymore?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
She punched in the communications code that would link her headset to the flight control officer’s station on the Rhea’s bridge. “Testing, testing, one-two. This is Sylvia’s Delight requesting audio communications.”
Shawn’s unused headset was lying on the console in front of him, and from it he could hear the control tower acknowledging Melissa’s request. It sounded as if they were giving her orders to prepare for takeoff. He looked at her with a blank stare.
“Oh,” she recoiled in mock surprise. “Did you say something, Commander?”
“Would it matter?”
She pondered it for a moment, a delicate finger on her chin placed purely for show. “Is it mission-related?”
He smiled broadly, then locked himself into the seat’s safety harness. “Probably not.”
“Then I’m quite sure you can keep it to yourself.” She turned back to her controls with the skill of a professional. Shawn just wasn’t sure what profession that was, exactly.
“Are you going to be this way the entire time?”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Commander.”
“What happened to Shawn?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for Shawn, and I barely have the patience for Lieutenant Commander Kestrel at this point.”
“Listen, crazy lady, not half an hour ago you were sobbing uncontrollably in my arms, and now it’s back to ‘Commander Kestrel’ and all that official stuff?”
She shook her head decisively. “I was acting like a child. A spoiled, undisciplined child. It was completely unprofessional. So if you’re looking for an apology, then I’ll offer it.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want to know where the hell I stand, that’s all.”
“You’re not standing, Commander, you’re sitting.” Her voice was deadpan.
/>
“Very funny.”
“Yes, you can tell I meant it that way from my uncontrollable laughter. Now, can we get going, please? We have clearance…or are you waiting for them to roll out the red carpet?”
“Fine,” he offered, disconcerted. This is just…fine. We’ll just go, then.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
“Fine.” Shawn reached out and grabbed his headset in frustration. “Fine.” He quickly put it on his head and initiated the intercom with the Rhea’s flight control officer. “This is Commander Kestrel on board Sylvia’s Delight. Request clearance to depart.”
“I just told you we had clearance, Commander,” Melissa said under her breath. “Quit stalling and get this ship moving.”
As if on cue, the flight control officer again relayed that Sylvia’s Delight was cleared for departure from the forward hold.
“I am not stalling,” he snapped. He turned on the port and starboard initiators, and the engines began to hum to life. The same familiar vibrations to which Shawn had always been accustomed began to reverberate thought the hull as D came back to life. “That’s my girl,” he said softly as he gingerly grabbed the control stick.
“Your what?”
“I’m not talking to you. I’m running some very sensitive diagnostics here, OSI Agent Bipolar, so please turn your crazy down a few decibels.”
“I asked you to stop calling me that.”
“And I expected you to stop acting like it. Seems we both had misguided expectations.”
“I can make it an order.”
He turned and leaned forward slightly, his eyes burning into her. “Try it.”
She saw the frustration in his countenance. Deciding then not to take the argument any further, Melissa resigned her attention back to her instruments.
Shawn nodded in approval. He reached out for the throttle control with his right hand, pressing the button on the side that would initiate the landing thrusters. Within seconds, the magnetic-lined landing pads of the Mark-IV lifted smoothly from the deck of the carrier. Shawn hovered Sylvia’s Delight to the center of the bay, turning one hundred eighty degrees in the process.
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