Icarus (5 page)

   “It’s okay.” He tried to dismiss his thoughts with a wave of his hand,
but found it impossible. “It’s…it’s okay. I’m glad I’m not the enemy to you.”

   “Well, my second point on your question is this: we’re already being
watched.”

   Shawn cocked his head inquisitively, to which Melissa responded with a
slight nod. “From whom? From where?”

   Melissa leaned toward the table, involuntarily causing Shawn to do the
same. “There are at least two of them, maybe more.”

   “Who are they?”

   Melissa shrugged. “Amateurs. They’re probably ship’s security,
assigned by Krif to keep an eye on us.”

   “Where?”

   “The waiter is one of them, for starters.”

   “How do you know?” They were talking in low whispers now.

   “I’ve been doing this long enough, Commander. I can see it in the way
he walks.”

   “You’ve been watching him walk? Can I ask, was it when he was coming
or when he was going?”

   She grinned a Cheshire smile. “Why? Are you jealous?”

   “I’m just curious about your methods, that’s all.”

   She gave him an approving nod, letting him off the hook gently.
“Coming, not going.”

   “Who else?”

   She leaned her head further toward Shawn, close enough now that he
could smell her jasmine perfume. “The man in the upper balcony, starboard corner,
near the bulkhead.”

   Shawn looked up, but could barely discern a shape in the dimly lit
space above. “How do you know about that one?”

   “Look into my eyes and I shall tell you no lies,” she said, causing
him to do just that. The color of her eyes was somewhat different. Even in the
dim light Shawn could see they were no longer the same brilliant green as
before, but were now slightly more olive.

   “Spectral lenses?”

   She winked at him slowly.

   “You OSI agents…you guys get all the cool toys.”

   “Play nicely and I may share someday.”

   “I thought those things were supposed to cause retinal damage after
prolonged exposure.”

   “You know, I’m beginning to like the sound of you being concerned
about me.”

   “Just your eyes.”

   “You’re only concerned about my eyes?” she teased.

   He smirked, beginning to enjoy the banter they shared. “Maybe I’m just
concerned about what they see when they’re looking at me.”

   She leveled her gaze at him and smiled. “If it were anything but good,
I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

   “So…no more slapping, then?”

   Recalling when she’d struck Shawn before, she couldn’t help but
chuckle. “No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

   “I’d appreciate it.”

   Melissa looked back at Shawn and smiled. “Speaking of appreciation,
how did Trent take the news that you’d both be staying on board the
Rhea
for the time being?”

   Shawn leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “As well as could be
expected.”

   “I’m sure it was colorful.”

   He snickered. “You could have painted a rainbow with all the remarks
he had on the subject. In the end, though, he took it well. It’ll give him all
the time and resources he needs to get
D
back to full operational
status. Once we’re finished here, I plan on getting back to Minos and getting
some of my past debts paid.”

   She smiled kindly. “Whether you realize it or not, you’re paying some
of them off right now.”

   Before he could ask her what she meant by the remark, she slid her
chair out and got up from the table.

   “This is good-bye?” he asked.

   “For now. Until tomorrow, that is.”

   “What happens tomorrow?”

   “Tomorrow we reach our destination, and I’ll need you by my side.”

   “Need, not want?”

   She didn’t skip a beat. “Is there a difference?”

   “And just
where
are we going?”

   “It’s on the cartridge I handed you. Read over it tonight, Commander.
You won’t have a lot of time tomorrow.”

   “How’s that?”

   “You’re scheduled for several hours of simulator training in the
morning, and I’ll need you in the hangar deck by 1300 for our first official
mission together. Again, it’s all on there…
hotshot
.” Somehow, the
nickname seemed far more tantalizing coming from her than it did from Richard
Krif. She straightened her posture, effortlessly assuming her title as an OSI
command agent once again. “Good night, Lieutenant Commander Kestrel. Pleasant
dreams.”

   “You too, ma’am.” He took a long sip from his beer as she strode
confidently away, but it did nothing to quench what he was feeling.

* * *

   After one of the longest days of his life, Shawn Kestrel made it back
to his cabin, nearly throwing himself on his bed when it was within distance.
The odd concoction he’d drunk in Captain Krif’s private galley, sitting
stealthily in his system without leaving so much as a hint of inebriation, had
shot through his bloodstream like a rocket just after he’d finished his dark
ale in the observation lounge. The
Rhea
seemed to be doing end overs,
barrel rolls, and corkscrews all at the same time, and he wasn’t sure how long
his stomach could take it. He shut his eyes, blocking out the world around him
with one arm draped across his face.

   He had all but forgotten the data cartridge Melissa had given him, to
say nothing of the material he’d retrieved from the file folder earlier. He’d
decided the moment his head had touched down on his bed that it could all wait
until tomorrow. As he began to drift off to sleep, Shawn’s mind was filled with
the random thoughts he’d formulated throughout the day. Then an image of
Melissa popped into his consciousness, just as quickly replaced by the face of
his beautiful wife, gone now nearly six years. The images of the two seemed to
be tugging at his subconscious in a fight for dominance as he drifted into
slumber.

  
W
hile
there were some traditions of military service that had long since fallen by
the wayside, reveille appeared to be one of the few that Shawn regretted was
still a part of everyday life aboard ship. When one of the notes was down too
far in pitch, Shawn assumed either the bugler was new, or it was a bad
recording. Regardless, as the sounds came over the speaker in his quarters—one
that, by some cruel joke, had been placed near the head of his bed—he slowly
hauled himself to a seated position and was poised to get up when a brief knock
came to his door. Unconcerned that he was still wearing the same clothes as the
day before, he shuffled to the closed hatch with half-opened eyes.

   He pressed the door release button and was greeted by a young female
officer—and considering the wide smile on her face, a far-too-chipper one.

  
What was the time, anyway?
He thought about verbalizing the
thought, but then decided he didn’t really care what time it was. It was too
early. Shawn looked at the rank insignia on her shoulder, noting with chagrin
she was a junior officer.

   “Yes, Ensign, what can I do for you?” he asked while rubbing his face,
causing the words to sound slightly slurred.

   “Sir, I have—”

   “Wait, don’t tell me. Your high-ranking father isn’t missing, is he?”

   The young woman gave him a dumbfounded look as she slowly shook her
head.

   “You haven’t come for my help, have you?” Shawn continued as he leaned
against the doorjamb. “You don’t need me to ferry you across the sector, free
of charge, where you’ll probably take the shirt off my back when I’m not
looking, right?”

   The young woman’s bright, violet eyes—a dead giveaway that she was
from the Knomn system—narrowed under her crisp baseball-style cap. The highly
polished Sector Command logo on its center caught the ship’s lighting in all
the wrong places, directing the glare straight into Shawn’s sensitive eyes.
“I’m fairly certain I don’t need you to rescue me, sir, and my father’s not in
the service. He’s a pastry chef.”

   Shawn stopped rubbing his face, but kept his hands poised in front of
his mouth. “Do his cakes create imminent danger for his customers, or are they
vital to the security of the Unified government?”

   She seemed to ponder the question for a moment, probably trying to
gauge whether the commander’s preposterous questions were serious or not. “Not
that I’m aware of, sir.”

   Shawn rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and yawned wearily.
“Well then, Ensign…uh…Ensign…?”

   “McAllister, sir. Ensign Clarissa McAllister.” With that, her hand
shot forward and she grabbed Shawn in a jolting handshake. “And I’d just like
to say, sir, that it’s going to be a privilege working with you. I’ve heard so
much about you, and I can’t tell you what an honor it is to be working with a living
legend such as yourself.”

   “I had no idea I was so old.”

   She gasped in shock. “Oh…oh no, sir. That’s not what I meant. I meant
that you’ve been a hero of mine since I was a little girl. No, that didn’t
sound right, either.” She closed her eyes, getting the thoughts in her brain in
order before she spoke again. “What I mean is that you’ve been around for so
long and you’ve—”

   Shawn noticed the color of her face had gone from a mild pink to
nearly red, and he took it as a sign to intervene and save her from any further
embarrassment. “Yes, Ensign McAllister. I think I understand. What can I do for
you on this rather cold and dreary morning?”

   “Yes, sir.” She located her misplaced military bearing and snapped to
attention. “Uniforms, sir.”

   Shawn gave her a passing glance. “You look perfectly fine to me,
Ensign. Is there an inspection I’m late for?”

   “No, sir. I mean, I have
your
uniforms.” She reached for
something beside his door, beyond his field of view, and produced an assortment
of standard issue Unified garments in all their utter drabness. “They’ve been
tailored by the ship’s computer to your exact measurements, sir.”

   “If by ‘computer’ you mean that short-circuited excuse for a terminal
I just about put my foot through yesterday, I’d rather stitch them together
myself.”

   She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes in confusion. “I’m not
entirely sure what you mean, sir. But if you have any problems with these, just
let me know.” She jiggled the uniforms in her hand.

   “So I’ll be seeing more of you then, Ensign?”

   She smiled brightly. “Yes, sir. I’m the squadron’s maintenance and
supply officer.”

   He failed to stop his eyes from rolling. Thankfully, his eyelids were
closed too tightly for Ensign McAllister to notice. “I see.”

   She watched as he absently began scratching at his stomach. “Is there
anything I can do for you before I head to my duty station, Skipper?”

   Shawn’s eyes popped open, as if he’d only now realized he was talking
to someone. “Yes. Yes, I do need you to get me something, Supply Officer Ensign
McAllister.”

   Her face lit up with joy. Apparently, this was something for which she
lived and breathed. “You name it, sir. Whatever it is, whatever you’re looking
for, I can find it in the ship’s store. Is it stationery, or maybe more
comfortable sheets, perhaps even a thicker mattress, sir? I know how
uncomfortable these beds can be. I can even score a case of—”

   “Coffee.”

   She looked puzzled. “You need a case of coffee?”

   “Yes. No! I need a
cup
of coffee. A hot one. Do you think you
can manage that for me, Ensign?”

   “Yes, sir. Of course.” She seemed demoralized at such a trivial
request, but her merriment quickly returned. “Would you like cream? Sugar?”

   “No, just coffee.”

   “Jamaican? Antaran? Columbian? Estonian? Indian?”

   Shawn held out a staying hand in an attempt to halt the ensign’s
rapid-fire verbal onslaught. “Just coffee, McAllister. Plain old Terran coffee.
Nothing fancy and nothing frilly. Simple, unadorned black coffee.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   She turned her attention to her new mission, but was stopped when
Shawn added one more request. “And a donut, if you happen to pass one along the
way.”

   McAllister pivoted, but looked back sharply before leaving. “Anything
else, sir?

   “You could hand me my uniforms.”

   “Oh? Oh!” she stammered. “Of course, sir.” She handed him the weighty
clothes, then hurried on her way to find the items the lieutenant commander had
requested.

   Shawn poked his head out into the corridor, watching the ensign as she
bounded down the narrow passageway, nearly colliding with another crewman.
“Make way,” she barked at the young man, scaring the bewildered crewman right
out of his socks.

  
At least she aims to please.

* * *

   By the time Ensign McAllister returned with his flavorless coffee and
lackluster donut, Shawn had showered and shaved. In fact, he was just buttoning
up his uniform when the young woman arrived with his light breakfast. She’d
deposited it on the small table and left the compartment as quickly as she’d entered,
leaving Shawn to finish getting dressed. For whatever reason, McAllister hadn’t
said very much when she’d returned, which was just as well. Even though he was
far more cognizant of his surroundings by this time, Shawn felt it was still
far too early in the morning to be burdened with heavy conversation—especially
if it was one-sided.

   As he secured the last button on his shirt, Lieutenant Commander Shawn
Kestrel gave his appearance a final once-over in the full-length mirror on the
port bulkhead. The long black pants were slightly restrictive, the gray shirt
seemed a little loose, and the leather belt was far too long. After some minor
modifications, he tucked in the shirt and pulled it from side to side,
accentuating the military creases that had been ironed into them during their
initial dry-cleaning.

   A small plastic bag had accompanied the clothes, and Shawn spilled its
contents onto the top of the bed and gave the items their due respect.
Apparently, due to his reactivation, he was authorized to wear all the campaign
awards he’d earned during his initial tour in Sector Command. Thankfully,
current regulations didn’t require the wearing of such devices on his present
choice of uniform. However, in order to keep up appearance and look the part he
was being asked to play, he reluctantly decided to put on a single, four-inch
row of his campaign awards. He chose three awards of lesser distinction: an
award for five years of continuous service, a marksmanship award for hand
weapons, and a campaign ribbon denoting that he’d been part of a joint
operation in the Sage Nebula. The final award in the row was something special,
a rarity few officers had and one he was proud to display. It was a
distinguished flying award he’d received while flying with William Graves on
one of the many missions the two had flown together. This particular one,
however, hadn’t been just a run-of-the-mill mission, and Shawn thought back on
it fondly as he attached the strip to the left breast of his shirt.

   He was about to exit into the corridor when a chime sounded,
indicating that someone wished to come in. Wondering who it could be, Shawn
pressed a control on the nearby desktop and allowed the visitor to be admitted.

   “Begging your pardon, sir!”

   Shawn turned to see his mechanic, Trent Maddox, fully outfitted in
Sector Command attire and standing at attention outside his cabin. Shawn
couldn’t help but manage a smile.

   “Well, look at what the cat dragged in.”

   The door closed behind Trent as he stepped into Shawn’s quarters and
then quickly stood back at attention. “Permission to stand at ease, sir!” he
barked, then gave an overly exaggerated salute.

Trent was barely
containing a smile, and his face looked as if it was threatening to explode if
he wasn’t allowed to release it soon.

“You know, you suck
at being an enlisted man.” Shawn gave a perfunctory salute in return, thereby
releasing the invisible hold on

Trent.

   Trent beamed, then removed his ball cap and tossed it on the bed.
“Yeah, my old division officer used to say the same thing. What’s shaking,
man?”

   “To be honest, I still don’t really know.”

   Trent moved close to Shawn and adjusted his friend’s uniform collar.
“Well, you certainly look very pretty. Do you have a date?” His tone was
dripping with condescension.

   Shawn slapped his hand away. “I have duty, not a date.”

   Trent stood back from Shawn and gave him an approving look. “Wow,
you’re really serious about this whole military thing, aren’t you?”

   “I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, remember?”

   “Yeah, I know. I guess it’s lucky for you that I decided to stick
around too.”

   “Um, you didn’t have a choice, either.”

   “Yeah, well…I keep telling myself this is all voluntary.”

   “Does it help?”

   “You mean does it help when I have an imbecile deck officer telling me
how to do my job? Or does it help when I want to see if I can land a wrench
right between his eyes?”

   “Yeah.”

   Trent shrugged. “No. It doesn’t. Guess that’s why he’s in the
infirmary and I’m here.”

   “You didn’t.” Shawn was incredulous.

   “I sure as hell did. It was a pretty nice throw, too, if I do say so
myself. He must have been…oh, twenty yards away.”

   Shawn shook his head in bewilderment. “You’re serious?”

   “Yep.” Trent was almost beaming with pride.

   “You should be in the brig, not up here gallivanting through the
passageways.”

   “Well, ‘should’ is such a subjective term,” Trent replied as he
casually leaned against the bulkhead. “I know I
should
be, but for some
reason I’m not. I mean, the MPs showed up, took me down to the lower levels,
and held me in the security office. I think I was there for about five minutes
before they said I was free to go, and that I should have you to thank for it.”

   Shawn narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been between a shower and a donut for
the last half hour.”

   “That’s nasty.”

   “No, you idiot. Not at the same time! I mean I’ve been busy, and I
didn’t do anything to get you out of trouble. Hell, I didn’t even know you were
being detained.”

   “Well, someone sprung me out. As soon as I was released, they said I
should report to you for a duty assignment.” He pondered the situation for a
moment before speaking again. “Do you think it was Melissa?”

   Shawn briefly wondered the same thing. “Unlikely. Besides, if she had,
she would have taken credit for it just to piss off Krif.”

   “Sounds like your kind of girl.”

   Shawn narrowed his eyes in frustration.

   Trent got the message:
back off
. “Okay, so if it wasn’t her,
then who was it?”

   “I don’t know. Then again, there’s a lot of that going on around here.
Melissa promised to keep me in the loop.”

   Trent put a playful hand on Shawn’s shoulder and stared longingly into
his eyes. “Do you trust her?”

   Shawn smirked at the bait Trent was offering. “Not on your life. But,
at the moment, she’s the only friend we have around here. We’ll play along for
now, both with her and with Krif.”

   Trent nodded. “Fine. I don’t like it, though.”

   “What else is new? How’s your stomach, by the way?”

   Trent rubbed his hands thoughtfully over his belly. “I’m a little
gassy, but I think I’m getting used to this whole space travel thing.”

   “Just don’t get
too
used to it. I’m hoping we won’t be here
very long.”

   “Do you have a good lead on where Admiral Graves is?”