The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) (14 page)

    
It was then that the shorter creature removed its helmet and addressed Shawn as
the two beings lumbered within earshot.

    
“Mister Kestrel?” he slithered in a guttural version of galactic standard that
left much to be desired. It’d sounded more like ‘
Mekster
Kestrok
.’

    
“Yeah, that’s me.”

    
“Excellent,” The shorter man continued, although Shawn had to strain his ears
to translate the noises into something recognizable. “Our employer wishes to
see you without any further delay.”

    
The captain stood motionless, trying not to betray any sign of apprehension on
his part.
Denarian’s
were well known for taking any
show of fear or other trepidation as a personal insult to them. As a culture,
they were some of the most renowned arms manufactures in the galaxy. They also
had the dubious reputation of being the coldest backstabbers in the galaxy—but
only when you refused to pay them. Needless to say, they were an aggressive and
hot-headed species—prerequisites for excellent thugs.

    
“I don’t recall an armed escort being a part of the deal,” Shawn said, careful
not to make any moves toward the sidearm he was glad he had under his
jacket. 

    
The taller alien gave its rifle a pump, charging up the internal magnetic
accelerator, but it was the shorter one that continued to speak. “The
arrangement has changed, Captain.”

    
In that fraction of a second, on a scale from one to ten, Shawn’s level of
nervousness had catapulted from a two to an eight. He only hoped it didn’t
show, considering his life might depend on it. 

    
The shorter creature spoke again, this time in a more insistent tone. “Mister
Kestrel, I repeat: you will come with us without any further delays.”

    
“I heard you the first time,” Shawn said calmly,
then
inclined his head slowly towards 
Sylvia’s Delight
. “I still have to
unload my cargo. And, by the looks of you two fine, upstanding gentleman, it
doesn’t seem like I’m going to have any help doing it.”

    
The shorter creatures face contorted in a fang lined sneer, probably its best
attempt at a smile. It was a grin that would give young children nightmares.
Without averting its marble-like yellow eyes from the captain, the short alien
raised its right claw, and flicked two of the three digits towards the Mark-IV.
Without additional warning, the taller, scar faced
Denarian
fired a single round into the air, the magnetically accelerated round sailing
into the air in a flash of brilliant light. 

    
Inside 
D
’s cockpit, where Melissa had been stealthily watching the
exchange through one of the side windows, she instinctively jumped back in
surprise at the weapons discharge. Lightly bumping her head against one of the
overhead consoles, she chided herself for being so easily startled. She
withdrew the small blaster Shawn had given her and, checking its charge,
crouched back down near the window.  

    
Outside, moments after the
Denarian
had discharged
his
weapon,
Shawn heard a distant, rumbling sound,
which was quickly followed by a slight vibration in the splintered concrete
under his boots. Three large trucks, most definitely military issue and not
looking at all like surplus, hovered slowly out of the warehouse behind the two
aliens. The trucks moved slowly past the captain, their hover jets kicking up
loose debris that spiraled around Shawn’s boots as the vehicles made their way
towards 
Sylvia’s Delight
. He turned his head to watch as the trucks
parked side-by-side, their canvas covered rears flinging open, and a pair of
armored creatures—more
Denarian’s
—exited from each.
The guards were followed by what looked like a handful of workers, representing
a half dozen species, which stood near the trucks and awaited their orders.

    
“As you can see, Mister Kestrel,” the short man slithered. “We have the
situation, and your cargo, well under control.”

    
Shawn tuned his attention from his ship and stepped slowly towards the shorter
of the two aliens. The tall scar faced
Denarian
quickly stepped between them, moving the barrel of his rifle down into Shawn’s
collar before the captain got too close. As if it were only a minor
inconvenience, the captain continued to step to within a breaths distance from
the taller alien, allowing the rifle’s muzzle to slip up to his neck and press
against the soft flesh under his chin.

    
From the command deck, Melissa felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. What
the hell are you doing, you idiot? He’s going to kill you!

    
Shawn looked squarely into the lidless yellow eyes of the alien. “If anything
happens to my ship—”

    
“Don’t concern yourself with it, 
friend
,” the shorter being
chuckled from his cohorts side. “You have more important things to think about
at the moment.”

    
Shawn shifted his
eyes,
glaring up to the unspeaking
scar faced being a moment longer, not willing to back down from the dangerous
looking creature. The contest lasted only a few seconds before the shorter
creature laughed, pulling its other clawed hand out of his pocket and gesturing
to a long, gleaming black limo that had appeared from nowhere.
“If you, and Miss Graves, will come with us please.”

    
Shawn tried to hide his surprise. How in the hell did they know she was on
board? Regardless, Shawn was convinced: Melissa Graves was bad luck. In her
defense, it probably came standard when you were born with a figure like hers.
Turning away from the scar faced
one,
he asked
innocently “I’m sorry. Whom did you say?”

    
The shorter creature leaned its head back and laughed energetically, which
sounded more like its mouth was full of spit. With lighting quick reflexes, it
swept its leg down and took Shawn’s feet out from underneath him. At nearly the
same moment the creature reached into hidden pockets inside its jacket and
withdrew two highly lethal sonic disruptor pistols, then aimed them directly at
Shawn’s head, which was now lying stunned on the hard sand.

    
The alien leaned down, placing
an
heavily armored knee
onto Shawn’s chest, and moved its face to within inches of the captain’s.
“Don’t make me ask again,
friend
.”

    
A dribble of the
Denarian’s
spit leaked onto Shawn’s
cheek, and all at once the captain was nearly overcome with nausea at the smell
of its breath. Before the captain could utter another word, the alien jerked
its head towards 
Sylvia’s Delight
. Shawn twisted his head to
follow, and saw Melissa crouching near the port hatch, pistol in hand and
pointing it directly at the
Denarian
. In her crouched
position, her white dress fluttered aimlessly around her knees in the light
wind. She was like an armed and dangerous angel, which to Shawn meant she must
have been an archangel. 

    
The
Denarian’s
’ eyes were glued to Melissa as it put
his blasters directly under Shawn’s chin. “Welcome to the party, Miss Graves.
Now please, lower your weapon.”

    
Shawn and Melissa sat in uncomfortable silence in the back of the hovering limo
as it sped away from the loading docks, leaving 
Sylvia’s Delight
 sitting
alone and unguarded on the landing pad. The shorter, talkative
Denarian
was piloting the craft while the scar faced one
was in the passenger seat, its rifle muzzle leaning casually against its
shoulder. Melissa cast her eyes from the passing buildings outside to the rear
view mirror affixed to the windscreen, only to lock eyes with the scaly driver
who was staring back at her. One eye squinted—probably the creature’s version
of a wink—and she immediately felt a cold shiver run up her spine. Melissa
decided then that looking out of her own window would be preferable to the
alternative for the time being. As the car moved through the thoroughfares of
downtown, Melissa watched children of various species playing on the sidewalks,
their parents trying desperately to keep them from wandering into the streets.
She glanced up to the building fronts and saw people bustling about on their
balconies, trying to make the best use of the last hours of daylight.

    
The car made an abrupt left turn, causing Shawn to slide across the slippery
leather of his seat until his hip touched Melissa’s. She turned away from the
window just in time to see him shuffle away uncomfortably,
then
craned her head over her shoulder to gaze out of the back window. Behind them
were the trucks carrying the weapons the aliens had offloaded from the Mark-IV.
Once free of the confines of downtown, the stone paved street made a twisting
course up a vegetation encrusted mountainside, and Melissa had to face forward
once more to quell a momentary onset of motion sickness.

    
“How did you know that she was in the ship?” Shawn asked to both aliens at
once.

    
In response, the driver let out a soft chuckle. “I am instructed to tell you
nothing, Mister Kestrel,” it slithered, not averting its gaze from the winding
path in front of the vehicle.

    
Melissa watched as the captain leaned comfortably back in his seat, as if his
curiosity had been sufficiently quenched for the next few moments.
Unfortunately, hers had not.

    
“What about you,” she asked to the scar faced passenger. “Don’t you ever
speak?”

    
The driver let out a sickly chuckle as the car approached a large iron gate at
the top of the hill,
then
slowed. The driver turned in
its seat to face Melissa. “Even if he still had his tongue in his mouth, Miss
Graves, he would tell you nothing.” Its long, forked tongue slithered out form
between his lips as if to make the point.

    
As soon as the vehicle came to a complete halt, the driver hastily exited,
leaving
scarface
to guard the passengers in
disturbing silence. An armed human appeared from behind the barred entrance,
dressed in the same apparel as the workers that had loaded the weapons at the
docks. “Mercenaries,” Shawn whispered just loud enough for Melissa to hear.
After a brief exchange of words with the
Denarian
,
the gate guard opened the entrance and the car was allowed to pass. A few more
minutes into their journey a large, gleaming white structure appeared in a
small clearing.

    
The building looked more like an elaborate mansion than the fortress of stone
Melissa envisioned it would appear like. By all accounts, it would have fit
well in any of the upscale neighborhoods on
Thress
,
and could easily have been mistaken for a southern mansion plucked right out of
First Earth’s nineteenth century. The sprawling courtyard, complete with
alabaster pillars and an expansive garden, was immaculately manicured. The
house itself was three stories tall, with an overall rectangular construction.
There were windows every few feet, and on every floor. The entrance to the
house, which had a large porch extending from the bottom of the second floor,
had two large French doors inlayed with frosted glass.

    
“Tell me again how you and this Toyotomi are acquainted?” Melissa asked as she
gazed at the structure.

    
“He was an intelligence officer during the war. We… crossed paths a few times.”

    
The hover car pulled under the overhang and stopped,
then
the
Denarian’s
exited the vehicle and moved to open
the doors for their respective passengers. When Shawn and Melissa had stepped
clear of the vehicle the shorter alien addressed them.

    
“Please, follow me.” As it stepped toward the opulent doors, the scar faced
alien, its rifle pointing loosely at them, fell in step behind.

    
The brightly lit interior of the mansion was ornately decorated in fine art
from across the sector. Melissa could see statues having both First and Second
Earth origins, pottery from ancient
Calmondi
, and
what appeared to be the delicately woven tapestries from the long extinct
Refarian’s
. The art was tastefully arranged so that it
flanked a wide staircase in the center of the room. Half way to the second
floor, the stairs split in half, with each heading off towards the east and
west wings of the house. The floors themselves were covered in a rose colored
hardwood that produced a clicking echo through the immense, museum like space
as Melissa’s chunky healed Mary Jane’s connected with its surface.

    
“Wait here,” the shorter alien told them, then disappeared through a door in
the right side of the foyer.

    
Shawn turned his head over his shoulder and noticed the taller alien was still
behind them, its rifle resting at its shoulder. A moment later, through the
same door the shorter creature had exited, a middle aged human male of Asian
descent appeared in a finely tailored black tuxedo, followed closely by their
shorter
Denarian
escort. The human held out his arms
as he approached them.

    
“Captain Kestrel, it is delightful to see you once more, my old friend,” he
said as he stepped up and embraced Shawn in a firm handshake. The captain
hesitantly returned the gesture and then stepped back slightly.

    
“You too, Toyo.”
Shawn turned toward his companion.
“And this is—”

    
“Melissa Graves,” Toyo said as he extended his hand slowly. She reached out and
the Japanese man took her hand, then bowed slightly and kissed it. “I am
Toyotomi Katashi, but you may call me Toyo. It is a great honor to finally meet
you.”