The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) (24 page)

    
The captain dispensed a quick look over to Melissa. “Hit that blinking green
button over there.
The one on the rightmost panel.”

    
Melissa looked to the panel in question and saw a score of blinking green
buttons interspersed with blue ones, yellow ones, white ones, and a few red
ones that were unblinking. “Which green one?  There must be ten of those
over here!”

    
“There are twelve of them, to be exact. The one I’m talking about is the one
that’s on the top right corner of the far right control panel.”

    
Melissa found the control and pushed it. Nothing happened. The Temkorian was
still on their tale. She feared that this was just another part of the vessel
that wasn’t working correctly.

    
“What did I just do?”

    
“You turned on the intercom. I can’t take my hands off these controls,” he said
as he leaned in closer to the microphone. “Trent, what’s going on with the
engines?”

    
“I can’t believe it,” the mechanic shouted angrily through the speaker. “I just
can’t believe it. I spent all that time repairing the ship just to have you
blow it up again. And there’s no way you’re getting out of this argument,
because we both know who’s to blame for this.”

    
“Quit your yammering,” Shawn shouted back in frustration. “I need engine
status, now!”

    
“Overheating fast, Captain.
Starboard will go critical
in about five minutes.”

    
“Critical?” Melissa asked apprehensively. “That’s bad, right?”

    
Trent replied dryly through the speaker. “Last time I checked, ma’am,
blowing up was never a good thing.”

    
“No argument there,” Melissa offered ironically.

    
Trent’s voice crackled back through the speaker. “You could always try slowing
down, Skipper. That might save us the trouble of dying in a huge fiery
explosion.”

    
“Great advice, pal.
If I slow down we’re goners and if
I keep going we’ll be just as dead.”

    
Melissa checked the tightness of her seat harness. “Remind me to file a formal
complaint against the Old Flamingo with the Intergalactic Better Business
Bureau when I get to heaven.”

    
“We’re not dead yet,” Shawn replied defiantly. He watched the radar screen as
the missile got closer, knowing he had only a small amount of time before it caught
up with him. He turned the ship to port,
then
kicked
in the engines over burners. Normally used for a quick atmospheric
deceleration, they provided the Mark-IV just enough of an advantage to reach
his goal: the remains of the long dead moon circling the planet.

    
Melissa looked out of the view port in horror as the debris field became
larger. “Are you out of your mind?”

    
“I might just be,” he gritted, holding the stick tightly and angling directly
for the first large fragment that came their way.

    
It was immense, easily the size of a small mountain. It was a jagged, rust
brown chunk of the long pulverized moon spinning slowly on its own axis. Shawn
flipped 
Sylvia’s Delight
 under the asteroid, then pulled up
sharply and skirted the contours of its belly. The missile was still following
him precisely.

    
“It’s still back there,” Melissa shouted as she watched the sensor scope above
her head. “Got any more bright ideas before we all die?”

    
Shawn pointed the Mark-IV towards a mile wide cloud of smaller debris, the
largest piece no bigger than a baseball. He flipped a handful of silver toggles
on the overhead console, which was followed by a series of thumps reverberating
across the overhead.

    
“What was that?”

    
“Counter measures.
A little present, courtesy of Toyotomi.
They should attract the missile and—” before he could finish there was a bright
burst on the scope,
then
the missile was gone. 
Shawn looked to Melissa triumphantly. “See, I told you we’d be fine.”

    
She smirked at him, then turned forward and let out a scream of horror. “Watch
it!”

    
Another mountains rock quickly spun into their path, and it was all Shawn could
do to bank ninety degrees and push the stick down, expertly sailing under the
rocky mass. A millimeter closer and the asteroid would’ve scratched the paint.
The captain righted the craft and slowly maneuvered the ship to the fringes of
the debris field where the particles were smaller—or so he hoped.

    
Another bust of green plasma told Shawn that his friends were still out there,
and on cue one of the three remaining fighters pulled away from the group and
got in behind Shawn. Instantly formulating a plan, he reached to his left and
flipped a series of controls.

    
Melissa watched as a small panel directly in front of her slid sideways into an
alcove as a control stick, identical to the one held tightly in Shawn’s hands,
folded out and stopped ahead of her tightly locked knees.

    
“What’s this for?” she asked, waving at the control stick with disapproval.

    
He flipped up several more switches on the control panel to his left—or was he
switching them off? Melissa couldn’t tell from where she sat.

    
“You need to take control of the ship for a second.” Shawn reached across his
lap, unbuckled his seatbelt and began to rise from his chair.

    
“What?” she exclaimed, shocked at the overall casualness of his statement. “I
haven’t a clue what I’m doing.”

    
“Well, that makes two of us. Just keep doing what I was doing and don’t stop.”
As he drifted passed her, he gently squeezed her shoulder, then quickly
retreated through the compartment doors without another word.

    
“Wait! Captain! Get back here this instant!” she said as she turned to look
over her shoulder, but the door had already closed behind him.

    
“That’s great,” she mumbled to herself as another volley of laser blasts
rocketed past the ship. “Do what I was doing”, she mocked the captain’s words
with a bassoon tone. “That’s perfect. What on Third Earth does that mean?”

    
The soothing voice of
D
’s onboard computer took the opportunity to chime
in. “Based on past flight logs, the best course of action is to damage the ship
as much as possible, while simultaneously breaking every interstellar flight
rule, in an attempt to safeguard all human occupants while completely
disregarding my advice.”

    
Another series of blasts soared past the ship, sending teeth jarring shudders
throughout the hull.  Melissa looked down to the control panel for an
instant. “Well, since you’re so smart, what advice would you give in a
situation like this?”

    
The computer was oddly silent for a moment. “No one has ever asked me that
before. Stand by while results are tabulated.”

*          
*           *

    
After exiting the command deck, Shawn sprinted through the small passenger
lounge area, then down the narrow passageway adjacent to the berthing spaces to
finally end up at the first of two consecutive air lock doors that led to the
aft cargo area. He turned to the right before reaching the airlock, and before
him was a yellow door with a band of alternating yellow and red stripes framing
its outer edges, the words ‘Engine Room: One’ painted across its surface. He
entered a five digit code into an illuminated keypad and the door slid open to
reveal a passageway that abruptly turned left after only a few paces into the
tight space.  He jogged around the bend, then down the few steps that led
to the long, narrow port side engine compartment that Trent had affectionately
named ‘the port bowling alley.’

    
To Shawn’s right was the ships primary jump drive computer—a smooth, towering
monstrosity of rounded corners and sharply cut lines, undulating with layers of
flashing lights and crisscrossed wires that fed the ships various power needs.
Beyond it was one of the two drive engines that were currently on the verge of
melting down. Barely audible in the cockpit, the engines were a whining,
writhing thing in the small engine room. Some parts
turned,
others
pistoned
up and down, while still others
oscillated. The whole of the thing was encrusted with status lights and
conduits running in a half dozen different directions. All in all, it looked
too big for the compartment that housed it, but it did its job well anyway,
despite the fact that it was a tight fit. Amazing as it was to watch, it was
even more extraordinary that Trent knew what each component did, and how best
to keep it doing what it was born to do.

    
Currently, the mechanic was monitoring the cooling gauges on a series of
monitors as he tried in vain to keep the engine from internally melting into a
puddle of useless technological goo—again.

    
Trent turned around and gave Shawn a question look. “Sorry, Skipper. I
don’t have time for a guided tour right now and—oh, wait—never mind,” Trent
said, scanning for something over the captain’s shoulder. “You seemed to have
left your little buddy up in the cockpit. I swear, I think that woman is part
Velcro,” he turned back to his instruments and, placing his hand against the
graphical representation of a control knob, turned it as if it were a physical
thing, releasing a steady stream of super-coolant into the port flux isolator.
“What’s
shakin
’, Captain?”
Trent
then asked nonchalantly.

    
“We are, if you haven’t noticed.”

    
Trent Maddox turned around and went wide eyed with derision. “We are? Oh my
God! You’re right! What are we going to do? Wait! I know,” he said with a snap
of his fingers. “Let’s get Trent to pull something out of his—”

    
“Calm down, will you? Did you forget to take your pills today?”

    
Trent dismissed him with an innocent shrug. “Sorry.
One
too many donuts for breakfast this morning.
What do you need, anyway?
I’m a little busy keeping this thing together.”

    
“I need your keys, old buddy.” Shawn said, holding out his upturned hand.

    
“Keys?
For what?”

    
“That toolbox you got stowed away on the cargo deck.”

    
“You picked a fine time to fix that broken toilet seat. Although, that last
maneuver you did almost gave me my own little accident, if you know what I
mean?”

    
Shawn wasted little time in punching Trent in the shoulder for his crassness.
“Just give me the damn keys, and make it snappy, will you?”

    
Trent reached into his left trouser pocket. After a moment of searching he
reached into his right pocket. “Hum, not there either.”

    
“Are you serious?”

    
Trent continued talking to himself as if Shawn wasn’t even there. “Now,
where did I put those?” he asked himself, patting his chest pockets and the
back of his trousers. The moment seemed to stretch on for eternity.

    
“If this was a woman’s contact number, you’d know right where it was.”

    
“If I had a woman’s number I wouldn’t be out here in this thing with you and
little miss sunshine up there,” he inclined his head towards the cockpit as he
continued to rummage through his pockets. “I’d be on the beach, sipping mimosas
or some other kind of frou-frou drink, getting fanned by a giant palm leaf
while having my feet rubbed by some exotic woman named Natasha.”

    
Shawn could only roll his eyes, wondering if Trent meant that he wanted a
single, multi-limbed woman to do all of that simultaneously. “You do realize we
haven’t got all day?”

    
Then the epiphany hit Trent and he snapped his fingers in delight. “Oh yeah,
that’s right. The keys are in my jacket pocket. It’s hanging on a hook right
between the tool box and a small paper bag that says ‘I should have listened to
my father and become an accountant’.”

    
Shawn lightly slapped Trent on the face. “Thanks buddy. This might just save
our lives,” then he turned to rush out of the space.

    
“Hey, just remember to put everything back where you got it from. I’ve got a
filing system, you know,” Trent cried uselessly to Shawn as the captain whisked
himself out of the bowling alley and back to the airlock.   

*          
*           *

    
Rushing up to the first of the two airlock doors, Shawn speedily punched in the
access code to command it open, but the computer responded with a chipper, yet
negative reply to his benign request. Two more times he attempted to enter in
the correct sequence of numbers, twice more he failed, and twice more the
computer cheerily responded that he was denied access. In his nervousness he
realized he was probably hitting the numbers too quickly, and that some things
in the ship responded more positively to a slower and gentler approach. The
ship shuddered again—signaling another near miss by the Temkorian’s weapons.
Shawn had to give credit to Melissa; she appeared to be doing an admirable job
of avoiding the plasma blasts.

    
Knowing, however, that they’re luck was rapidly running out, Shawn held his
hand to his mouth and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
He reached out and slowly typed in the sequence once more. This time the
computer blissfully accepted the input and the doors began to part agonizingly
slow. In his haste, Shawn turned sideways and dashed through them when they
were wide enough apart to accommodate his frame. 

    
Trent’s jacket was exactly where he said it was, although the paper bag he’d
described was curiously missing. Shawn quickly began to turn each of the
pockets inside-out in his search, and it was in the last of them that he found
his prey. The captain grasped the keys triumphantly for a brief second.