In the Presence of My Enemies (6 page)

   Shawn beamed. “Believe me, Colonel, I’ll show you out myself with the greatest of pleasure.”

   Melissa coughed uncomfortably, and McDermott’s jaw all but hit the deck. Shawn approved of the expression.

   “Commander Kestrel, did you get the colonel’s food processing unit on board?” McDermott finally asked.

   “My technician and I were just discussing that, weren’t we
, Sergeant?”

   “Indeed we were, sir,” Trent said with a nod.

   “And I believe that we have it in perfect working order.” Shawn couldn’t sound more pleased with himself if he tried.

   Tausan let out another series of pops and gulps. “I will be the judge of that.”

   “If you insist,” Shawn said, then turned to Trent. “You heard the . . . uh . . . man. Go grab him some lunch.”

   A moment later, Trent bounded down the cargo ramp, his nose upturned and pointed away from the grotesque
-smelling dish.

   When the smell wafted past Melissa’s nose, she instinctively tried to pinch it shut, etiquette be damned. “Oh, dear
God,” she murmured and turned away.

   Even the prideful
ambassador was looking a little green around the gills, and Shawn surmised it was all the man could do not to vomit all over the hangar deck.

   Trent cautiously handed the food to Tausan, who gave it a tentative sniff before instantly downing the entire canister.

   If the sounds coming from McDermott’s innards were any indication, chaos on a diplomatic scale was about to ensue.

   Tausan looked from Shawn to McDermott,
and then to Trent. The colonel grunted, then stepped within inches of Trent. “You have done well, technician. In fact, I believe you have improved the recipe.”

   Apparently the colonel’s breath left much to be desired, and poor Trent looked as if he might pass out at any moment.

   “Don’t . . . don’t mention it, Colonel.”

   Tausan then turned to the rest of the assembly. “You would all do well to follow this human’s example. His dedication to his craft is to be rewarded.” The Kafaran then turned
back to Trent, eyed him approvingly, and stormed into
D
’s cargo hold.

   Shawn, amazed, got to Trent’s side just as the man was about to collapse. “Good job, buddy. Whatever you did, you sure made his day.”

   “Remember how I said there was some guesswork in installing that food unit? Well, let’s just say I had to add some special ingredients and leave it at that.”

   Shawn slapped him hard on the back, nearly doubling the man over. “Keep up the good work. Your dedication to your craft should be rewarded.” Then
he glided past him on his way to the control deck.

   Ambassador McDermott was next, holding his clenched fist close to his mouth. Fearing that something might blow past his lips, he simply offered Trent a thumbs-up as he
, too, entered the cargo hold.

   On her way up, Melissa look at Trent apologetically, then gently brushed his arm. “Try not to think about it
—ever again.”

   Behind her, and the last to enter
Sylvia’s Delight
, was the lone Marine assigned to the team. Sergeant Wilcox, dressed in full armor and with his rifle slung across his back, locked eyes with Trent and then shook his head. “You really need to man up and grow a pair.”

   “Yeah…that’s what my mom used to tell me.”

   “You should have listened. Try coming down to the platoon barracks sometimes. You’ll smell worse things than that Kafaran food.”

   When the
sergeant was in, Trent pushed the actuator and drew the cargo ramp up.

   “Hatch secured, Skipper,” he called into the intercom.

   “Good,” Shawn replied. “Double check that everything is locked down tight and then get up to the flight deck.”

   “Yes, sir,” Trent replied, offering the microphone a lazy salute. Then he passed out.

* * *

   Three hours after departing the
Rhea
, Shawn found himself relaxing comfortably in his cabin. On their current course heading, the journey to Rugor would roughly take two days, and Shawn decided to take the first few hours of the journey to catch up on some rest. Lying flat on his bed, he was looking out the view port on the opposite wall, drifting in and out of consciousness, when there was a knock at his door. Not wanting to get up, he flipped a switch near his bedside that allowed the door to slide open.

   “I’m not bothering you, am I?” Melissa asked as she poked her head into the small compartment.

   “I thought you were flying the ship,” Shawn asked groggily as he rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t hit anything, did you?”

   She looked at him dubiously. “In space? We’re in the middle of nowhere. What could I possibly hit?”

   Pivoting, Shawn sat upright. “We’re not
exactly
in the middle of nowhere. Rugor is even closer to the Kafaran border than Second Earth is.”

   “What has that got to do with it?”

   “This whole region of space was pretty active during the Galactic War: lots of small skirmishes, and quite a few major battles. There’s bound to be some wreckage floating around out here.”

   “I didn’t see anything on the sensors a few moments ago when I left. I’m sure we’re going to be just fine.”

   Shawn braced himself against the bed, then looked around the compartment cautiously.

   “What are you doing?” Melissa asked.

   “As soon as you say something is ‘fine’ the ceiling usually caves in on me. I’m just trying to be ready.”

   “I didn’t come down here to get ridiculed,” she said with a scowl.

   “Then what’s so important?”

   “Lunch, Commander. You need to eat.”

   Shawn let out a heavy sigh. “When did you become my mother?”

   “When you started acting like an adolescent.”

   It was Shawn’s turn to scowl. “I don’t see any trays in your hands.”

   “We’ll be dining in the passenger lounge.”

   “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it referred to so formally,” he said with a bemused smile.

   Melissa stepped closer to the bed and outstretched her hand. “Come on, you.”

* * *

   Looking around the cramped lounge, Shawn realized that he was the last of the crew to enter the compartment. Everyone, save for Colonel Tausan, was seated around the small table that Melissa had somehow decorated with candles Shawn didn’t know he had. The Kafaran representative was standing some feet away, motionless near the sole starboard view port.  

  
Crew? More like a ragtag group of the best and worst representatives in all of Beta Sector.

  
Sitting down between Trent and Melissa, Shawn was amazed at the variety of food Melissa had prepared. His amazed look wasn’t lost on her.

   “I managed to acquire a few supplies before we departed the
Rhea
,” she said, addressing his approving look.

   “I can see that.”

   “She’s a hell of a cook, too,” Trent mumbled with a mouth half full of food.

   Reaching for a plate of his own, Shawn turned briefly to his mechanic. “Shouldn’t you be up manning the helm?”

   “Ship’s on autopilot,” Trent muttered, small particles of chicken flying out with each syllable.

   Dodging a rather slimy projectile, Shawn offered his old friend a napkin, which Trent quickly declined with a raised hand.

   “No thanks. Got one already.”

   Shaking his head, Shawn began dishing a large helping of food onto his plate. He hadn’t realized how famished he was. “How’s our heading?”

   Trent took a large swallow of water before speaking, then tried unsuccessfully to stop a rather large belch from emanating deep within his innards. “On course and steady.”

   Shawn nodded slowly. “ETA for our next jump?”

   “I set the computer to notify me here when we get close to the gate. Shouldn’t be more than ten or fifteen minutes.”

   “Good,” Shawn said, casting his eyes to his plate in a moment of silence before speaking again. “Good. I want us both up there when we reach—
,” Shawn began, then looked to the Kafaran staring silently out the view port. “When we reach our destination.”

   The pause wasn’t lost on Melissa. “Problem, Commander?”

   Shawn deposited a forkful of corn into his mouth. “No, no problem. What makes you ask?”

   “Well, I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that I’d like to know where we’re going.”

   “Rugor Prime,” he said after swallowing. “I’m fairly certain you got that memo.”

   She rolled her eyes at his aloofness. “No. I mean, where is the jump
gate located?”

   Shawn took another helping of food, chewed slowly, and then swallowed. Apparently everyone except Trent
did
want to know, because—save for Tausan—they were all silently staring at him.

   “What?” he asked.

   “To my people, it is called Grek Llar.” The Kafaran colonel spoke quietly. Apparently, his translator was keyed to such subtle nuances in his voice.

   “Grek Llar?” Ambassador McDermott repeated. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it, Colonel.”

   “That’s because we humans don’t have a habit of naming our star systems using Kafaran ideology,” Shawn snapped tersely. “Grek Llar is the name of a Kafaran deity, or so I’ve been told.”

   “Your information is correct, Commander Kestrel,”
the Kafaran replied, still looking out of the view port. “Although your claim as to the rightful possessor of the system is somewhat dubious.”

   “And what system would that be?” Melissa asked Shawn. “In
human
terms, that is.”

   “Delta Canaras.”

   Sergeant Wilcox, still dressed in his fatigues, turned a somber face away from his plate. “As in . . . the Battle of Delta Canaras?”

   “The very same,” Shawn replied, finishing the last of his meal. “We’ll be passing near the coreward edge of the battlefield very shortly.”

   “The area is sacred to the Kafarans,” Tausan said, again without facing the crew. “I’d advise that ‘passing near’ is all you do.”

   “Last I checked, the Kafaran
s have no claim to Delta Canaras, Colonel,” Shawn said to the Kafaran’s back.

   Tausan turned slowly to face Shawn. “And we are far removed from Unified space,
Commander
.”

   “That’s true, but I distinctly remember the Kafaran
s abandoning this area after Sector Command forces gave them a pretty good pasting.”

   Tausan grunted. “That, Commander Kestrel, is a matter of opinion. As I recall, Sector Command elements were all but wiped out by nearly half as many Kafaran warships. They did not abandon the area, as you say it. They merely departed because there were no humans left to kill.”

   “Gentleman,” Ambassador McDermott calmly injected, trying to stop the conversation from escalating.

   “Sector Command, and by default the Unified Government, is more than just humanity,” Shawn retorted.

   “Immaterial, Commander,” Tausan said calmly. “Your race is the majority, and by default the strongest voice.”

   “That’s how
your
race sees it, Kafaran. Not mine.”

   “Gentleman, please,” McDermott all but shouted, brining all eyes squarely on himself in the process. “This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. For the time being, the Kafarans
’ Army of Light and the Unified Government are united against a common foe. I will not let either of you jeopardize this mission over your own personal feelings against each other.”

   “Well said,” Melissa chimed in, which elicited a cold stare from Shawn.

   Sufficiently motivated by her agreement, the ambassador continued. “I am, by nature, a diplomat, not a military man. Far more good has come into this universe over diplomacy than warfare. However, I am the ranking official on board, and I’ve been placed in that position by both of our governments. I can’t order you two to be friends, nor do I expect that you’ll be bunkmates anytime soon, but I will tell you to leave whatever bigotry or hatred you have against one another in your staterooms. You
will
tolerate—and cooperate—with each other from here on out. Understood?”

   Trent turned to Shawn, half-expecting his friend to reach over and throttle the ambassador just for good measure. He was shocked when instead Shawn spoke.

   “I know my place. I don’t need to be put there by you.”

   McDermott was far from convinced. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

   “As much of one as you’ll get out of me.”

   “Colonel Tausan?”

   The Kafaran’s only response was to grunt, then turn back to the small view port.