Solfleet: Beyond the Call

by Glenn Smith

  Major Ross appeared suddenly from around a blind corner just ahead and approached to within thirty feet before Dylan realized who he was. By the time he did recognize him, there was nothing he could do to avoid him without looking suspicious and drawing attention to himself. The officer was not only too close to dodge and getting closer by the second, he was also looking right at him. Having inadvertently made eye contact with him, Dylan didn’t have a choice. He was going to have to face him and hope for the best.

  “Good morning, Major,” he said, nodding as they passed each other, doing what he could to disguise his voice and make it sound older—speaking with a higher pitch, a scratchier tone, and with less force behind it.

  The officer nodded back to him as he walked right by, but just when Dylan thought he’d gotten by and was safe, the officer called out from behind him, “Just a minute, sir.”

  Dylan stopped and swore under his breath, but then turned quickly and gazed at the major through questioning eyes, before he had a chance to grow suspicious.

  The officer walked up to him, cautiously but with authority, and said, “Sorry to bother you, sir.”

  Dylan cleared his throat. “That’s quite all right, Major,” he responded in his disguised voice. “It’s no bother. What can I do for you?”

  “My name’s Major Frank Ross,” he began. “I’m chief of security for the yards, so I make it my business to acquaint myself with everyone assigned to this facility.”

  “That’s an awful lot of acquaintances, Major,” Dylan pointed out, putting on a friendly smile. Ross would already know that, of course, but Dylan had wanted to make sure the fact was fresh in his mind.

  “Yes, sir, it is,” Ross agreed. But then, as though that fact meant absolutely nothing at all, he said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Have you just recently arrived?”

  “Why yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I have,” Dylan answered. And then, figuring that if he didn’t throw himself into the part completely, and make it convincing, Ross might start getting suspicious, he extended his artificially aged hand as though he were meeting the major for the very first time, which was of course exactly what his elderly alter ego was doing. “My name is Doctor David Baxter, sir. Starship design engineer. I’ve only been here about a week and haven’t started on the job yet, so it doesn’t surprise me at all that you’ve never seen me before.” A week? Yeah, that was good. Enough time for an older man to have started getting used to any change in time he might have had to face, yet recent enough for him to still be a little tired from traveling.

  “You look tired, Doctor,” Ross told him, shaking the proffered hand. “Have you had your post-flight physical yet?”

  “No, sir,” Dylan answered, shaking his head. “No I haven’t. But I’m on my way to your medbay to take care of that very thing right now.”

  “All right.” He released Dylan’s hand. “I’m sorry to have delayed you, sir. I won’t hold you up any longer.”

  Dylan waved off the apology. “That’s all right, Major. I don’t much like taking physical exams anyway. All that poking and prodding and bending and twisting. Makes me feel like a damn fresh-baked pretzel.”

  Ross laughed. Whether that was to be polite or because he actually thought Dylan’s joke was funny, there was no way to know. Nor did it matter at all, as long as he’d relaxed and let his guard down a little bit. “I know what you mean, sir.”

  “Yes, well... I guess I’ll be on my way then. Get the damn thing over with as it were. It was nice to meet you, Major.”

  “And you, too, Doctor. Welcome to the yards, and have a nice day.”

  “Thank you, sir. You do the same.”

  Ross turned and walked away without so much as a single quick glance backward. Dylan sighed with relief as he turned and headed down the corridor in the opposite direction. To his own amazement his disguise had just passed what was most likely going to be its biggest test. If it could fool Ross, it could fool anyone.

  Chapter 32

  There it was, just ahead at the end of the corridor. Medbay—the shipyard’s main hospital and medical research laboratory combined into one large facility and staffed by both military and civilian personnel. By design, it had been built deep inside the facility’s central structure as far away from both the military and civilian docking areas as possible, but easily accessible from all areas in what was the most heavily protected area of the shipyard.

  Dylan didn’t intend to go inside. He just wanted to approach close enough to the entrance to ensure that anyone who might pass him in the corridors would assume that was where the old man they’d seen was going, just in case any of them happened to be questioned about him later. And plenty of people had seen him. Chief among them, of course, was Major Ross, whom Dylan knew he could count on to not forget exactly when and where they’d crossed paths.

  With his deception virtually assured, or at least as close to assured as it was going to get, he slowed his pace to a near hobble, hoping and waiting for one brief moment when he might find himself alone in the corridor, or at least to everyone’s back. He was nearly close enough to medbay for the doors to open before that moment came, but when it finally did he backed away and ducked down the last cross corridor. He hurried to the nearest maintenance crawlway, took one last look around to make sure no one was watching him, and then quickly climbed inside.

  Doubling back toward the military docking ports, he made his way through the labyrinth-like network of maintenance tubes and access tunnels as quickly as he could, but the low ceilings forced him to crawl on his hands and knees for most of the way and he had to be very careful not to make too much noise, so ‘as quickly as he could’ turned out to be not nearly as quickly as he would have liked.

  By the time he reached the area of dry-dock 12-B, fatigue had finally caught up with him and he felt a strong desire to strangle whoever the idiots were who had designed the place with maintenance tubes and crawlways instead of corridors that people could actually stand up in and walk through. His knees were sore and tender to the touch and the muscles in his arms and legs, not to mention those in his neck and back, were beginning to cramp to the point where he was starting to feel less like a man of twenty-nine and more like the much older gentleman he was impersonating. Worst of all, his facial appliances weren’t very porous, so he was beginning to sweat underneath them. He could only hope that they would stay in place long enough for him to finish doing what he had to do and make it back to his quarters.

  If only he’d brought a small bottle of the adhesive with him.

  He stopped about twenty feet short of the end in what must have been the narrowest part of the crawlway and lay down to rest, just for a moment, though the temptation to lie there and go to sleep for a while was strong. He knew, though, that despite his pain and exhaustion he had to press on for just a little while longer. He’d have plenty of time to rest later, after he finished.

  He yawned, then lifted himself back up onto his hands and knees and crept forward again as quietly as he could.

  As soon as he reached the heavily insulated door at the end of the crawlway, he released the latch, slowly, and gently pushed the door to the left, cracking it open ever so slightly. Then he focused all of his attention on the corridor beyond the outer screen. He listened carefully for footsteps or conversations, or any other sounds that might indicate someone was moving around or working nearby. He listened for several long moments, barely breathing for fear of making too much noise himself, but he didn’t hear anything. Except for the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, all was quiet. Chances were good that the coast was clear and that it was safe for him to climb out.

  He pushed the door open the rest of the way, slowly, as quietly as he could, then slipped his fingers through the holes in the outer plastisteel screen, pressed his palms firmly against it, and pushed. Nothing happened. He pushed harder, and still the screen failed to open. He sighed... quietly. Just what he needed—to crawl halfway through the shipyard o
n hands and knees through dozens of cramped tubes and crawlways, only to find himself trapped just meters away from his destination. He pushed again, harder, and then harder still until he slid backwards, and still that stubborn screen refused to open.

  He paused again to consider his options, not that he had very many. Actually, he had two that he could think of. First, he could backtrack. He could make his way to the next access point and hopefully find a more cooperative screen there. But what if he found people there as well? A more cooperative screen wouldn’t do him any good if there were personnel in the area. He had to reach the Albion and get in and out and back to his quarters without being seen. And frankly, he wasn’t so sure his knees could take any more crawling anyway. His second and only other option was to keep working on the screen right there in front of him.

  He decided to go with option number two.

  Hoping that he wouldn’t cramp up or pull a muscle while he folded himself in half, he lay down on his stomach and rolled up onto his right side, pulled his knees up to his chest, and then forced his feet up past his head. No cramps. No muscles pulled. Yet. He paused to rest for a moment and once more the temptation to let himself drift off to sleep presented itself, but as tired as he was, he knew that he couldn’t give in to that temptation. Instead, he drew a deep breath and forced himself to sit up... and promptly whacked the back of his head against the ceiling. For one gut-wrenching moment he feared that he might not be able to unfold himself. An intense sense of claustrophobia surged through him like a million volts of electricity, but calm persistence quickly won out over blind panic, thanks in part to some of the mental disciplines that Marissa had taught him, and he managed to straighten himself out and lie back.

  Poor Marissa, he reflected as he lay there, not really wanting to move. Corporal Marissa Ortiz had been one of the most accurate snipers in the entire Solfleet Marine Corps, and probably the most beautiful one as well. Dylan had been proud to have her in his squad, despite the almost tangible sexual tension that had existed between the two of them.

  How long had it been since that fateful night on Cirra when they’d nearly lost their lives together? Four months? Five? He hadn’t spoken to her since she left the hospital and returned to Earth. He’d called her once, during his convalescence, but her mother had answered that call and had explained to him that Marissa had decided to put her life as a Marine behind her and move on, and that she didn’t want to hear from her former comrades anymore. He’d tried to persuade her to put her daughter on, just so he could say good-bye, but she’d refused and then cut him off without another word.

  How was she doing in her new life? Had her scars finally healed—the emotional ones as well as the physical? Had her beauty been restored? How was her replacement heart holding out? Had she been able to resume her active lifestyle at all? Was she happy?

  And what about the Marines who’d died that night? How were their families coping with their losses?

  Sadly, he would probably never know the answers to any of those questions.

  He pushed those painful memories to the back of his mind, reminding himself of where and more importantly when he was. And then it dawned on him that right now, in 2168, none of that had happened yet. Marissa hadn’t been hurt yet. None of his Marines had been wounded or killed. None of them had even joined the Marines yet. Hell, most of them weren’t old enough to start school and the privates hadn’t even been born yet. Given all that, there was probably a very real chance that by completing his mission successfully, by preventing Excalibur’s destruction and changing the course of the war, he might actually prevent their deaths. Those they’d suffered under his leadership, at least.

  He drew a series of three deep breaths, exhaling slowly to calm himself down, steadying his breathing, decreasing his heart rate, and relaxing those overworked muscles that felt on the verge of cramping again. Then he listened once more for any noise in the corridor. Still quiet. He wormed his way closer to the screen, drew his knees up and his feet back, and then kicked out at the screen. It cracked under the force of the sudden impact—the plastisteel must have been badly fatigued—and then slowly swung open, inward, its old neglected hinges creaking, sounding a lot like a woman’s frightened scream in the relative quiet.

  Dylan laid his head back and sighed. Inward. The screen had swung inward. No wonder he hadn’t been able to push it open. Idiot!

  He lifted his butt up off the floor and crab-walked on his sore elbows and feet the last few strides to the lip of the crawlway, his strained muscles trembling and threatening to fail him with every step of the way. He practically fell out into the corridor, but somehow managed to land on his feet. He reached back and pulled the screen closed behind him, pressed the button on the wall to close the crawlway access door, and then tiptoed quickly away.

  It felt good to stand upright again.

  He found a utility closet, ducked inside, and then closed the door, plunging himself into total darkness. He pulled his handcomp out from under his sweater and searched with his fingers for the button that would turn it on. He found it easily enough, and as soon as he pressed it the device’s multi-colored display filled the closet with a ghostly rainbow glow.

  He set the unit to interface with a mainframe computer. The screen responded with...

  IDENTIFY SOURCE MAINFRAME

  A list of all operational mainframes within the handcomp’s range, including that of the starcruiser U.E.F.S. Albion, appeared below the instruction. Relieved, though a little surprised to see that the vessel’s system was still online, he selected it.

  THIS UNIT DOES NOT APPEAR ON VESSEL INVENTORY

  ACCESS UNAUTHORIZED

  DO YOU WISH TO OVERRIDE ?

  AFFIRMATIVE

  NEGATIVE

  Dylan keyed in the “AFFIRMATIVE” command to override.

  ENTER ACCESS CODE: _ _ _ _ _ _ _

  Dylan wiped a sweaty palm on his trousers, glanced at his watch, and then keyed in the seven digit code that would give him access to all of the Albion’s command functions, assuming of course that the dock master hadn’t lied to him. He hesitated for one brief moment—God only knew what might happen if he did lie—and then tapped the ‘ENTER’ pad.

  The screen immediately went black. Dylan waited for what felt like several minutes, but nothing else happened. The screen remained black, as if the unit had shut down. Were it not for the fact that the indicator lights were still glowing, he would have thought it had. What could have happened? Had the dock master lied to him after all? No. No way. He’d been too afraid to lie. Dylan felt sure the man had given him the real code. But what other possibility was there? Had someone discovered what he was doing? Had they cut his link to the ship’s computer? Were they coming after him even now? If so, and if they caught him, he’d probably never get another chance. Better to abort now and try again later.

  He counted off five more seconds and was just about to power the handcomp down and withdraw when the screen suddenly came back to life, displaying...

  U.E.F.S. ALBION

  COMMAND FUNCTION MASTER MENU

  SELECT COMMAND FUNCTION

  ...with the main menu appearing underneath. Dylan drew a deep breath and exhaled with relief. He was safe… at least for the time being. Perhaps the ship’s computer system had been on standby. It made sense, given that the ship was in dry-dock for the long-term. That could account for the delay. Whatever the case, he’d accessed the system. He could proceed now.

  He scanned down the list of command functions, highlighted ‘DOCKING TUNNEL’ and pressed ‘ENTER,’ and then tapped in a series of commands. Seconds later the screen indicated that access to the vessel had been granted. The time to board the Albion had arrived.

  * * *

  Major Ross strolled into his office and closed the door, sat down at his desk, and leaned back in his chair to mull over that chance encounter he’d had a little while ago near the medbay with that old starcruiser design engineer, Doctor David Baxter. Something about it
bothered him. More precisely, something about him bothered him, and had since the moment he first laid eyes on him. The old man hadn’t just looked tired. He’d looked ghostly pale, as though he were ill. Might he have inadvertently brought some kind of infectious bug into the shipyard with him from wherever it was he’d come from? With all the sicknesses and diseases that still hadn’t been wiped out on Earth, not to mention all those from other worlds, that was a distinct possibility. And in an enclosed environment like the shipyards... well... It was better to be safe, he decided, than to risk some kind of epidemic.

  He reached for his comm-panel, opened a channel, and called, “Security to Medbay.”

  A moment passed, and then, “Medbay, Doctor Zapala here.”

  “Rhea, good. It’s Frank. Did you find anything unusual with Doctor Baxter?”

  “With who?” she asked.

  “Doctor David Baxter,” Ross repeated. Zapala didn’t reply. “He’s a civilian contractor—starship design engineer. Friendly gentleman. Male Caucasian? Elderly? Gray hair? He’s been on station about a week. I ran into him a little while ago in the corridor. He said he was on his way to Medbay for his post-flight physical.”

  “Sorry, Frank. No one has come in for a physical this morning.”

  Ross’s internal alert status jumped a level. Perhaps there was something more wrong with Doctor David Baxter that he’d suspected. “That’s odd. He said he was on his way there and he wasn’t that far away. He should’ve been in and out by now.”

  “No one has come in this morning, Frank,” she reiterated, “other than my own staff.”

  “And none of them have seen any patients yet?”

  “No, but why do I suddenly get the feeling that’s going to change?”