Solfleet: Beyond the Call

by Glenn Smith

  Dylan’s neck muscles were beginning to cramp from his looking straight up for too long, so he looked down at his feet to stretch them out, then continued on his way.

  The first thing he had to do was find a place to stay—a one or two room apartment or hotel suite that he could lease by the day. But not here. Not in Olympus City. It was too modern and upscale—too clean and well policed to attract the type of people whose help he was going to need. In a word, Olympus City was too ‘civilized.’ He was going to have to go somewhere else. He located a call panel for the public transportation service just a few meters up the sidewalk and summoned a car. One arrived in less than a minute.

  “Destination, please?” the on-board computer asked as he climbed in.

  Destination? Good question. He didn’t have a clue where he should go. As he sat down he asked, “How many active aerospaceports are there within a four hundred kilometers radius of Olympus City?”

  The door closed him in and sealed with a short hiss. Then the computer answered, “There are five operational spaceports within a four hundred kilometer radius of Olympus City.”

  “Name them.”

  “The five operational spaceports within a four hundred kilometer radius of Olympus City are Olympus Interplanetary Aerospaceport, Carson-Sheridan Aerospace Force Base, Armstrong Atmoscraft Air Field, Red Gulch Free Commerce Spaceport, and Mos...”

  “Red Gulch?” Dylan interrupted. “What the hell kind of name is Red Gulch?” Sounded like something out of an old, low-budget western.

  “The Red Gulch Free Commerce Spaceport is named for...”

  “Disregard. How far away is it?”

  “The Red Gulch Free Commerce Spaceport is three hundred ninety-seven point seven kilometers from our current position.”

  “Is it the nearest one?”

  “Negative. Of the five spaceports meeting the parameters of your request, the Red Gulch Free Commerce Spaceport is the second farthest away from our current position. The farthest spaceport from our current location is...”

  “Good. Red Gulch it is. Let’s go.”

  “Please sit back and fasten your safety harness.” Knowing that the car would not move a foot until he did so, Dylan complied with the request. “Thank you for your cooperation. Now departing for Red Gulch Free Commerce Spaceport. Estimated time of arrival: three point seven four nine standard hours. Enjoy the ride.”

  As the taxi rolled through the city at moderate, strictly controlled speeds, Dylan gazed out through his window and watched as the city slowly began to wake. Young children took to their bicycles or played in parks with friends while parents watched from porches or park benches, many of them with coffee mugs in hand. The health-conscious, some alone and others in groups, took to the parks and performed a variety of exercises or jogged along narrow paths that seemed specially designated for that purpose. Here and there, breakfast diners were opening their doors, no doubt allowing the aromas of their particular specialties to escape into the streets and entice passersby to stop in and sample their cuisine.

  Yes. This could indeed have been any one of a thousand cities on Earth. There was a lot to see and probably a lot to do. But all of that would change as soon as the car passed through the domes’ airlock and drove out into the cold, barren, rocky, iron-red terrain that was the real planet Mars. When it eventually did, Dylan gazed out at the desolation for a few minutes but quickly lost interest. It all looked the same. Before long he dozed off, and the next thing he knew the car was slowing down.

  “Welcome to Red Gulch.” the computer said. “We are currently approaching Red Gulch Crown Hotel. Is this an acceptable destination or would you prefer to continue on to the actual Aerospaceport?”

  Red Gulch. What a name. “The hotel will do. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. Please insert your identicard into the payment slot located directly in front of you.” Dylan complied. His account was verified and the credits due were withdrawn. Then the door unlocked and opened to permit him to climb out. “Thank you for your patronage. Have a pleasant day.” Dylan slung his bag over his shoulder and climbed the half dozen steps to the hotel’s door as the car sped away behind him.

  The town might have had an old west name, but the hotel lobby sure didn’t have an old west look. It was enormous and appeared to be immaculately clean. The floor before him was made of highly polished rose marble slabs, each about half a meter square, trimmed and accented in gold. The walls were of the same material, each one a single, solid piece as best he could tell. Two huge, elaborate crystalline chandeliers hung from the ten meter high, gold mirrored ceiling which was supported by more than a dozen evenly-spaced, tapered white-marble columns, their bases and capitals trimmed in gold-leaf. A number of over-stuffed brown pleather chairs, dark stained hard-wood tables, and tall, long-leafed plants were carefully arranged over plush, royal burgundy carpet to form lounging areas both to the left and to the right of the vestibule, each a mirror image of the other. A length of that same carpeting as wide as the doors and edged in gold stretched from the threshold, directly ahead to the service desk, a long, hard-wood counter with a rose-marble surface and golden trim. Left of the desk there was a brightly lit alcove containing at least two elevators with shiny gold doors. To the right, a grand, gently curving staircase of the same polished hard-wood as the desk. The steps themselves were carpeted in the same royal burgundy, except for about a foot on either side, the carpet held tightly in place by gold bars at the base of each step. The place looked more like a palace than it did a hotel lobby, though in Dylan’s opinion it was just gaudy. It probably hadn’t started out that way. He suspected that it had changed quite a bit over the years since its construction, which was most likely sometime in the mid to late twenty-first century.

  He unfastened his jacket and mussed his hair, just a little, intending to pass himself off as a local weary traveler. The ‘weary traveler’ part wouldn’t be too difficult to pull off, considering that the only sleep he’d had was a couple hours with Nancy Gillis, another hour or so in the drop ship, and maybe two or three more in the taxi. But the ‘local’ part was another matter altogether. He didn’t know anyone on Mars, and no one on Mars knew him. Hopefully, the clerk wouldn’t ask him too many questions.

  He adjusted his crew bag’s shoulder strap and approached the desk.

  “Welcome to the Red Gulch Crown Hotel, sir,” the unusually tall young man behind the counter cheerfully greeted him as he tugged downward on the too-short sleeves of his sharply creased white dress shirt. “How may I help you?” Young man? He appeared to be little more than a kid.

  “I need a room, please,” Dylan replied.

  “Well then, you’ve certainly come to the right place. And what a place it is, eh, sir? Just look at it.” When Dylan didn’t, the kid urged him on. “Go ahead, sir. Take a look around.” Dylan turned once around and looked, if only to appease the kid. “Bet you never expected to see such a fancy place as this in the middle of a sewer like Red Gulch.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  “No you can’t, sir. Just look at the place. Fine marble, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, only the best hardwood. Yes sir, the boss sure did do a job with the old place. Like it was built for a king.” The lanky, clean-cut youth straightened his shirt, then leaned forward, partway over the counter, and gestured to Dylan, encouraging him to lean in a little closer. He did, though with caution. “Although,” the kid continued in a much quieter voice, “between you and me, I think he should’a done it in royal blue instead’a burgundy and rose. Too much red on this planet already, if you ask me. Don’t you think so?”

  “You want to know what I think, kid?”

  “Yes, sir,” the kid answered enthusiastically. “Our patrons’ opinions are all important to us.” Dylan didn’t necessarily believe that, and his doubt must have shown because the kid leaned in and, speaking more softly, added, “Besides, I bet the boss fifty credits that blue would’a been a more popular choice.”

&n
bsp; “I see.”

  “So? What do you think?”

  “I think I’d like a room.”

  “Come on, sir. Red or blue?”

  Dylan sighed. “Blue,” he finally answered, much to the kid’s delight. “Now may I have a room, please?”

  “Yes, sir,” the kid answered happily, obviously pleased with himself. “Right away.” He turned to his terminal and activated the display. “You know, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look pretty tired,” he pointed out as he gazed at his monitor’s screen. “I think some very special, personal attention would be of great benefit to you.”

  Dylan eyeballed the kid warily. “What kind of attention do you have in mind?” he asked with suspicion.

  The kid turned away from his terminal, approached once more, and leaned in close again. “Well, for a small finder’s fee,” he began, whispering, “I can see to it that you’re provided with some very special services.”

  “What kind of special services?” Dylan asked, not sure that he really wanted to know.

  “Women, a’course. I can get you as many as you want, as young or old as you want, for as long as you want. A’course, the more you want and the younger you want ‘em, and the longer you want ‘em, the higher the finder’s fee’s gonna be. But I assure you, sir, that it’ll still be quite reasonable... and very well worth it.”

  “You think so?” Dylan asked quietly.

  “I know so,” the kid answered with a knowing grin.

  “I have my doubts,” Dylan told him. “I can be very demanding.”

  “There’s isn’t a working girl in this whole town that I can’t get for you, as long as you’re willing to pay the price,” the kid assured him with a confident grin.

  Dylan leaned in a little closer. “Even...” He looked the kid in the eye. “...teenagers?”

  “The kid grinned from ear to ear. “So you like ‘em young, huh? Okay. Teens are more expensive, but I can get ‘em as young as thirteen if that’s what you want. Maybe even twelve.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right. Then here’s what I want.” The young man leaned in closer still and turned his head so that Dylan could whisper directly into his ear, no doubt already imagining what he might do with all the credits that he was about to come into. But then Dylan suddenly grabbed him by the throat and squeezed, choking him. “I want you to assign me a room, give me the key, and make sure that I am left completely alone for the duration of my stay. Otherwise, I may have to hurt you. And if you even think about filing a complaint against me for choking you, I’ll simply tell the police why I choked you. I’m sure they’d like to know all about your side business.”

  Dylan pushed the kid away and released him, then glared daggers at him, daring him to say or do something about it. The kid rubbed his neck and swallowed noisily as he regained his balance and stood up straight. “Well excuse the hell outta me,” he said sarcastically, his grin long gone, replaced by a disappointed scowl. “I thought all you guys enjoyed that sort’a thing.”

  “All what guys?” Dylan asked, curious.

  “All you cargo hauler guys. Who else?”

  “What makes you think I’m a cargo hauler?”

  “What, are you kidding me? You’re a stranger in town with nowhere else to stay or you wouldn’t’a come in here. What else would you be? I mean, I don’t mean to offend, but look at you. You’re traveling with little more than the clothes on your back, living out of an old fleet-issue crew bag, and you look like you haven’t slept or shaved in two or three days.”

  “Yeah? So what?”

  “So what?” the kid echoed. “On any given night at least a thousand strangers who look like you come through this town. Most’a them even carry the same old crew bag as you. They’re cargo haulers, every one’a them.”

  “Okay, you got me,” Dylan told him. “I’m a cargo hauler with morals. So what about my room?”

  “First, I need to see an identicard.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your identicard. I gotta to see it.”

  “Since when is that standard procedure at a hotel?” Dylan inquired.

  “Since right now.” The kid held out his open hand. “Look, mister. I might be young, but I’m not stupid. A guy looking like a cargo hauler just down from the stars walks in here asking for a room but doesn’t show any interest in practically every other cargo hauler’s favorite kind’a fun? I gotta ask myself, is he really a cargo hauler, or is he some kind’a lawman?”

  “It’s a good thing for you that I’m not, after what you offered me,” Dylan pointed out.

  “All I offered you was a room, mister, and you’re not even getting that if you don’t hand over your I-D.”

  Dylan sighed. “Fine,” he said as he reached into his inside left jacket pocket, where he’d stashed his non-military identicard—one of the several that Commander Royer had provided. He pulled it out and handed it over.

  The kid took it, shoved it into the reader slot, then ran a check on his credit status. After a few moments he withdrew the card and handed it back to him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Didn’t your parents ever teach you any manners?” Dylan asked as he returned the card to its pocket.

  The kid punched some data into his terminal, then pulled a key card out from under the counter and handed it over. “Yeah, they did,” he answered. “Those good ones you saw when you first walked up to my counter. They disappeared at the same time as that finder’s fee I thought you were getting ready to fork over.”

  Dylan said, “I see.”

  “No, you don’t. You think I like working here? I work for peanuts and haven’t been paid in over three weeks. If I don’t find other ways’a lining my pockets, I don’t eat.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just get me a room, will you?”

  “What the hell you think that key card is for, huh?” Dylan glanced down at the card in his hand. “You’re in room five-ten. I can have your bag taken up for you if you want.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Whatever you say, sir. There are complimentary drinks and snacks in the room. There’s room service if you want, but you’re expected to tip. If you need anything else, you can call the desk. And uh... look. I’m sorry if my offer offended you. Most’a you guys who come in here do come looking for that kind’a service.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dylan said as he turned away and headed for the elevators. Truth was, he found the very thought of girls as young as twelve or thirteen being forced into that kind of work to be appalling in the extreme and he would have liked nothing more than to pound that kid into the marble floor for even making the offer. But he just couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself like that. Choking him hadn’t been a very smart thing to do, either.

  He rode the elevator to the fifth floor alone, then found his room, went inside, and locked the door behind him. The complete opposite of that opulent lobby, the room was anything but an unnecessarily large space, though it was attractively if relatively simply adorned. He inspected the bed—as best he could tell, the linens were fresh and the blankets were at least clean if not as fresh as the sheets—then unpacked his things, put them into the top two dresser drawers, and then tossed his crew bag onto the floor in the closet. He pulled off his jacket and laid it over the foot of the bed, then went to the small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of iced tea, ordered his lunch from room service—he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until his stomach started growling—and then sat down to wait for its delivery.

  * * *

  Turned out he was even hungrier than he’d realized. He made quick work of his lunch—a large chicken salad sandwich on wheat bread that actually tasted a lot better than he expected, with barbecued corn chips on the side. After he’d finished eating he stripped off his clothes and took a long, warm shower, then turned down the sheets and stretched out on the bed to relax for a little while or maybe take a nap.

/>   “Computer.”

  “On line,” the room’s terminal responded in a somewhat monotone, but obviously female voice.

  “How extensive is your music library?”

  “There are currently three million, six hundred twenty-six thousand, five hundred sixteen musical pieces in memory,” it answered.

  “Play something from Earth’s latter twentieth century.”

  “Please provide selection parameters.”

  “Classic rock. Random selections. Nothing too loud or boisterous.”

  “Searching.”

  He waited, trying to guess what the computer would start with.

  A few moments later, notes began echoing softly over the hidden speakers from unseen guitar strings while the sound of the ocean tide lapping gently up onto shore filled the room and distant sea gulls called to one another in flight. Marooned. Not the best song to play for a man who’d journeyed through time into the past, leaving behind all that he loved, but a beautiful one nonetheless.

  Dylan closed his weary eyes and saw the tranquil shore in his mind as the magical guitar sang its siren song.

  Chapter 50

  He took Beth by her waist and pulled her close, then slid his hands down over her smooth hips and gently squeezed her bottom as he softly kissed her. She pressed her lips to his, and as the passion between them grew she dragged her fingernails lightly down his back, then freed him from his jeans. She pressed her body to his and moaned with desire as he responded to her touch. Then she began drifting slowly backward, out of his reach, floating over the ground, and in an oddly distant voice she said, “Come back to me.”