Solfleet: Beyond the Call

by Glenn Smith

  Olivia and Nancy lay naked beside him, one on each, kissing him gently, stroking his hair with their fingers.

  The muffled sound of water spewing from the showerhead and spattering on the bare tile floor beyond the closed bathroom door abruptly ceased. Beth and Olivia and Nancy seemed not to notice, but Dylan turned his head toward the sudden silence in anticipation. Moments later the door finally opened and Stacy stepped out into the bedroom. She was naked, so very young and beautiful, and her hair was dripping wet. She smiled warmly and then sauntered over to join her newfound lovers in bed.

  The sound of the door opening hadn’t just been in his dream, Dylan suddenly realized. It had been more than that. It had been real.

  He opened his eyes. The lights were still low. Stacy, holding a bath towel around her with one hand while she slowly opened her locker door with the other, was obviously trying to make as little noise as possible. She glanced briefly around the cabin, presumably looking to make sure everyone was still asleep, then pulled off her towel and draped it over the locker door. Then, unexpectedly and very suddenly, she turned around and looked right at him. He closed his eyes and hoped that she hadn’t caught him staring at her, but a moment later he felt her ease herself down onto the edge of his bunk, and he knew that she’d seen him. No point in pretending to be asleep. He opened his eyes again and found himself looking up at her smiling face, and at her firm bare breasts, hovering just inches above him. He’d already seen that she was naked, and considering the dream that he’d been having he had a pretty good idea of what state he lay in at the moment as well.

  “Did you get a good look?” she asked him, whispering very softly.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her, speaking even more quietly than she had.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “I’m flattered that you were looking at me that way.”

  Planned it, more likely. “What way?” he asked, wishing immediately that he hadn’t.

  She snickered, then brushed her hand lightly across his crotch, confirming what he had already figured to be the case. “That way.”

  What could he say? Having a dream like that and then waking up to find her standing in the room with nothing on... “Stacy, I think...”

  “Do you think I’m pretty?”

  Yes, he did. “Yes, I do,” he admitted. And why not? It was an innocent enough thing. A man could think that a girl was pretty without it meaning anything more. Why deny it and make her feel bad?

  “Do you like my body?”

  Yes he did, very much, and that question wasn’t anywhere near as innocent as her first one had been. She had a great body, which he’d already admitted to himself—the kind of body that put thoughts into his head, but he certainly couldn’t tell her that. No good would come of it if he did. “I think you’d better get up,” he told her instead, still whispering quietly but making it as clear as he could that he was serious.

  She gazed at him for another moment, then started to do as he asked. Or so he thought. She stood up, but instead of going back to her locker or floating back up to her own bunk, she lifted up his blankets and, with all the boldness of a lifelong lover, climbed into bed with him and then pulled the blankets back up over the both of them. Dylan was stunned beyond words. What if someone caught them in bed together? He wouldn’t have a prayer in Heaven of explaining his way out of the trouble that would cause! He almost shouted at her, but that would only have ensured that they got caught. He drew a deep, shaky breath and exhaled slowly, and then finally found his voice. He turned his lips to her ear and spoke as low as he possibly could. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Don’t you want me, Eric?” she asked him, brushing her hand across his chest.

  Yes, he did, very much by that point, but he said, “I want you to get out of my bed.”

  “Relax. Everybody’s asleep,” she told him as she slid her hand down over his stomach and into the front of his briefs. “Well, perhaps not everybody,” she amended, smiling. Then she went on, stroking him gently as she explained, “Sometimes I hear my sister when she’s working. I know she’s not proud of what she does and that she wants to stop doing it as soon as possible, but I also know that in the heat of the moment she enjoys it. It feels good when it’s done right. I know because... sometimes I do it to myself.” Dylan swallowed. She kissed him gently on the cheek—he neither responded nor resisted—then gently squeezed his erection and touched her lips to his ear as she whispered, “I can take care of that for you.”

  “That would be... inappropriate in the extreme,” he replied.

  “Yes it would,” she agreed as she tugged down on his briefs and then pushed them to his knees, “but it would also feel good.” She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and brushing her nipples lightly across his chest.

  Dylan swallowed again. His heart was pounding in his chest as though it were trying to break out. He wanted to make her stop, but if he resisted he might wake the others. And at the same time he didn’t want her to stop.

  She kissed him passionately. It was too much. He couldn’t resist her any longer. So much for his morals. And what was worse, so much for Beth’s trust. No, he reconsidered. He’d already broken that twice before. Stacy had nothing to do with it. The fault for that was all his own and no one else’s. Overcoming his hesitation and surrendering to the inevitable, he slid his hands up the backs of Stacy’s thighs and gently squeezed her firm round bottom. She smiled and kissed him once more, and then sat up, reached down between her legs, and guided him deep inside her.

  “Stacy?” Nicole whispered sternly from her bunk.

  Dylan froze at the sound of Nicole’s voice, ceasing even to breath as Stacy lay forward and relaxed on top of him, only sighing with disappointment. Then, when Nicole repeated her name, Stacy climbed off of him and out of bed without a word, stepped over to her locker, and pulled on a pair of panties and a tank-top. Then she headed for the door out of the cabin, quietly spitting a few choice words at her sister on her way out.

  At first Dylan cursed Nicole in his mind, but as soon as his body diverted the blood back to his brain again he realized that it was best for all involved that she’d interrupted them, and he redirected those curses at himself—at his weakness. He silently apologized to Nicole and then thanked God for waking her, even though that part of him still wished that he hadn’t. Then, as an afterthought, he tossed an apology His way as well.

  “Sorry about that, Eric,” Nicole said from where she was standing beside Dylan’s bunk after Stacy had left the cabin, startling him. When had she gotten out of bed? “And don’t worry. I don’t hold you responsible.”

  Dylan couldn’t believe his ears. “How can you not hold me responsible?” he asked her, although he was extremely relieved to hear her say so.

  “Two reasons,” she replied as she sat down on the side of his bunk. “First of all, I know my little sister. She approached you. What I do out of necessity, she’d do for the sheer pleasure of it if Geoff and I were ever to allow it. Second, I know where men are weak. And you, my friend, are a man.”

  “I see,” he responded. Then he told her, “Thank you for understanding... and for speaking up when you did.”

  “I’ll have a talk with her. Just don’t mention this to anyone else.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t... assuming they’re not already listening to every word.”

  “Trust me, they’re not,” she assured him. “The way these guys sleep they might as well be dead until it’s time for breakfast.”

  Dylan collected his wits about him as Nicole stepped over to her locker, then pulled up his briefs, tossed his blankets aside, and stood up. “Don’t be too hard on her,” he said.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. Then she faced him, let her gaze fall to his briefs, and grinned. “I won’t be that hard on her.”

  Dylan glanced down at himself, looked back up at Nicole to make it very clear to her that he didn’t appreciate that particular bit of humor, and then grabbed
his shower kit and towel out of his locker and went into the head to take a cold shower.

  He really missed Beth.

  Chapter 55

  By the time Lieutenant Commander Suarez left the dining facility and made his way to the Shipyard Operations Center, Major Hansen was already there waiting for him. The major was supposed to have left the shipyard and returned to Mandela Station prior to the weekend, but he’d grown suspicious of one of the facility’s security policemen—Sergeant Dylan Graves, the man Suarez had met on the flight out from Earth. Graves had apparently gone AWOL, and after discussing the situation with Major Ross, Hansen had decided to stick around for a while longer and continue working the case. As soon as Suarez saw him, his Monday morning turned a little bit bluer, like a dull, overcast, drizzly gray day on Earth. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy. He was every bit as polite, professional, and competent as any other officer he’d ever crossed paths with. But his presence represented a disruption to normal shipyard operations, a departure from the facility’s normal routine, and Suarez didn’t like disruptions to normal operations and routine. With all the disruptions he’d had to deal with lately, he’d been looking forward to finally having to deal with one less.

  “Good morning, Commander,” Hansen greeted him.

  “Good morning, Major,” Suarez returned. “Have we received a response to your inquiry from Solfleet Central Command yet?”

  “Indeed we have,” Hansen replied ominously. “According to the records saved during the last end-of-year hundred-percent data backup, there’s never been anyone by the name of Dylan Edward Graves serving anywhere in the Solfleet.” Suarez looked at him as though he couldn’t believe his ears. “As a matter of fact, there’s no record of him anywhere prior to last March.

  “Is that right?” Suarez asked.

  Hansen nodded. “I bet when we find him, we find our mysterious Doctor David Baxter.”

  The major was probably right, Suarez realized. It all made sense. Baxter had appeared out of nowhere and had vanished just as quickly. Then two security policemen had been killed by an intruder who had never been caught. Now Sergeant Graves, or whoever he really was, who had been assigned to the shipyard at roughly the same time as that Baxter character had shown up and suddenly had a falsified second financial account with more federals than most servicemen earned in their entire career, had gone AWOL.

  He turned to the young officer manning the communications console. “Send everything we have on Sergeant Dylan Edward Graves to Solfleet Central Command, along with my official recommendation that an arrest warrant be issued immediately.”

  “They’ll want a list of specific charges, sir,” the officer advised him.

  “Impersonating a Solfleet N-C-O for starters. Also wanted for questioning in connection to possible espionage and two murders.”

  “Should I notify the Admiral?”

  “Negative. I’ll take care of that.”

  Chapter 56

  U.E.F.S. Sentinel, Sol System

  “Personal log, Captain Denise Leslie.” Leslie paused while the recorder verified her voice print, then opened the running file and entered the time/date stamp—16-May-2168, 0813 hours. 0813? She was late for duty, but what did she care? She was the ship’s commanding officer after all. It wasn’t like someone in the crew was going to call her out on it. They’d simply assume that some duty-related task had sidetracked her on her way and that she’d come to the bridge as soon as she could. They’d never suspect that she’d simply decided to sleep in a little later than usual.

  She sighed. Three hours early or eight weeks late, depending on how she decided to look at it. “We have just completed yet another four-week series of shakedown tests on the Sentinel,” she proceeded. “Seems the old cliché holds true. Third time really is a charm. She’s finally been declared ready-for-active-service. Of course, I don’t believe for one minute that Chief Engineer Okuda is even remotely satisfied with the final results, but after nearly eighteen months ashore, I’m just glad to finally be returning to our assigned sector. Had we been forced back into dry-dock again, I don’t think I’d have been able to keep my people together any longer. A year and a half is a long time for a ship’s crew to be beached and assigned temporary duties without at least a few of them ending up permanently reassigned. I was damn lucky to be able to keep them all together for that long.”

  She paused for a moment, sipped her tea, and then continued, “I just wish I could shake this feeling that Central Command had us pushed out of dry-dock a lot sooner than we should have been. Three series of shakedown tests. Twelve weeks. A newly refurbished ship fresh out of dry-dock shouldn’t need twelve weeks’ worth of shakedown.” She took another sip. “Not that I can really blame anyone at Command for wanting us back underway as soon as possible. There may be a ceasefire in place, but who among us really trusts the Veshtonn? Personally, I think the Federation Council fears another full-scale invasion of Earth.” She raised her teacup toward her terminal and proposed a toast. “Here’s to hoping their fears are unfounded.” She finished off her tea with one large swallow and set her empty cup aside, then switched off her recorder, stood up and pulled on her duty jacket, and then left her quarters for the bridge, brushing a stray lock of her long chestnut hair out of her eyes and sweeping it behind her ear.

  Denise Leslie came from a long line of career military officers that stretched back over more generations than Solfleet itself. She’d worked hard over the years since graduating from the academy to earn her captain’s diamonds and to qualify for her own command, and harder still to actually get her own command once she’d qualified for one. During her years as a junior officer, the first ten years of her career, she’d been fortunate enough to be assigned to heavy starcruisers twice, one right after the other, and from then on she’d always hoped to someday command one of her own. However, being a realist, she’d never really expected such an opportunity to come her way. Choice commands like that tended to be reserved for the elite few—those officers whose entire careers were spent right in the thick of things and whose acts of heroism and bravery in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds set them apart from their peers, got them noticed by the brass, and earned them one high-level decoration after another. Sure, she’d seen combat before. She’d served aboard vessels assigned to battle groups that had served along the front lines. She’d even gotten a little taste of ground combat once, which was pretty unusual for a naval officer like her. But overall her career simply hadn’t been that extraordinary. Even so, as pleased as she had been upon first learning that she was being assigned a command of her own, she’d also been a little disappointed when that command turned out to be nothing more than a solar patrol cruiser.

  But that was then and this was now. She was going to be forty-eight years old soon. She had served as the Sentinel’s commanding officer going on three and a half years now. Despite that initial disappointment, she’d grown very fond of her ship and her crew, and truth be told she’d grown pretty fond of the quiet life over the last eight months as well.

  “Status report, Commander,” she requested as she stepped out onto the bridge, brushing that lock of hair out of her eye and tucking it behind her ear again.

  Commander Nathaniel Galloway stood up out of the captain’s chair and took his place in his own chair to its right. “We just received our reactivation orders, Captain,” the dark-skinned South Africa native advised her. “We’ll be coming up on Jupiter in a few minutes. According to scanners, it hasn’t imploded yet.”

  The remark elicited a brief, subdued snicker from the rest of the bridge crew. Even Leslie couldn’t help but grin a little as she took her seat, despite knowing from whence her executive officer’s sense of humor really came. As far as she knew, she was the only one aboard other than Nate himself who was aware that, given a choice, he’d have left the Sentinel and her family-like crew behind in a second if it meant reassignment to one of the ships of the line. Even if such a reassignment had involved a dem
otion in position. He seemed to like the people he worked with well enough and his loyalty to captain and crew alike couldn’t be questioned. But due to its close proximity to Earth, he’d never been truly satisfied with his assignment. He was still only in his mid-thirties. He wanted to go back out to the stars where the action was while he was still young enough to take advantage of the opportunities that such an assignment could provide. He wanted to make a name for himself... to build one of those shining careers that might one day lead to the command of a starcruiser of his own. He was a lot like Leslie herself had been, once upon a time. To his credit, though, he had never failed to set a shining example for the crew. Cracking jokes was just part of the act.

  Good thing the rest of the crew didn’t feel the same way he did, Leslie silently mused. Otherwise she might have a serious morale problem on her hands. Then again, maybe some of them did feel that way but just never mentioned it to anyone. Hell, a few years ago she’d felt the same way herself, and most of the crew were more than a few years younger and still a lot more adventurously-minded than she was.

  She gazed over at the commander for a moment and noticed for the first time that despite his relative youth, his deep black hair had gone almost completely gray at the temples and was beginning to do the same everywhere else. When had that happened? And what, if anything, did it mean to him? Did he see it as a sign that time and opportunity had passed him by, much like it had his captain? Would he give up on his dreams to one day command a starcruiser, just as she had finally done? Perhaps she should have let him go after all. Perhaps she should have allowed him to transfer and chase after those opportunities that she had never had.

  “Orders, Captain?” Galloway asked without taking his eyes off of the main screen.

  Was he aware of her gaze? Of her thoughts? She looked forward as well, regretting the long stare and hoping that it hadn’t made him feel too uncomfortable. “Follow random patrol routes from this point on,” she replied, speaking directly to the helmsman. “Make sure you don’t repeat the same pattern or order of patterns twice in a row. We don’t want our route to become predictable.”