by Glenn Smith
“Get this. Instead of rendezvousing with the Katana on its way back to port as previously ordered, we’re to drop the rescuees and their vessel off at Saturn Station and then transport the prisoners directly to Mandela Station ourselves, where we should be prepared to be temporarily reassigned for an extended period of time pending a full investigation into the incident.”
Galloway stared at his captain in disbelief. “Temporarily reassigned?” he exclaimed. His tone drew a few brief looks, but everyone quickly turned back to their duties without having to be told to do so when he glanced around at them. Then he lowered his voice to a near whisper and added, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Another extended temporary shore assignment is the absolute last thing this crew needs. What’s to investigate?”
“That’s exactly what I asked the admiral,” she told him. “Apparently, she has a problem with the fact that we fired on a Marine Corps attack shuttle.” She drew a deep breath and shook her head as she sighed. “Do you know what I had to go through to keep this crew together those eighteen months we were beached?” The two officers exchanged a brief, knowing glance, but neither of them really wanted to go there again. Galloway had finally agreed to stay. Nothing further needed to be said on the subject. “Anyway, they’re anxious enough as it is. Hell, to be perfectly honest, I’m glad this incident occurred when it did. I mean, I wouldn’t wish anything like it on anyone, but if it was going to happen anyway...” She paused, perhaps searching for a little more justification for what she’d said, then finally just concluded with, “This crew needed to get back out here in a hurry, Nate. And now that they have, they need to stay out here.”
“You’ll get no argument from me there, Captain.”
“This is definitely not going to be good for morale.”
Just then the doors parted and the chief medical officer stepped out onto the bridge, tablet in hand. “Hello, Captain,” he said cheerfully.
Leslie turned her chair to face him as he approached. “Ah, the good doctor,” she said. “To what do we owe the honor of your personal visit?”
“You said you wanted to be informed when Mister Richards was awake,” he answered as he reached her side. “He just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“You could have called me from the medbay, you know.”
Doctor Lee gently patted his belly and quipped, “I needed the exercise.”
Leslie smiled. “I know what you mean. How are the others doing?”
“As good as can be expected. The two worst cases haven’t regained consciousness yet, but their brain activity looks good. I expect they’ll come around in another day or two. It’s still a little early to say for sure, but barring any unforeseen problems I think everyone should be up and around within the next couple of weeks or so.”
“Command wants us to take them directly to the hospital at Saturn Station. Are they all well enough to be moved?”
“I believe so, Captain,” he replied confidently. “And the Saturn Station hospital is better equipped to handle their long-term care than we are.”
“Good. How soon will Mister Richards be alert enough to answer some questions?”
“As soon as you’re ready to ask them, Captain, as long as you take it easy on him.”
“Why, Doctor Lee,” she said, mocking offense. “When have you ever known me to be anything but easy?” The doctor drew a breath as if to answer, but Leslie stopped him cold with a friendly warning. “Don’t even think about answering that,” she said, grinning and pointing her finger at him. He grinned instead. She stood up. “Commander Galloway, the bridge is all yours. Best speed to Saturn Station as soon as we’re ready.”
“Understood, Captain,” the executive officer replied.
Leslie headed for the exit with the doctor close behind.
* * *
Dylan had raised the head of his bed and was sitting up and reading a selection from the ship’s surprisingly expansive library when Doctor Lee came back into the medbay not very long after he’d left. Accompanying him, leading the way actually, was a roughly middle-aged woman with shiny shoulder-length chestnut hair wearing a fleet uniform that looked regulation perfect. Actually, on second look, her hair might have been longer than shoulder-length. The way she had it loosely pinned up in back made it kind of hard to tell. At any rate, he knew right away from the twin pairs of gold bands around her duty jacket’s cuffs that she was a command grade officer, but tired and burning as his eyes were, he couldn’t quite make out the rank pins she was wearing on her shoulders. Still, he had little doubt as to who she was. After all, Doctor Lee had told him that he was going to report to the captain and everything about this woman—her presence, the air about her, the confident way she carried herself—indicated that was who she was.
Doctor Lee broke off and disappeared as expeditiously as possible into the next room, but the woman stopped momentarily just a few feet inside the door and glanced over all four of their newest patients. She walked over to Verdai and whispered something to him, but try as he might, Dylan couldn’t hear what she said. Then Verdai pointed toward Dylan and spoke back to her just as quietly. She looked over at him, then nodded her thanks to Verdai and started walking toward him. Three gold diamonds. He was right. She was the captain.
He bookmarked his place and then switched off the monitor and pushed it off to the side. “Captain,” he greeted, nodding slightly.
“Denise Leslie,” she told him as she stopped beside his bed. “And you are?”
“Glad you were close by,” he replied. She refrained from reacting. Silent. Impassive. No sense of humor. “Eric Richards,” he finally told her.
“Welcome aboard the Sentinel, Mister Richards,” she responded with something less than a completely sincere smile.
“Thank you. And I mean that sincerely. If you hadn’t come along when you did...”
“Then you and your friends wouldn’t be around to answer my questions,” she interrupted, “which your Naku companion over there tells me I should direct to you.”
He looked over at Verdai for a moment or two, but decided at the last second not to throw him the ‘thanks for nothing’ look that he’d intended to. He couldn’t blame the Naku. After all, as Dylan had already told Doctor Lee, he was the reason they were all out there in the first place. “I suppose he’s right,” he admitted. “I’ll answer your questions as best I can, but do you mind if I ask you one first?”
“What’s that?” the captain asked.
“What happened to the Naku pirates who attacked us?”
“They’re in our brig, along with the human who was with them.”
The human. Dylan had forgotten about him. What the hell had he been doing with them?
“Once we’d shown them the error of their ways,” Captain Leslie continued, “they quickly surrendered. My security police arrested them without incident.”
“That’s good to hear. Thank you, Captain.”
“You’re welcome. And now it’s your turn to answer a question, Mister Richards. First of all, it’s common knowledge that pirates almost never take prisoners, so despite the fact that you just referred to your attackers as pirates, you and I both know the Naku warriors who attacked and boarded your vessel weren’t pirates at all. So, Mister Richards, why did those Naku warriors attack and board your vessel?”
No nonsense. Direct and to the point. Dylan usually liked that in a person, but under the circumstances... Best to answer truthfully. After all, any one of the Naku, or their human cohort, might have already talked. He couldn’t afford to let her catch him in a lie. That would make her even more suspicious than she might already have been. Besides, it was always better to keep the lies to an absolute minimum anyway. That way there would be fewer of them to remember later. “Fair enough,” he assented. “I had a little run-in with a Naku back on... Europa. Turns out...”
“Bridge to Captain Leslie.”
“Excuse me a moment.” She turned her back and stepped over to an intercom unit on the wall
, but Dylan had no trouble overhearing both sides of the entire conversation. “Leslie here.”
“Captain, Solfleet Central Command just issued a fleet-wide fugitive bulletin. An arrest warrant has been issued for someone going by the name of Dylan Edward Graves.” Dylan’s breath caught in his throat. “That’s apparently an alias, but there are no other confirmed aliases, with one possible exception. A warrant was issued about a month ago ordering the immediate arrest and detention of someone going by the name of Doctor David Baxter, also suspected to be an alias. The S-I-A advises that there is a slim possibility the two men might actually be one guy, despite the differences in their descriptions.”
Damn that Major Hansen. Dylan had known that someone would eventually discover his absence, but knowing that the first thing security would do when he failed to report for duty after his squad’s two-day break would be to search the entire facility, he’d hoped to have several days’ head start before anyone determined that he’d left the yard. Actually, he’d hoped to reach the Excalibur before anyone made that determination, but he’d realized from the beginning that that hope was unrealistic. But this? After only a couple of missed days? This was too soon. Much too soon. And there he was convalescing aboard a Solfleet patrol cruiser of all places. How in God’s universe was he going to get himself out of this one?
“What are these men charged with, Mister Packard?” the captain asked.
“Dylan Graves is wanted for impersonating a Solfleet N-C-O, unlawful access to several restricted areas and classified materials, and a few other minor charges. Doctor David Baxter is also wanted for unlawful access to restricted areas and classified materials, as well as willful damage or destruction of military resources, sabotage, murder, and possible espionage! Damn, Captain. These boys have been busy.”
“Thank you for your colorful commentary, Mister Packard,” she said, her tone heavy on the sarcasm. “Leslie out.” She returned to Dylan’s bedside and to their conversation. “I believe you were about to tell me why you were attacked, Mister Richards.”
“Right. As I was saying, I had a little run-in with a Naku back on Europa. Somehow, and only God knows how, I actually won the first round, but he came after me again later. Turns out he swore some kind of blood-oath of vengeance or something against me. Anyway, he was well on his way to beating me to death when one of his own people showed up and killed him. Said something about restoring honor to the tradition of the oath because the first guy hadn’t pursued it correctly or something. I’m pretty sure that’s why these guys came after me. I guess some of them just don’t care about tradition.”
“Did they actually say they were after you because of this oath?”
“Not in so many words, but it was evident enough. They seemed to know the name of the guy who’d sworn it, and what he’d want done.”
The captain stood there quietly for a few moments, apparently considering what he’d told her, then nodded. “All right. I’ll accept that... for now. Assuming for the moment that you aren’t just trying to hide from your dead friend’s over-enthusiastic associates,” She drew a deep breath. “what in God’s name are you people doing way out here at the edge of the solar system in such a small ship without even defensive weapons?”
“Sightseeing,” he answered, quickly, but not too quickly. Then it took a conscious effort for him not to swallow or clear his suddenly raw, dry throat. People tended to do one or both of those things after lying—a fact of which he was sure the captain would be well aware—and he had little doubt that if he did either one, she’d pick up on it.
“Excuse me?” she said. “You said you were ‘sightseeing?’”
“That’s right,” he replied, nodding. But he knew it wasn’t enough. She wanted more than that and would ask him for it if he hesitated too long, so he didn’t. “All my life, I’ve never been beyond the asteroid belt. I met my companions while vacationing, on Europa,” He hoped that Verdai was picking up on his change to their origin, and that he’d get an opportunity to tell the others, “and when I found out they owned their own ship, I hired them to cruise around the outer solar system.”
“That must have been quite an expense,” the captain pointed out.
“It was. Used up most of my vacation money, but I decided to do it anyway. Who knew if or when I might get another opportunity?”
“Mister Richards,” the captain said, “I find all this very hard to believe.”
“I can understand that, Captain,” Dylan told her. “But it’s the truth.”
“Somehow I doubt that it’s the whole truth, but it’ll suffice for now.” She turned her back and headed for the exit.
“Is there some kind of law against taking a sightseeing cruise around the solar system?” he asked her, filling his tone with sarcasm to sound like some of the whiny civilians he’d heard talking to military personnel in the past. Rather, in the future. Or whatever. At any rate, Captain Leslie was apparently in no mood for it. She ignored him and walked out without another glance.
Dylan closed his eyes after the captain left and tried to draw a deep, cleansing breath just the way Marissa had taught him so long ago, but it was too painful. His ribs hurt and his side was really sore. He was in trouble. Someone—the first person who’d come to mind had been Major Hansen, and he had no reason to believe it wasn’t him—someone had put a lot of puzzle pieces together a lot quicker than he’d hoped they would, and now he was a wanted fugitive.
What did it really matter who it was? The fact remained that he’d been found out. It was only a matter of time now before Captain Leslie either figured out for herself or was informed by someone else who he really was. As soon as that happened he’d be arrested and locked up, and then he’d never complete his mission.
Chapter 60
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Saturday, 9 July 2191
Nick Hansen woke and opened his eyes to a quiet, comfortably cool, brightly sunlit room. His quiet, comfortably cool, brightly sunlit room. Three and a half weeks after the operation that all those involved both during and after the fact had begun referring to as ‘the Stefani O’Donnell rescue mission,’ he and Heather had finally returned home yesterday and slept through the night in their own beds... at total peace with the world. Heather had enjoyed her time on Cirra and he’d been glad for the opportunity to take her there and show her some of the sites—he still couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to take her along with him on the mission, though—but it was always nice to return home after a trip, no matter where that trip took one.
Slept through the night in their own beds? Through the night? His bedroom was awfully bright for morning. What time was it, anyway?
He craned his neck and looked at his clock, and couldn’t believe what it told him. It was almost eleven o’clock already! He’d slept for nearly thirteen straight hours! He’d slept virtually the entire morning away! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late. He must really have been worn out from their trip. He sat up and tossed his blankets aside, then swung his feet out and dropped them to the floor. But then he paused there as his mind shook off the sleep and his thoughts drifted back over what they’d just gone through.
They’d escaped from hostile Sulaini space and made it to Cirra without incident. They’d called ahead to Grainger and had an ambulance meet them at the landing pad when they arrived so that Crewman O’Donnell and Sergeant Axton could be transported to the hospital as fast as possible. By the time he and the rest of them got there, Sergeant Axton had already been rushed into surgery. She’d nearly died on the operating table twice, but the surgeons had revived her both times and now she was expected to recover fully. Miss O’Donnell, as it turned out, had been beaten and raped during her time in captivity, probably multiple times, and had been allowed to starve half to death and become badly dehydrated. She, too, was now expected to recover fully, physically at least. However, the question of her mental and emotional recovery was an entirely different matter.
&nb
sp; Nick drew a breath and sighed. Time was when he would have marched himself over to the Staff Judge Advocate’s office to discuss filing charges against her for desertion and forgery, and probably a whole slew of other offenses she’d no doubt committed in the pursuit of her goal. Back when he still wore the uniform. Back when he was still charged with upholding the highest standards of behavior in the service. Doing so would have made him a bit of a hypocrite of course, given what he and Liz had done in the past in the name of saving the Earth, but he knew that wouldn’t have stopped him. He would have had her charged anyway. But this time, after having found her so badly beaten and abused and neglected, after having been briefed on some of what she’d been put through, he’d decided that she had already been punished enough. And so, during one of the several debriefings that he and Rod Johnson and his team had all been forced to sit through, he’d forwarded an official request up the chain through Solfleet Central Command to Mirriazu. He’d urged the president to carefully consider what Miss O’Donnell had gone through, to grant her clemency, and then to direct Solfleet Central Command to direct and supervise her recovery then discharge her quietly whenever they deemed her well enough to be released, without pursuing any legal action against her. Mirriazu had at first considered having him thrown into jail for what he’d done, but had eventually calmed down and granted his request.
Nick snickered. Debriefings. Strictly speaking, he and Rod and the team had done exactly what Miss O’Donnell had been accused of trying to do. They’d carried out an act aggression against a foreign power without government approval. Had they failed, those ‘debriefings’ would no doubt have been logged as pre-trial hearings. Rod and each member of his team would have been court-martialed and he, having already retired, would have been turned over to the F.B.I. to face federal charges.
