Solfleet: The Call of Duty

by Smith, Glenn

  She smiled, finding humor in her success. Hiding in plain sight the way she had was one of the oldest and most often used tricks in the proverbial book and it had worked like a charm once again. She’d infiltrated the hospital, reached her objective, and would now make her escape completely undetected for the second time in as many days, right under everyone’s noses.

  None of that would have been necessary, of course, if that arrogant chief of surgery had simply bowed to the legal authority she’d claimed to have like a good little administrator and given her access to the sergeant in the first place. But no, that would have been much too easy. Instead, he’d thrown his rulebook in her face and denied her that access, just because she wasn’t a member of the patient’s family. So what if she wasn’t related to him? She had official business to conduct. Important official business. And so what if the chief of surgery also happened to be a commodore? That didn’t give him the right to interfere with her. If he hadn’t been the sergeant’s doctor, or if she’d been able to identify herself as an agent instead of having to pose as a legal officer... Damn doctors had far too much authority, in her opinion.

  Oh well. It never hurt to stay in practice.

  She opened the door a crack and peeked out to make sure the hallway was still clear, then slipped out, made her way quickly to the nearest public exit, and left the hospital as quietly and as inconspicuously as she had entered it.

  Once outside and in the clear, she slowed to a more comfortable pace and strolled toward the shuttlebus stop as though she didn’t have a care in the world, but halfway there she changed her mind and decided to walk. After all, the agency’s local field office sat less than a mile outside the main gate, and although the day was still young and this world’s notoriously unpredictable late summer weather could take a turn for the worse at any moment—interesting how the northern hemispheres of both Earth and Cirra happened to go through the same seasons at nearly the same time—it had so far turned out to be a beautiful one. Moderately warm with bright sunshine, little if any humidity, with a gentle breeze and not a cloud in the greenish-blue sky. A perfect day. A day not unlike those she’d always made the most of as a young girl, back on the family farm...except for the greenish tint to the sky, of course. Besides, she had a potentially serious problem on her hands and she needed some time to think things through.

  Sergeant Graves should not have been having those nightmares. Some nightmares, yes, but not those nightmares. Not the nightmares he’d described to her. Nightmares of explosions and of heavy gunfire, of close-quarters firefights and hand-to-hand combat, of killing the enemy and of comrades being killed—those were normal for any combat veteran, especially after being so seriously wounded. For Graves, nightmares that reflected what were, as of yesterday, his conscious memories of the battle. His subconscious should not have been showing him what really happened.

  And yet at the same time, consciously, he apparently remembered everything exactly the way he was supposed to—unless he’d lied to her. She considered that possibility but quickly rejected it. He was still off balance and out of sorts, badly wounded and half strung out on pain killers. Had he been lying to her she’d have seen right through it. No, he was remembering everything exactly the way he was supposed to...consciously.

  And that fact pointed directly to her problem. Although his conscious memories had been reshaped exactly as planned, the edit had completely failed on the subconscious level. And now Sergeant Dylan Edward Graves, the best candidate for the Timeshift mission, the man whom she herself had recommended to Admiral Hansen for the job, was a security liability. “Damn it,” she mumbled under her breath as she approached the main gate. The procedure had supposedly been perfected years ago. What the hell could possibly have gone wrong?

  She nodded and smiled politely to the tall, lanky young Military Policeman standing post at the gate as she approached him. Not the same quiet, inquisitive looking corporal who’d been there when she arrived, and unless she’d suddenly gone half blind he couldn’t have been a day over eighteen years old. He nodded slightly in return and stared at her—was that lust in his eyes?—as she walked past him and exited through the pedestrian gate.

  She glanced back for a quick second, just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye as he stared after her and licked his lips. She could almost feel his unblinking eyes stripping off her skin-tight jeans and she grinned as she continued on her way. Despite the fact that she harbored no real interest in drawing that kind of attention from men, younger or older, it still gave her ego a nice boost to know that one so young could still find her so pleasing to look at in that way. How might he react, she wondered, still grinning, if she went back and identified herself to him? It would probably be pretty funny. Lucky for him she wasn’t the kind of person who went out of her way to embarrass people in that way. Well, not without a good reason anyway. Besides, she was still trying to keep her presence on planet as quiet as possible.

  Speaking of pleasing to look at! Royer abruptly stopped and froze in place like some kind of statue. Across the street and just a short distance ahead an attractive young woman with long golden blond hair had just come out of a small shop and was walking toward a nearby bus stop. She was wearing a short black pleather skirt that revealed a lot of leg—and what very nice legs they were, too—a deep forest green blouse, and a pair of those black knee-boots like the ones the admiral’s secretary often wore. As a matter of fact, the whole outfit looked like something Vicky would wear, and this girl definitely had the body to pull it off.

  And in another life, Royer mused, she wouldn’t have minded the chance to pull that outfit off of her nice and slowly, one garment at a time.

  The girl reached the bus stop and took a seat on the bench facing the street, and when she crossed her right leg over her left Royer caught a glimpse of white between them and got a good long look at what appeared to be a smooth, firm thigh. Her heart started pounding in her chest and she felt a stirring deep inside that until that very moment she’d only ever felt with Karen, and she knew right then that if she weren’t a married woman...

  But of course, she was a married woman—a very married woman—and as she averted her gaze and resumed walking she scolded herself for letting her thoughts drift in that direction, even for a moment. She loved her wife very much and missed her terribly. “I need to get home to Karen, and soon,” she whispered under her breath.

  And then, as though a light bulb had suddenly snapped on in her brain, she realized who it was she’d just been gawking at. She looked at her again just to be sure, but she knew she wasn’t mistaken. Stefani O’Donnell, the agency’s own fugitive from the law, was sitting right there, not fifty feet away, as plain as the day was bright. What the hell was she doing on Cirra of all places? And why was she out in public, in broad daylight, so close to a Solfleet facility? She hadn’t even tried to disguise herself. She had to know she was wanted by Solfleet authorities. Not a very smart thing to do.

  O’Donnell looked toward her, so Royer quickly turned away and ducked into the nearest shop...and realized immediately that she’d just made the second of two very basic mistakes. “And that wasn’t a very smart thing for you to do,” she mumbled, referring not only to the way she’d been standing out in the open and staring at O’Donnell—the first mistake—but also to the way she’d dashed out of sight, which had been the surest way to draw attention to herself. She’d been spending too much time behind her desk lately. Her skills were getting rusty, and making mistakes could be dangerous.

  She stepped back, away from the door and the large storefront window, moving out of the direct sunlight while still gazing out at O’Donnell, hoping to determine whether or not she had recognized her and fled. It didn’t matter that they’d never actually met face-to-face. As deputy chief of the agency, her official portrait hung prominently displayed alongside Admiral Hansen’s and about a dozen other officers’ and politicians’ on the walls of every facility that fell under S.I.A. command. That inc
luded the field office on Europa, where O’Donnell had been stationed before she went AWOL and got herself arrested.

  “Excuse I,” someone behind her said in a deep, heavily accented voice. “You would like drink some?”

  Royer turned around and found herself standing in some kind of combination newsstand and whatever-the-Cirrans-drink-to-wake-up-in-the-morning shop. Its quiet, small community atmosphere was typical for such establishments, including those she’d frequented in the past, like most of her favorite coffee shops back home in the Midwest. It seemed a little out of place here in the city, though. Several racks of printed newspapers and magazines—she could smell the fresh ink—lined the walls. Tables already set for customers, who at the moment were very few and far between, filled the dining area, and a lone apron-adorned waiter stood about five feet in front of her, holding a tray full of cups of...something...in his hands, staring at her like she had three heads. A native, she knew immediately. Not from his accent—all known alien races, not to mention the vast majority of the Earth’s own population, spoke heavily accented English—but rather from his eyes. Those beautiful violet eyes that all Cirrans were blessed to be born with. All Sulaini, too, for that matter. She so loved their color.

  “No, thank you,” she finally answered. “I uh...I was just talking to myself.”

  “You was talk to you?” the waiter asked, smiling, looking amused and confused at the same time. “You spirit must be strong agitate.”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Royer responded with a grin of her own.

  “You would like drink some to calm you spirit?”

  “Thank you, that’s very kind, but I don’t have time right now. Maybe later.”

  The waiter shrugged his shoulders—the Cirran equivalent of shaking the head—and said, “You Terrans, always much fast.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

  “Yeah, that’s us,” Royer quietly agreed as she turned back to look out the window again. “Always in a hurry.” O’Donnell was still there, thank goodness—still sitting on the bench.

  Speaking of always being in a hurry, whatever she was going to do—however she was going to take O’Donnell into custody—Royer knew she was going to have to do it quickly, before the bus showed up and whisked her away. But what exactly was she going to do? What would be the quickest and quietest way to make the arrest? She could stay out of sight and call for the Grainger MP’s to come grab her but that would draw a lot of curious attention from the locals that she really didn’t want to draw. Besides, there was always a chance the bus might show up before the MP’s got there, despite the fact the base was so close.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, she considered. She could let O’Donnell get on the bus and then have it intercepted down the street. At least that would cut down on the number of witnesses. But not by enough, she decided. No. She was going to have to do it herself, quickly and quietly, without drawing any attention, and then get out of sight as fast as possible.

  And to do that she was going to have to walk right up to her without being seen.

  Royer sighed. The only way to sneak up on her would be to approach her from behind, but how was she going to cross the open street in full view of her target without being seen? The only alternative was to go out the back door, if the shop even had one, and circle around both blocks, but that would take time—time that she might not have. No. She could lose her that way. She was going to have to cross the street in full view.

  The farther away from O’Donnell she could get before she crossed, the less chance of seeing her O’Donnell would have, so when Royer finally stepped back outside she turned away from her and headed back toward the base to put some more distance between them. Then, when she decided that she’d gone far enough, she crossed the street and started back the other way again, walking at a leisurely pace and staying as tight against the storefronts as she could in order to stay in the shade and out of O’Donnell’s peripheral vision...she hoped.

  Barely two minutes later, as she drew to within ten meters or so of the bench, she turned her face away from her target as much as she could without actually taking her eyes off of her, just in case she suddenly looked in her direction again. God! She was even more beautiful than she’d first realized!

  She passed behind the bench—she’d done it!—then circled around the far end and gazed straight ahead, across the street, as she sat barely a foot to her lovely target’s right. Out of the corner of her eye she saw O’Donnell glance at her, or at least in her general direction, then turn away again as if everything were okay. It was a perfectly normal thing to do. Anyone else would have done the same thing. The important thing was that she apparently hadn’t recognized her.

  Royer stole another look at the younger woman’s gorgeous legs and licked her suddenly dry lips as she considered what to do next. Perhaps under different circumstances the two of them might have gotten together for dinner and... She purged those thoughts from her mind—she really needed to get home to Karen—and, having finally decided how best to proceed, stared straight ahead and asked, “How are you, this morning?”

  O’Donnell looked at her—no doubt this time—and answered, “Fine, thank you.” Then, apparently wanting to be pilot in return, she asked, “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, too,” Royer answered, still without looking at her. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “It certainly is,” O’Donnell agreed, looking up at the sky.

  Royer took advantage of O’Donnell’s momentary inattention and glanced around to make sure any bystanders who might happen to be close enough to hear them talking weren’t actually paying them any attention.

  O’Donnell looked back at her. “Excuse me, but...have we met before?”

  Royer finally looked her in the eye and answered, “No, we haven’t met.” Then she leaned a little closer, prompting O’Donnell to lean slightly away, lowered her voice to a near whisper, and said, “But if you try to run, I’ll shoot you in the back without a second thought.”

  O’Donnell’s mouth fell open and she inhaled sharply as she withdrew further. “What did you just say to me?” she asked, obviously dumbfounded.

  “I said it’s a beautiful day, and if you try to run, Crewman Stefani O’Donnell, I’ll shoot you in the back.”

  “Who the hell...” O’Donnell started to ask. But then a look of total recognition suddenly washed over her face and her jaw practically fell into her lap. “Oh my God,” she said as her face turned three shades of red. “You’re Commander Elizabeth Royer, aren’t you?”

  “In the flesh,” Royer confirmed, “and you, my dear, are under arrest.”

  O’Donnell’s gaze fell to the sidewalk in front of her as she sighed heavily. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, deep shit,” Royer pointed out, “and you’re ass is right smack in the middle of it.”

  O’Donnell’s eyes began to tear. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to get out of it, is there?” she asked without looking up.

  Royer started to answer automatically—she’d certainly been offered bribes before—but then hesitated. ‘...anything I can do to get out of it...’ the girl had asked. What exactly had she meant by ‘anything?’ Was she hinting at a willingness to pay her off in exchange for her freedom, or was she offering something else? Was she perhaps offering to...

  O’Donnell looked up at her. “Ma’am? Did you hear my question?”

  “Yeah, I heard it,” Royer answered. Then she asked, “What exactly are you hinting at, Miss O’Donnell?”

  “Whatever,” the frightened girl answered, shrugging her shoulders. “I can’t go to prison, Commander. I’ll do anything to avoid that. I’ll pay you whatever I can scrape together, I’ll deny you ever saw me if I get caught later, I’ll...I’ll sleep with you if...”

  Royer raised a hand to stop her. Had the girl seen the glint of lust that had doubtlessly flashed through her eyes a few moments ago? Maybe so. Then again, while she’d certainly never gone out of her way
to advertise it, the fact that she was married to another woman was no big secret within the agency, or anywhere else for that matter. Maybe O’Donnell had just figured that she might be up for a little action on the side. And maybe, Royer considered as she gazed into the younger woman’s eyes...maybe she wasn’t entirely wrong. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed her mind a few times over the last few minutes. Would it really hurt to take this beautiful, fresh young woman to bed for a night or two and then cut her loose afterwards, as long as she swore never to mention it to anyone?

  Yes, it would. It would hurt, in more ways than one. The knowledge that she’d had a fugitive in custody and had let her go for something as cheap as a romp between the sheets would hurt. The memory of having had sex with another woman behind Karen’s back would hurt and would haunt her for the rest of her life. And it would hurt Karen as well. It would break her heart, in fact, if she ever found out.

  “You’re a very beautiful young woman, Stefani, and I admit...” She stopped, realizing it would be best for her not to admit to being attracted to her. “We can discuss how you might be able to help yourself when we get to the field office,” she amended, hoping that her momentary lapse hadn’t given O’Donnell the impression that she was thinking her offer over. “It’s less than a mile up the street.”

  She stood up and faced her prisoner. “Let’s go,” she prompted. O’Donnell looked up at her through tear-filled puppy eyes. “Now,” she added.

  O’Donnell wiped away her tears, then stood up and offered her hands to be cuffed. Royer glanced down at them, then took a step backward and started to turn away, but stopped when O’Donnell only stared at her and didn’t move to follow. “I said, let’s go,” she ordered in a more authoritative tone of voice.

  O’Donnell dropped her hands to her sides and asked, “How are you going to shoot me in the back when you don’t have a gun?”