Solfleet: The Call of Duty

by Smith, Glenn

  “I see.” Now what? It was his turn to speak. He had to say something. She was waiting. But what? “So what are you doing out this late at night?” he finally heard himself ask, cringing inside at how lame a question that was even as he asked it.

  “I like to go for a walk before I go to bed,” she answered graciously. “Sometimes I go swimming, too. What about you, Sergeant? What are you doing out this late?”

  “Please, call me Dylan.”

  She smiled. “All right, Dylan.”

  He smiled back. “I woke up and looked out the window. I guess you could say the garden invited me out.” He looked around and added, “It’s really peaceful out here at night.”

  “Yeah, that’s why... Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, realization filling her voice. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “No, you’re not disturbing me,” he assured her as his eyes met hers. “In fact, I’m glad to have the company.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He smiled again. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “All right,” she said, returning his smile.

  She wasn’t the blonde who lived across the courtyard, but she was a very pretty girl in her own right. Her features were warm and beautiful, and Dylan quickly became aware that an attraction—a physical attraction, of course—already seemed to be forming between them.

  “You know,” she was saying, “since we’re out here together, I’ve been wondering about something and I’d like to ask you a question...if you don’t mind.”

  “What kind of question?” he asked.

  “It’s about your family.”

  “My family? You mean my wife, my parents, or my ancient ancestors?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure if it’s about your family or not,” she explained, backstepping a little bit. “That’s actually the question. I’ve been wondering if you’re related to Captain Richard Graves of the Excalibur.” Dylan gazed at her without expression. “The ship whose crew made the first actual face-to-face contact with the Cirrans back in sixty-eight when they tried to rescue one of their shuttles?” she further clarified. Maybe she’d mistaken his Ranger’s silent suspicion for a lack of understanding. “You know, the one the Veshtonn destroyed during the cease-fire.”

  He scrutinized her features very carefully, paying particular attention to the color of her slightly almond-shaped eyes, and it only took a moment for her to realize what he was doing.

  “They’re not violet,” she told him. “They’re green, and I’m not wearing lenses.”

  “I’m sorry, but...”

  “I know. A Solfleet soldier can’t be too careful. Especially one who’s stationed in this system. But you don’t have to worry, Dylan. I’m not a Cirran traitor or a Sulaini spy. I’m as Terran as you are. Besides, I’m in Solfleet myself, remember.”

  “Anyone could get their hands on a uniform if they really wanted to,” he pointed out.

  “True, but I’m not just some stranger who walked up to you on the street, am I?” she countered. “You recognized me the minute I stepped into the light.”

  He grinned and nodded his head. “Okay, you win. You’re not a Cirran traitor or a Sulaini spy.”

  “And?” she coaxed.

  “And, yes, I’m related to Richard Graves. He was my father. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” she answered. Then she looked away, down at the ground, and quietly added, “I lost my father to the Veshtonn, too.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “He was the chief of engineering operations aboard the Boshtahr Jumpstation when the Veshtonn destroyed it.” She looked up. “My God. Has it really been over twenty years already? I was on Earth with my mother at the time, for my grandmother’s hundredth birthday. We were all going to stay for a month but my dad was called back early.” She sighed. “Mom was never quite the same after he was killed. She just sort of...died inside. If only your father could have beaten them. Maybe then...”

  “I know!” Dylan snapped defensively as he practically jumped up from the bench and stepped away. “Maybe then the Veshtonn wouldn’t have been able to occupy this system. Maybe then they wouldn’t have discovered bolamide. Maybe then they wouldn’t have launched the sneak attack on Boshtahr and destroyed the jumpstation.” He turned and faced her. “I’ve heard all of that about a thousand times before. It’s not fair to blame my father for...”

  “No!” she exclaimed, looking at him with surprise and shaking her head as she, too, stood up. “No, I’m not blaming your father, Dylan! I’m not blaming him at all! He bloodied their noses real good before they...” She hesitated to say it, but then reminded herself that he obviously knew what happened, “...before they destroyed his ship. I know that. How many of them did he take out in that battle? Two? Three?”

  After a moment he answered, “According to publicized Intelligence reports, four.”

  “Four!” She sat back down. “No, I don’t blame your father at all. On the contrary, I think he was one of the best starcruiser captains I’ve ever read about. If there were too many of them for him to defeat...”

  Dylan’s anger quickly subsided, and as he sat down next to the girl again he even felt a measure of pride on behalf of his father. Pride? In his father? How could that possibly be? His father had abandoned the family almost twenty-three years ago. He’d chosen the captaincy of his precious starcruiser over the love and companionship of his own wife and children, including a newborn infant, and had gotten himself killed shortly thereafter.

  Dylan had quickly grown to resent his father, even to hate him—his mother had often told him that he’d grown up angry—and that hatred had become so deeply rooted that throughout most of his teens and early twenties he’d refused even to think about him. It was only in the last few years that he’d managed to come to terms with his painful past and forgive his father. Or had he? He liked to think so, but truth be told, sometimes he still wasn’t too sure. Hatred? Yes, once upon a time. But no longer. His desire to forgive him had vanquished it. Resentment? Maybe still, to some extent. But pride?

  “Your father’s actions in the face of the enemy were probably the only thing that kept them from swarming across the border right then and there and plowing their way through Earth-controlled space in full force,” the girl added. “He was undoubtedly one of the biggest heroes of that period of the war.”

  Dylan had no idea how to respond to that. Like most everyone else he’d ever known, he’d read the stories of his father’s bloody battles against the Veshtonn. Hell, he’d read all the stories about his father’s career that he could find, both fact and fiction. Some of them fairly recently, too. He’d read about his days as a cadet at the Solfleet Academy, about his years as a junior officer, and about his eventual rise to the captaincy of his own vessel. And he’d read every news story that had ever been written about his attempt to rescue the crew of that ill-fated Cirran shuttle. Still, there were times he couldn’t be sure if ‘hero’ was the word he would have used to describe him. He had a few other words in mind, even now.

  He sighed. True forgiveness was proving to be a lot more difficult than it sounded.

  “This war has gone on too long,” he commented, intentionally changing the subject. “Too many people have died.”

  “I’d hate to think of the alternative.”

  “Yeah, you’re right about that. If we were ever forced to withdraw from this system, for example, it would likely be the next one to fall...again. The Cirrans are a good people. I think the Sulaini are, too, to tell you the truth, despite their aggressive nature. I don’t relish the thought of seeing any of them enslaved by the Veshtonn again. Or worse. I just wish there were another way. All this back and forth slaughter is so...so stupid. Tragic.”

  She looked at him curiously. “You surprise me, Dylan.”

  “How so?”

  “Your attitude. Most of the soldiers and Marines I’ve met seem to wish the war would escalate even further than it alr
eady has, if that’s even possible. It’s like they have some kind of sick fascination with it or something. It’s really disgusting, if you ask me.”

  “They’re a small minority, I assure you. I’ll bet none of them had ever even seen combat when they said whatever they said to give you that opinion of them. Trust me, no one hates war more than a soldier who’s fought one.”

  “My mother told me once that my father used to say that same thing when they were young, every time he came back from a forward deployment.”

  “He was right.” Another, more humorous thought struck Dylan and made him grin. “You know, when I was growing up I swore I’d never join the military service. Sometimes I’m still not sure why I did. Other times I think...”

  He paused. Something had distracted the girl and she wasn’t listening. What was it she’d said? She’d mentioned what her mother had told her and then her attention had wandered. Maybe she was still thinking about her mother. “So where is your mother these days?” he asked.

  She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly while she gazed down at her folded hands in her lap. “She died a few years ago.”

  Dylan laid his hand gently on the back of her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “So was I at first.” Her eyes met his once more. “Not long after she died I started reading her private diaries, and I began to realize just how painful her life really was after Daddy died. She wrote that I was a constant source of joy for her, but deep down inside she still agonized over his death. She cried herself to sleep almost every night.

  “One night when I was seventeen she wrote an unusually long entry about not wanting to face that inevitable day when I would leave her, too.” her eyes fell to her hands again. “She died in her sleep that same night. I miss her, but at least she’s at peace. She’s buried in her hometown, back in Korea.”

  As Dylan sat listening to the girl—to the young woman—he became acutely aware of the beautiful angles of her face, the sheen of her long black hair under the ghostly glow of the spotlight behind them, and the gentle curve of her shoulder beneath his hand. An overwhelming feeling of being drawn to her washed over him like a warm sunbeam on a cloudy day.

  “I’m glad you’re both at peace,” he said. She looked back to him again, and as he gazed into her eyes as though for the very first time, he felt as though he were looking into the depths of her very soul, and somehow he knew that she was the one—the one with whom he was meant to be.

  What the hell was he thinking? Except for their conversation when he and Carolyn first showed up looking for a place to live, which had been strictly business, he’d only just talked to her for the first time. How could he possibly have come to feel that way about her so quickly? And where did that leave Diane, his old high school sweetheart—the only girl he’d truly ever felt that way about, though only long after it was too late? The only girl he sometimes still thought about in that same way, and for whom he still harbored some very strong and not so deeply buried feelings?

  He had to lighten the moment, and quickly.

  “May I ask you one more question?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He paused for just the right effect, then asked, “What’s your name?”

  She looked dumbfounded as the realization that she hadn’t already told him washed over her. “I am so sorry,” she said, putting a hand over her mouth in embarrassment but still smiling behind it. “It’s Bethany. Corporal Bethany DeGaetano. My friends call me Beth.”

  “Bethany DeGaetano,” he repeated, pleased that his little verbal maneuver had taken her mind off her parents and cheered her up, at least a little. Not to mention what it had done for him. “DeGaetano. Sounds Italian.”

  “It is,” she confirmed, dropping her hand back to her lap. “According to my uncle—my mom’s brother—my father was very Italian.”

  “What does ‘very Italian’ mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders. “I think it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t seem to talk without using his hands.”

  “You seem to be doing all right.”

  “I guess I never got into the habit.”

  “Well, there you go. So much for stereotypes.”

  “But I’m only half Italian.”

  “Ah,” he responded. “That must be it.”

  “Must be,” she playfully agreed.

  “Bethany DeGaetano,” he repeated again after barely a second, just to avoid one of those uncomfortable moments of silence. “Bethany. That’s a pretty name.”

  “Thank you.” she said shyly.

  And before he could stop himself, he added, “For a very pretty young woman.”

  She appeared to be pondering something as she gazed silently into his eyes for a moment, then asked, “Do you know anything about that statue behind us?”

  Maybe those awkward moments of silence made her as uncomfortable as they did him. Or was it his compliment that had brought on the sudden change in subject? Either way, Dylan was glad for it. “Sure I do,” he answered, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the statue. “It’s off-white, made of a very hard stone, and I don’t think my mother would want me staring at it for very long. She’d be afraid I might go blind.”

  “What? Really?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “No, but she’d probably tell me something like that. She’s always loved art, but that thing with all its anatomical detail would probably be nothing more than pornography to her.”

  Beth smiled. Such a beautiful smile. “That thing, as you call it, is Eul’tiran, the Cirran god of lovemaking. It’s no accident that he was placed right here where the garden’s two main paths just happen to cross. Where our paths just happen to have crossed.”

  “Just happen to have crossed?” Dylan asked, using his expression and the inflection of his voice to make his suspicions as obvious as possible.

  “Well,” she grinned, admitting, “I may have planned it. Sort of.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said, grinning back. “So who’s the woman?”

  “The woman?”

  “Yeah, the woman. The one old Eul’tiran up there is teaching the birds and the bees to.”

  “Oh. That’s Satah’ra, a mortal woman who just happened to be in the right place at the right time and caught his eye. Legend has it Eul’tiran was roaming the surface of the mortal world one night when he saw her bathing in a natural pool. According to the story he thought she was the most beautiful mortal woman he’d ever laid eyes on, so he hid in the trees until she finished and let her get dressed, then tore off her clothes and raped her right there on the banks of the pool. When he finished he made her the goddess of fertility as penance.”

  “Lucky woman. Well, sort of.”

  “I think so,” Beth agreed, although the way she said it led Dylan to believe she wasn’t talking about the statue anymore. They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes once again. Dylan knew what was coming next and he began to wonder if he had completely lost his mind. But he couldn’t resist the desire that was driving him closer to her.

  She leaned in to him, closed her eyes, and welcomed his gentle kiss, but her response was tentative at best. Something was obviously bothering her. “What about your wife, Dylan?” she asked nervously, answering his question before he asked it.

  “I don’t have a wife anymore,” he told her. “We divorced a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh,” she said, withdrawing slightly. “I’m...”

  “It’s okay,” he told her, relieving her of the need to tell him she was sorry. “Considering what our marriage has been like for the last few years, we’re both better off.”

  “All three of us,” she pointed out.

  Dylan smiled. “Right. All three of us.”

  She kissed him again. And then, after a brief silence, she asked him, “Feel like going for a swim?”

  “Isn’t it a little cold for that tonight?”

  “Only when you get out. The water’s
nice and warm. Almost like a bathtub.”

  “Well, I’d like to,” he told her, “but I’m still recovering from some pretty serious injuries. I wouldn’t want to aggravate anything.” He was only teasing. He fully intended to go swimming with her, and was in fact looking forward to it.

  “So we’ll take it easy,” she countered, a touch of disappointment finding its way into her voice.

  He smiled, and a moment later, realizing that he’d been pulling her leg, Beth smiled back and slapped him playfully on the arm. But then he remembered that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. If he did go swimming with her, would she be offended if he swam naked? Perhaps he should go up to the apartment and put on his trunks. Skinny-dipping might have been exactly what she had in mind, but then again it might not have. He considered both possibilities, then decided that to err on the conservative side was probably the wisest course of action. Especially considering all the apartments that overlooked the pool.

  “All right,” he finally said, adding as he stood up, “I’ll go put on my trunks and meet you at the pool.”

  “Wait a second,” Beth said, grabbing hold of his jersey to keep him from walking off as she stood with him. “We can’t go to the pool. We have to go to the lake.”

  He turned back to her. “Something wrong with the pool?”

  “No, not exactly,” she answered, grinning mischievously and easing her way into his welcoming arms.

  “Then why do we have to go all the way to the lake?”

  She looked up at him through seductive eyes. “We have to go all the way to the lake because there are a lot of apartments full of curious people overlooking the pool, and when I go swimming at night I don’t actually wear a swimsuit.”

  “Oh.” He smiled, too. “Well. In that case what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  She gave him a quick peck on the lips and said, “I thought you’d see things my way,” and then slipped her hand into his and led him out of the garden.

  As they headed into the forest, Dylan wondered just exactly what her lack of a swimsuit would mean when they got to the lake. Would she swim in her underclothes or in nothing at all? Of course, it didn’t make any difference for him either way? He had no underwear on, so unless he decided to swim in his jeans...