Solfleet: The Call of Duty

by Smith, Glenn

  “We’re talking about her fiancé, Liz,” Hansen reminded her. “Do you really think she’d step away from it so easily?”

  “She’s out of the service, sir,” Royer reminded him right back. “She has no clearance and no resources with which to pursue the matter.”

  “True enough,” Hansen acquiesced. He took another sip of his coffee, and then another as he considered what to do next. On the one hand, Liz’s people could have overlooked something. Whatever Min’para was planning to do in New York—and he agreed with Liz that reporting whatever he’d uncovered was the most likely scenario—their surveillance of Miss DeGaetano might yet reveal something...if the two of them were working together. But on the other hand, Liz had just told him they were spread pretty thin down there, and there was always a chance they might need more manpower in New York at some point very soon if Min’para raised a real stink...whether they were working together or not.

  “All right,” he said, having finally decided. “Terminate all surveillance on the DeGaetano family and their contacts. Divert those teams to New York and put them on standby.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise, sir?”

  “To be honest, no, I’m not. Not completely. But I think we have to risk it. Tell you the truth, Liz, the more I think about it, the more I doubt that whoever the professor is on his way to see will take his information seriously. But according to regulations they’ll have to conduct at least a preliminary investigation to determine whether or not there’s any merit to what he says. They might want to talk to Miss DeGaetano and her family, as well as to anyone else they might have talked to. If we don’t call off the surveillance, then we run the risk of its being detected.”

  “I disagree with you on that, sir,” she responded confidently. “Our people are the very best at what they do.”

  “Yes they are, Commander,” he wholeheartedly agreed. “But surveillance techniques are generally the same no matter what agency you work for. Our people might be the best at employing them, but they aren’t the only ones who do it well.”

  “Hm. You’re worried about the possibility of counter-surveillance,” Royer concluded as her mind started racing ahead.

  “Possibility,” Hansen confirmed, nodding his head. “Besides,” he continued, “didn’t you just tell me you suspect the professor is pursuing this matter alone?”

  “What I said, sir, was that I’m beginning to think he might be. I’m not convinced of that yet though, and until I am I think we should continue to assume he’s not. But even if he is, I suspect that’ll change if you’re right about what the authorities will do after he talks to them.”

  “I am right.”

  “Yes, sir. I know you are.”

  She took a mouthful of coffee and swallowed. Twice. There was no point in delaying any further. The time had come to revisit that forbidden subject. Too bad she couldn’t put that psychological advantage she’d hoped for to use. If only he hadn’t sat directly across from her, where the table blocked his view of her legs.

  “And that brings up another point,” she said as she leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the corner of the chair to her right. At best, he could maybe see her knees, if he even bothered to look. No advantage there. He’d seen her bare knees a million times.

  “That point being?” he inquired.

  “It’s almost certain that if they do talk to Miss DeGaetano, they’ll conclude that whatever the professor will have told them does, in fact, have merit. Therefore, sir...” She hesitated, but only for a second, “I really think it would be in our best interest to make sure the professor never reaches his destination.”

  Hansen set his mug down somewhat less gently than he could have, spilling a little coffee on the table, then sat back and glared at her. “I told you, Liz...”

  “I haven’t forgotten what you told me, sir.”

  “Good. Then I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  “Sir, it’s the only way...”

  “I said no, Commander!” he barked angrily, slapping a hand down on the table and making her jump as coffee sloshed from both of their mugs.

  Royer sighed. “Admiral,” she said calmly, “there’s far too much at stake here. This goes way beyond our careers. You’ve got to authorize the use of lethal force if absolutely necessary. You’ve got no other choice at this point. You must see that.”

  “You listen to me, Commander, and you listen good,” he said after a moment, glaring at her while at the same time doing his best to reflect her level of calmness, “because I’m not going to repeat myself again. I’ve made a lot of extremely difficult decisions over thirty-five years of service. I’ve violated some of the highest laws of our world. I’ve committed crimes and orchestrated cover-ups and conducted unauthorized investigations, all in the name of planetary security. Now I’m bordering on treason by acting against the president’s orders, and I might be standing on the wrong side of that border already. But I absolutely will not authorize or be party to the coldblooded murder of anyone, for any reason.”

  When Royer didn’t respond, Hansen stood up, stepped away from the table, and pushed his chair back underneath it. “Do whatever you have to do, Commander, short of that.” Then, as he started backing toward her living room, he added, “Terminate all surveillance operations on the DeGaetano family and all related parties. Then get some rest.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said as he turned and walked away. Then, after he’d gone and the door had closed behind him, she quietly added, “Whatever you say, sir.”

  Chapter 60

  With one last quick jolt that pressed Min’para forward against his harness, the spaceplane finally came to a stop adjacent to a gate and powered down. The professor looked out through the small window beside him to see the aerobridge extending toward the fuselage. Then, relieved that the stomach-churning flight was finally over, he unfastened the harness, stood up, and drew a deep breath as he gladly stepped into the line of passengers collecting their carry-on luggage and filling the aisle, waiting to disembark. It hadn’t really been that long a flight—actually, the word ‘drop’ probably described it more accurately—but susceptibility to mild motion sickness had always been his one unconquerable weakness, so it had seemed like hours. He’d started to perspire, heavily, but at least he hadn’t vomited.

  As he followed the other passengers off the plane, up the gently sloping ramp through the fully extended accordion-like aerobridge’s subdued amber light, and out through the security scanner toward the significantly warmer and brighter gate G-27 waiting area, he started feeling better. He stepped aside as soon as there was room enough and allowed those few stragglers who’d exited the plane behind him to pass, and to his dismay, the suspicious gentleman in the finely tailored gray suit was among them.

  How could that be? He’d been so careful to make sure no one followed him to the other gate. When could he possibly have boarded the plane?

  According to the agent who’d changed his reservation for him, it was rare for even one person to show up in need of a reservation change at the last minute. Especially for one of the early morning flights. Early morning passengers usually took care of those things the day before. And yet right there in front of him was the second passenger to apparently have done that this morning—he being the first one himself, of course. Even more than his bizarre behavior back at the station terminal, that made Min’para very suspicious of him.

  He was beginning to feel a little like a protagonist in one of Earth’s famous spy thrillers and was actually beginning to enjoy it, despite the perceivable danger. Perhaps he should...how did the Terrans like to put it?...‘turn the tables’ on him and follow him for a while.

  What in the fires of the underworld was he thinking? These people were dangerous!

  Common sense had already won out when, just moments after he’d nearly lost all sense of reality, his suspicions were laid to rest. A number of the other passengers had stopped here and there to exchange handshakes or
hugs with those who’d been waiting to greet them. The gray-suited man had maneuvered around them all and was making his way toward the corridor, looking about in all directions when a young woman with long brown hair, wearing a silky white blouse and a short black skirt—too short, in the professor’s opinion—appeared out of nowhere and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him to the floor.

  “Welcome home, Daddy,” the professor heard her say. Then, when the two of them finally separated, they looked at each other and smiled just long enough for Min’para to notice the family resemblance. Then they headed down the corridor, arm-in-arm.

  Min’para laid his hand over his handcomp, despite knowing that he couldn’t possibly lose it, even if he wanted to—he’d wrapped it in the electronics packaging and sewn into his coat’s liner—then drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly to relax. “You’re getting a bit paranoid in your old age, Professor,” he mumbled quietly to himself. “Calm down now.”

  He repeated the breathing exercise several more times, then crossed the waiting area and approached the large tinted windows that looked out over the next gate in line, where a sleek atmospheric airliner with four distinct engines mounted on wide-spanning wings appeared to be in the process of boarding. The morning sun shone brightly through the thick transluminum pane—its light shone a bit more yellow than Caldanra’s, he noted—and felt like a warm compress against his face, and he could just make out the low drone of that airliner’s idling engines. Finding the combination of those two sensory stimulants to be oddly soothing, he folded his hands behind his back, raised his face toward the sun, and closed his eyes.

  He stood there, quite relaxed, long enough for the waiting area to empty, then made his way to the nearest exit as quickly as he could without drawing attention. He hoped.

  The heavy southwesterly breeze hit him like a sudden blast from a wind tunnel’s engine the moment he stepped outside, blowing his thinning desert-gray hair in whatever haphazard manner it chose and carrying with it a myriad of interesting scents. Some of them were familiar, others not so much. The aromas of a variety of foods blended into a mouth-watering bouquet. The smells of the sea, both good and not so good were present as well. There was even a hint of jet propellant, though that particular odor proved quite difficult to discern. Thank the gods the Terrans had stopped burning fossil fuels decades ago. Otherwise that dreadful odor would likely have overwhelmed all the others.

  The breeze itself didn’t surprise him at all. Aerospaceports everywhere always tended to be windy. But December marked the end of autumn in Earth’s northern hemisphere, so he’d expected the air to feel bitterly cold, the way it had all those years ago. Especially in New York. And yet the day was already surprisingly warm. Not warm enough to prevent him from feeling a little chilly as he stood there, but warm nonetheless.

  The weather patterns on this world certainly could be unpredictable at times.

  He turned up his collar and gathered it tightly around his neck, then hurried up the spiral ramp to board the free skytram for the city. He chose a sun-side window seat near the front of the car and sat down. That way, not only would he stay as warm as possible during the ride, he’d also be able to get off quickly when they reached his stop.

  Several minutes ticked by, during which time a number of other passengers boarded the tram. Min’para reached out to each one of them in turn with his mind as they walked by, trying to touch their thoughts—trying to get a sense of any hidden agenda that might be lurking there. But he was a touch telepath, as all Cirran telepaths were, and he simply couldn’t do it.

  One thing he did notice, however. A fact that was no doubt painfully obvious to telepaths and non-telepaths alike. As far as the Terrans were concerned it was a warm day in New York City. Without exception, everyone he’d seen since his arrival had either dressed in anticipation of a sweltering afternoon or had begun to remove whatever superfluous outer clothing they could do without. Those in business attire, males and females alike, had either left their suit coats behind or were carrying them over their arms. Shirt and blouse collars were open—some of them, particular some of the women’s, were more open than others—and sleeves were rolled up.

  Some of those not in business attire were barely dressed at all, at least by his standards. A few were so scantily clad, in fact, that they might even have been bordering on public indecency.

  The two young females who’d boarded the tram last, both of whom looked to be in their late teens at most in Terran years, were perfect examples. The first, a moderately dark-skinned young woman with straightened shoulder-length brown hair—probably of African or Caribbean descent, he surmised—was dressed in nothing but a skimpy bright yellow bikini bottom with little gold fasteners on both hips and a beige fishnet tee shirt that she needn’t have bothered wearing at all, considering how her chocolate brown nipples peaked out through the meager fabric. The other, a fair-skinned Asian with long, lustrous black hair was wearing an extremely short denim skirt—gods only knew if she had any underwear on underneath it—and a short-sleeved, half-length, sheer light blue blouse with only a single button between her breasts to hold it closed and quite obviously nothing underneath.

  How could they possibly get away with dressing in that manner in public, Min’para wondered as his averted his eyes? What an immoral and barbaric culture these Terrans had created for themselves.

  Yes. There was a lot of bare skin onboard, some of it glistening with perspiration. But the same air that had made everyone else so uncomfortably warm had actually given him a chill. He couldn’t wait to get to Manhattan and go back inside a building. He only wished he knew right where to go.

  Granted, he was used to the much warmer and more humid climate of Corietta Province. After all, except for those two years he’d spent on Earth as a student, he’d lived there his entire life. But generally speaking, there wasn’t really that much difference between the two worlds as a whole, and he could remember many days at Harvard, Yale, and Drexel, when he’d perspired right along with his much younger Terran classmates.

  But never in December.

  What in the names of the gods was wrong with him? Where had his mental discipline gone? His thoughts were jumping from one subject to the next and back again like those of an undisciplined child.

  Still, he knew he shouldn’t be feeling so cold on a day that was so uncomfortably warm for everyone else, Coriettan or not. Was he even more nervous about this real life drama he’d gotten himself involved in than he’d realized? Or was old age finally catching up to him?

  Once the tram finally pulled out from the station, he tried to relax again. But before long he started feeling jittery instead, as though someone were staring right through the back of his head. As difficult as it was, he resisted the urge to turn around and look so as not to give away the fact that he’d felt the eyes upon him. Instead, he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind once more, stretching his telepathic abilities to their limits and beyond. But it was no good. No matter how hard he concentrated, what he did manage to pick up amounted to nothing more than unintelligible background noise. He couldn’t zero in on any one person’s thoughts, and he was just too weary to keep up the effort for very long.

  He kept track of the tram’s progress on the small video screen that protruded from the ceiling. Nearly half of all the passengers in his car got off at the first stop, a large interchange terminal in the center of downtown Queens. The tram sat and waited with its doors open for an additional minute after the last person exited, but no one else stepped aboard. At the end of that minute an off-key chime sounded four times. Then the doors closed and the tram pulled away from the terminal.

  The two scantily clad teenage girls, both of whom had demonstrated a severe case of the whispers and giggles along the way, got off halfway across the New Queensboro Bridge at the Roosevelt Island stop. They exited through the right side doors—the left doors hadn’t opened this time—and crossed over to the platform on the left, then walked past Mi
n’para’s window in the direction the tram had come from toward the crowded lift that would carry them down to the island. Down to the ‘Roosevelt Island Clothing-Optional Family Water Park,’ he recalled from his days living in nearby Connecticut. A clothing-optional family water park! He shook his head as he watched the giggling girls squeeze onto the lift.

  Yes, indeed. A truly immoral and barbaric culture.

  The tram suddenly exploded with screams and shouts of terror. Min’para faced front just in time to witness a man with a handgun being tackled to the floor by another man. The weapon discharged with an ear-splitting CRACK and a wisp of blue smoke that smelled of gunpowder, but harmlessly into the ceiling. No one was hurt, thank the gods.

  The hero rolled the shooter onto his stomach with ease—at least he made it look easy—then wrenched his arms back and pinned his hands behind his back by kneeling on them. Neither of them uttered a word as the man on top slapped a set of metal restraints on the other’s wrists, hauled him to his feet, and then half carried him off the tram as the passengers applauded.

  Min’para’s pulse was racing as though he’d just run an entire city block at top speed. Had he been the man’s target? Had the conspirators discovered his trickery and sent someone after him? Did they intend to kill him?

  He’d learned early during his first visit to Earth that Terran society could be explosively violent at times. Even the very communities in which he’d lived hadn’t been immune to that violence. But never had he personally been so close to it before. Even under Veshtonn rule back home he’d always been sheltered and protected.

  He drew a deep breath and started going through a quick calming ritual as the tram finally started moving again. But one thought stood firm in his mind. On Earth, especially in the United States, an assassination could easily be passed off as a random crime.