Solfleet: The Call of Duty

by Smith, Glenn

  “They’ll have some rebuilding to do, too, you know,” Hansen pointed out.

  “Which they’ve always managed to do a lot faster than we have,” she reminded him. “That’s a cold hard fact, and you know it. Sir.”

  She had a good point. Two of them, actually. “You’re absolutely right, Liz,” he told her. “The Veshtonn have shown us many times during this war that they can rebuild their forces a lot faster than any of the Coalition members can...including the Tor’Kana. And they do know how vital the Tor’Kana are. But that doesn’t necessarily guarantee they’ll try to take Rosha’Kana back again. At least not right away, because now they also know what lengths we’re willing to go to in order to defend that system.”

  “Which does not one damn thing to improve our chances of defending it successfully when the time comes, sir,” she countered. “And you know the time will come. They’ll invade again, before we’re ready for them.” She paused a moment, strictly for effect, then added, “You need to send a confirmation message right away, Admiral. Deep down inside you know as well as I do that Timeshift is the only hope we have.”

  “I know no such thing, Commander,” Hansen contended as he stood up and stepped over to his window. The station had been turned and his view of the Earth was gone, replaced by that of millions upon millions of stars. How poetic, he thought. The Earth...gone, with only the stars remaining and no vessels in sight. Was that what the future held for Earth, her colonies, and the Coalition as a whole? Was that to be their fate?

  “Write the message, Commander,” he instructed, “but don’t send it. If it’s to be done, the responsibility will be mine and mine alone.”

  Royer took his place behind his desk, went to work, and finished in barely a minute.

  “It’s ready, Admiral,” she advised him, moving aside for him but not yet relinquishing his chair. He stepped over to her side and read what she had written.

  TO: Commander, Station X-ray One.

  FROM: Commander, Solfleet Intelligence Agency.

  AUTHORITY: Commanding Officer, Solfleet.

  SUBJECT: Confirmation of Orders.

  BODY: Agent’s orders are officially confirmed.

  “Short and sweet,” he commented. “Directly to the point.”

  “That’s exactly what Commander Akagi would expect from Admiral Chaffee, sir,” she pointed out, looking up at him. “Even though the response is coming from this office, which I’m sure he won’t be very happy about.”

  “And just like that we rewrite history. Maybe.”

  “We save history, sir,” Royer corrected. “If not for ourselves then for our counterparts in an alternate timeline, depending on which theory is the right one. All you have to do is send the message.” Hansen stood there, staring down at the ‘send’ pad just beneath the lower right corner of the screen. But he didn’t move to touch it. “Sir?”

  “What about our people assigned to look for the lieutenant’s message?” he asked.

  “Already in position and standing by, sir. And they’ve all got crypto-links, so they can notify you directly by comm-link if they find something.”

  His office door suddenly flew open with a whine at twice its normal speed and a vaguely familiar voice called out, “Admiral Hansen.”

  Hansen and Royer both looked up to find Chairman MacLeod and a young, clean cut and very well dressed gentleman approaching them. A pair of uniformed Military Policemen—one a fairly large and muscular Asian squad sergeant in his early to mid twenties, the other an even younger white female sergeant of average size and build—came in behind them and took up positions on either side.

  “Chairman MacLeod,” Hansen began angrily as he stepped out from behind his desk.

  “Vice-Admiral Icarus Hansen...”

  “Yes, Mister Chairman, as you well know, and this happens to be my private office, and that door you just came through without the courtesy of buzzing first was closed for a reason. Now, I don’t know who you think you are, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t just...”

  MacLeod held a data chip out in front of him. “Yes, Admiral. Complaint noted,” he said as he and his party came to a halt halfway across the room. “This chip contains presidential arrest warrants for both you and Commander Royer.”

  Hansen and Royer exchanged a look that only they as longtime colleagues would know how to interpret.

  “The gentleman to my right is Special Agent Krieger of the C-I-D,” MacLeod informed them. Then he faced the agent and said, “Agent Krieger, let’s get this over with, shall we.”

  Krieger took a single step forward and slightly in front of MacLeod, but before he could say anything Hansen stepped up to him, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “You’re orders, Agent, are to turn around and escort the chairman and his party out of my office immediately.”

  The young agent hesitated, swallowed hard, then began, “Sir, I...”

  “Make your choice, son,” Hansen told him.

  The agent hesitated again, for a moment, then did just that. “Admiral, by direct order and authority of the President of the United Earth Federation, I hereby place you, Vice-Admiral Icarus Hansen...” He met Royer’s eyes as well, just long enough to address her, “...and you, Commander Elizabeth Royer...” then looked back at Hansen again, “...under arrest for willful violation of the Brix-Cyberclone Cessation Act of twenty-one sixty-two. Sergeants, take them into custody.”

  “Sir,” the squad sergeant began as he approached Hansen, “please turn around and place your hands on top of your head.”

  “You, too, Commander,” the buck sergeant added as she started toward Royer. “Stand up, turn around, and place your hands on top of your head.”

  It was all over. More than six years of worrying that they’d one day be arrested for what they had done, of wondering whether or not he would make it to retirement, had finally come to an end. Strangely enough, an almost intoxicating sense of relief filled his spirit as he complied with the Military Policeman’s instructions. They’d broken the law—the two highest laws of their world, in fact—and inevitably the law had finally caught up with them. There had been times along the way when he’d almost wished for it. Now he knew why.

  But Royer wasn’t so ready to cooperate. At first she remained defiantly seated, but when the buck sergeant came around the desk and grabbed her by the arm like she was some kind of common criminal she suddenly sprang to her feet and yelled, “Get your fucking hands off me!” and then shoved the younger woman away from her so hard that she almost fell backwards to the floor.

  “As ease, Commander!” Hansen hollered as the squad sergeant cuffed his hands behind his back. But when the sergeant moved in on her for the second time, much more aggressively than before, Royer expertly countered her attempts to grab her by the arms and then spun around with lightning speed and kicked her square in the chest, launching her back into the small bookshelf against the wall with a loud crash. Then she lunged for the comm-panel.

  The squad sergeant practically threw Hansen into Krieger’s hands and then jumped up into one of the visitor’s chairs, launched himself over the desk, and tackled Royer to the floor as though she were the opposing quarterback in a football game, but not before she managed to thumb the ‘send’ pad and delete the confirmation message from the screen. Within seconds of that, the MPs had Royer face down on the floor with her arms cuffed securely behind her.

  Krieger tapped the comm-link pinned to his suit coat collar. “Communications Center, this is Special Agent Krieger of the C-I-D. Intercept and suspend all communications outgoing from the S-I-A’s offices in the last minute, and advise me as to their contents.”

  “Understood, sir. Stand by.” And a few seconds later, “Special Agent Krieger, this is the Comm-Center. There have been no outgoing signals from any terminal at that location in the last minute.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Confirmed, sir. No communications in or out in the last minute. In fact, according to my logs, there
haven’t been any outgoing signals from there in over an hour.”

  “All right. Keep an eye out for any that might have been set for delayed transmission. Krieger out.” He tapped his comm-link off, then gestured for the MPs to pick Royer up off the floor. As soon as they had her back on her feet and facing him, he asked, “What did you just do on that panel, Commander?”

  “Nothing,” Royer lied.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence, Commander. We all saw you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mister Krieger.”

  He exhaled loudly. “No. Of course you don’t,” he said, obviously having expected to get exactly that kind of response. No doubt he expected the same from Hansen as well, but he still had to ask. He faced him. “Admiral Hansen, what was on your screen?”

  “Sorry, Mister Krieger,” Hansen said after thinking about it for a few seconds. “I would tell you, but I couldn’t see it from here.” He needed time to think.

  “Of course you couldn’t.” He turned to MacLeod. “Let’s get them out of here, sir.”

  “One moment please, Mister Krieger.” MacLeod moved to the front of Hansen’s desk, reached across to the comm-panel, and pressed a couple of pads. “This is Chairman MacLeod to the Military Police patrol supervisor.”

  “Go ahead, sir.”

  “We have both subjects in custody, Sergeant. Please clear the designated corridors of all traffic at this time.”

  “Affirmed, sir. You should be clear to move in about two minutes or so.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. MacLeod out.”

  Chapter 68

  The door chimes played their short melodic song, but the tune fell on deaf ears. A few seconds later they played a second time, and then a third, before they finally drew Karen out of the romantic, not to mention very erotic virtuavision drama she’d been thoroughly engrossed in for the past hour and a half. Liz was going to love it...if she ever found the time to watch it.

  Karen paused her program and switched off the display. “I’m coming,” she called out as she stood up. She tied off her jade-green Japanese silk mini-robe as she approached the door—Liz had bought the beautiful, dragon-adorned garment for her at the same time she’d bought her own pearl-white one, and she loved it—then checked herself out in the full-length mirror.

  The chimes played one more time before she finally tapped the intercom.

  “Who is it?”

  “Military Police, ma’am,” the answer came. “Open the door, please.”

  Military Police? What could they...Oh God! Liz! She slapped the ‘open’ button. Two young women in tactical Military Police uniforms—all black, heavy duty coveralls and TAC vests—each adorned with a pair of silver-gray chevrons on the left sleeves—lance corporals, if she wasn’t mistaken—stood before her.

  “Misses Karen DiAngelo?” the one on the left asked. She was a fairly plain looking woman, about Karen’s size, with blond hair nearly as bright as Liz’s pulled straight back and rolled into a fist-sized bun.

  “Yes. What can I do for you?” Karen asked anxiously.

  “You’ll have to come with us, ma’am.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Then it hit her. “Oh my God. My wife, Commander Elizabeth Royer? Is she all right?”

  “We’re not at liberty to say anything, ma’am,” the other policewoman told her. She was a taller and probablu outweighed her by a good fifty pounds—a less attractive woman with short brown hair brushed behind her ears and hanging loosely at her neck. “You’ll be told all about it back at Security Control.”

  “Told about what?” Karen asked anxiously. “Can’t you just tell me if she’s all right or if she’s hurt or...”

  “She’s fine, ma’am,” the blonde answered, “She’s been arrested, but she’s...”

  “Arrested!” Karen exclaimed. “What for?”

  “We really can’t tell you anything more than that, ma’am. Now, please, let’s go.”

  “Umm, okay. Just, uh...” She stepped away and started toward the bedroom. “Just let me put some clothes on and...”

  The MPs charged into the room and grabbed her by the arms.

  “You’re not going anywhere by yourself, ma’am,” the stocky one said.

  “Take your hands off me!” Karen shouted, twisting herself free of their halfhearted grasps. “How dare you put your hands on me!”

  “Look, I apologize for that, ma’am,” the blond said. “We didn’t mean to upset you, but we can’t just let you wander into the other room by yourself. We don’t know what you might come out of there with.”

  “All I want is to put on some decent clothes! I’m not going anywhere dressed like this!”

  “That’s fine, ma’am,” the blond conceded. “Of course you can get dressed first, but one of us is going to have to go with you.”

  “Why? Am I under arrest, too?” Karen asked, her tone growing more challenging as her patience began to wear thin.

  The MPs exchanged a look. Then the blond answered, “Well, no, ma’am, you’re not actually under arrest, but...”

  “Then I don’t really have to go anywhere with you if I don’t want to, do I?”

  “Uh, yes, ma’am, you do.”

  “The hell I do! You can’t just...”

  “We can and we are!” the stocky one bellowed, leaving no room for argument as she stepped closer. “Now, you can either let one of us come with you while you change your clothes or you can come with us as you are. But one way or the other, you are going to come with us.”

  Karen stared at the heifer of a woman, sizing her up. She clearly meant what she’d said, and the piercing look in her dark brown eyes made it clear that she would not hesitate to grab her by the neck and drag her out if she had to. And if heifer did that, Karen knew, she wouldn’t stand an unsuited astronaut’s chance in the icy cold of open space against her. “Fine,” she finally said. “You can both come with me for all I care.” She turned her back and headed into the bedroom.

  Judging from the footfalls behind her, it was the heifer who followed. A backward glance as she opened the bedroom door confirmed that she’d judged correctly.

  She slipped off her robe without a second thought and tossed it onto the foot of the bed as she walked by it on the way to her dresser. But then, as she leaned down and opened her bottom dresser drawer, she felt the other woman’s eyes on her and that made her uncomfortable enough that she didn’t want to leave her back turned any longer than necessary. Problem was, she didn’t want to face the woman bare-breasted either, so she grabbed whatever shirt happened to be on top of the stack of neatly folded clothes—her sleeveless sky-blue half-tee—and quickly pulled it on, then opened the top drawer and pulled on a pair of ankle socks. Then she closed both drawers and moved to the closet for a pair of jeans. She pulled them on and fastened them, then shooed her escort back into the living room ahead of her.

  “Ready?” the blond asked rhetorically.

  “Don’t I look ready?” Karen returned sarcastically. She slipped on her sneakers, opened the door, and punched the lock code into the wall panel. “Well? Let’s go,” she said, gesturing for them to lead the way.

  “Not quite yet,” the blond said. Karen looked at her, then followed her gaze when it fell downward to the empty space between them. She was holding a set of handcuffs, open and ready to be put to use. “For our own protection.”

  “Oh no!” Karen exclaimed. “You are not putting those on me!”

  “It’s regulations.”

  “What regulations? You said I wasn’t under arrest!”

  “You’re not, but it’s standard procedure when bringing in a potentially hostile witness.”

  “I’m not going to do anything!”

  “Damn right you’re not,” the heifer assured her as she grabbed the handcuffs out of her partner’s hand. She stepped forward and grabbed Karen by the arm and spun her around.

  “Hey!” Karen hollered. “What are you...”

  The heifer shoved her into th
e doorjamb with a thud and held her there as she twisted her arm up behind her back.

  “Ow! Stop it! You’re hurting me!” She heard the ratchet and felt the cuffs lock into place around her wrist. Fear filled her heart as the MP bent her other arm up behind her and locked it in as well, and though she tried her best not to, she began to cry.

  The heifer pulled her away from the doorjamb and let the door close. The blond took her other arm, and as they started down the corridor, the heifer commented, “They always have to do it the hard way.”

  Chapter 69

  Except for the one extraordinarily large, stalwart MP who stood silent guard beside the windowless blue-gray door directly behind him, whose unwavering glare he could almost feel burning through the back of his head, Admiral Hansen waited patiently, all alone. The MPs had seated him at one end of a small rectangular table near the center of the barren and immaculately clean but excessively over-lit interrogation room. The sign on the door had identified the room as ‘Interview 2’, but the room had obviously been constructed with criminal interrogations in mind. His chair was one of three, all identical to one another, which were arranged around the table. But unlike the other two his was permanently affixed to the dull gray plasticrete floor and had a set of security straps hanging from its arms and the back of its seat. Had he been anyone other than a flag-grade officer, he imagined, he’d likely have been strapped in.

  There was nothing else in the room. No additional furniture, no cabinets, not even a clock or a video screen on the plain white walls. Had the table been made of old dried out wood, its surface slightly warped and its paint chipped and peeling, and had there been a single, blinding source of light hovering directly above it, he would have felt like the newly captured suspect in an old police drama, waiting to be interrogated by the hero detective.

  Come to think of it, the longer he waited the more he felt like that anyway, despite the more contemporary surroundings. Probably because that was exactly what he was waiting for.