Solfleet: The Call of Duty (105 page)

Portal and
time-shifting aside, so many other questions still remained, and Hansen knew
that with his sentence about to be passed he’d likely never learn the answers
to any of them. Who had kidnapped Stefani O’Donnell and why? Where were they
holding her, if she was even still alive? Where was her father, assuming of
course that the message that had started them all down the Timeshift path in
the first place was genuine, and that its author really was the former
Excalibur
tactical officer and not some enemy intelligence agent trying to mislead them?
Was he still being held captive somewhere deep in Veshtonn space or had they
already executed him? Perhaps the new commanding officer of the S.I.A., whoever
that might turn out to be, might eventually find those answers. But as for why
Graves’ memory-edit had failed...the answer to that question would likely
remain a mystery forever.

As would
the answer to the one question that begun troubling Hansen more than any other.
The question as to whether or not he had been subjected to a memory-edit at
some point in time as well. He alone had survived that horrible attack on
Vice-President Harkam’s ship twenty-three years ago and he’d suffered from
nightmares for a long time afterwards. But with the help of professional
counseling, those nightmares had eventually gone away. And then, just last
year, they’d suddenly returned, and for reasons he still couldn’t begin to
fathom Dylan Graves had started appearing in them as the Security Police
sergeant and second survivor, even though the SP sergeant who’d
really
been there had been killed along with everyone else onboard.

Hansen’s
memories of the attack were clear, even after more than two decades. He
knew
that he alone had survived. He’d
always
known that. Hell, Graves would only have been about six years old at the time, so he couldn’t
possibly
have been there. Nevertheless, he had made an appearance in his nightmares, as
a grown man, and as hard as he tried, Hansen couldn’t think of another
explanation for the discrepancy. Even though his symptoms weren’t
exactly
like those that Graves had suffered—in Graves’ case both conflicting memories
were at least possible—they had to be the result of a failing memory-edit. They
simply
had
to be.

But why?
Why had he been subjected to a memory-edit? What had he ever been involved in
that someone in authority higher than his own would have wanted removed from
his memory? And almost as importantly, why had yet another memory-edit begun to
fail in the first place? Those things were supposed to be infallible.

Yes, a lot
of questions still remained unanswered. But as he’d already reminded himself a
few moments ago, at least he was still alive to ponder them. He only wished
that he could do so while spending whatever remained of his life in freedom
with his daughter rather than behind bars. Especially now that she’d finally
put forth the effort to straighten herself out. Since learning of his arrest,
Heather had left her delinquent ways behind and had stood firmly and uprightly
by his side. She hadn’t gotten into any trouble and in fact stood poised to
finish the school year on the honor roll for the first time ever.

Hansen
couldn’t have felt more proud of her, and he knew that regardless of what might
happen to him in the next few minutes, at least he could feel confident that
she’d be all right in her aunt’s and uncle’s care.

“All rise,”
the sharply uniformed bailiff called out suddenly.

Hansen
looked up from the heavily varnished wooden tabletop he’d been staring at while
his mind processed the instructions they’d just been given, then joined
everyone else in standing up as the panel of three black-robed military judges,
two men and a woman, Solfleet admirals all, marched single file out of their
chambers and returned to their places on the bench.

“The
defendant will remain standing,” the bailiff instructed as soon as the admirals
had taken their seats. “All others, be seated and come to order.”

“Vice-Admiral
Icarus Hansen,” the judge in the center seat began once everyone else had sat
back down and settled in, “you stand before this court and before all the
people of the Earth convicted of committing a capital crime against humanity,
that being the willful violation of the Brix-Cyberclone Cessation Act of
twenty-one sixty-two. Do you have anything to say before this panel passes
sentence against you for that offense?”

“Yes, Your
Honor, I do,” Hansen answered. “I could probably go on for the next several
minutes explaining why I did what I did, but I wouldn’t be telling this court
anything it hasn’t already heard several times during these proceedings. The
bottom line is that I did it. I am guilty as charged, sir, and so convicted. My
only regret is that I haven’t been a better father, and now I’ll likely never
have an opportunity to make up for it.” He knew Heather was back there. He knew
she was watching him and listening to his every word, and that she was probably
crying now, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn and face her. “That’s
all I wanted to say, Your Honor,” he concluded.

“Admiral Hansen,
the crime of which you have been convicted is not only one of several serious
offenses with which you were originally charged,” the judge pointed out, “it
also happens to be one of the very few crimes on the books that still carry a
maximum possible sentence of death.”

Somewhere
behind Hansen, Heather gasped and whimpered, “No.” The fact that the rest of
the charges had been dropped for reasons of planetary security—if they hadn’t
been, a lot of highly classified information would have been disclosed during
what had quickly become a very public trial—suddenly didn’t seem to make much
of a difference anymore.

“However,”
the judge continued, “having taken into account your more than thirty-five
years of honorable service to the fleet, no one sitting on this bench could
bring him- or herself to even consider passing such a sentence against you. But
you
have
been convicted and you must be sentenced in accordance with the
law.”

This was
it. This was the first moment of the rest of his life.

“Vice-Admiral
Icarus Hansen,” the judge proclaimed in his most official sounding tone of
voice, “it is the decision of this panel that you be sentenced as follows.
Effective immediately, you are stripped of your Solfleet commission and reduced
to the pay grade of E-one. In addition, you are ordered to forfeit all pay and
allowances, as well as any and all retirement benefits that you have earned,
and you are to be confined to whatever Solfleet correctional facility might
have survived the last invasion for a period of life,
minus
those
thirty-five years of service.”

The judge
relaxed his posture...slightly, then continued, “Now we obviously have no way
of knowing when your life will end, so the term of your confinement has been
calculated based on the average human life expectancy of one hundred and twenty
years. Therefore, you are to be confined for a period of just less than thirty-one
years, and are to be released on your eighty-fifth birthday.”

Hansen
remained still and stoic as he watched the judge reach for his gavel, but
Heather’s quiet sobbing somewhere behind him nearly tore his heart out.

The judge
raised his gavel and proclaimed, “This court is adjourn...,” but the doors in
the rear of the courtroom burst open before he could strike it. With his arm
still in the air, annoyance twisted his features as he drew a deep breath, no
doubt intending to admonish the intruders. But then he saw who those intruders
were, and he wisely held his tongue.

“Not yet
it isn’t, Your Honor,” a familiar voice begged to differ.

All eyes,
including Hansen’s, turned to find President Shakhar marching forward through
the center of her four-man security detail, the rear two of whom closed the
doors behind them. All military personnel in the room, including the judges,
stood up and assumed the position of attention. Some of the media and other
civilians stood as well. Hansen took the opportunity to steal a glance at his
tearful daughter and was pleased to see her aunt and uncle seated to either
side of her.

“As you
were, everyone,” the president commanded as she stopped near the center of the
public seating area. “Please, everyone, take your seats.”

Except for
the senior judge, everyone quietly sat back down. “What can we do for you,
Madam President?” he asked her.

“May I
approach the bench?” she asked in return.

“Certainly,
ma’am.”

She went
forward, alone, and spoke to the senior judge for a moment while the other two
judges listened in, too quietly for anyone else to hear. Then she produced some
kind of document from within the folds of her sarong, handed it to him, nodded
briefly, and then promptly turned and headed back toward the rear of the courtroom.

She looked
alive again, Hansen noted as she passed. Not so gaunt and troubled as she had
looked on that morning in her office so many months ago. The sparkle had
returned to her eyes, and while her close-cropped hair had continued slowly fading
from black to gray, so too had the healthy glow returned to her chocolate-brown
skin. That meant she was resting well, and that pleased him.

He sat quietly
and stared straight ahead while the judges took a few moments to review the
document she had given them, and he wondered what she was up to. He’d known all
along that she was listening in on the proceedings, of course, but he’d thought
she was doing so through a secure link to her temporary office in Norway. He’d had no idea she was actually in the building. Was it possible that she...

“Mister
Hansen,” the senior judge called out.

“Yes, Your
Honor?” he replied as he stood up again.

“I have
here, in my hand...” He raised the document for a brief moment, then set it
aside as he continued, “...a presidential decree concerning your sentencing. It
is
not
a reversal of your conviction.
Nor
is it a pardon. Rather,
it is a short letter of explanation reemphasizing the reasons why you did what
you did, and a set of guidelines that we on the panel have been
asked
to
abide by in passing sentence. We have discussed it amongst ourselves and have decided
to do so. In light of this, your sentence is hereby amended as follows.

“Effective
immediately, your Solfleet commission is retired rather than revoked. You are
ordered to forfeit all active duty pay and allowances, but your retirement
benefits, to include full payment of all pension installments under the
standard plan, will commence immediately. In addition, your sentence of
confinement is hereby commuted. You are instead sentenced to military probation
for the same period of thirty-one years.” He paused a moment, then added, “Go
home, Admiral. Leave all of this behind you and start a new life with your
daughter.” He raised his gavel into the air once again, proclaimed, “
Now
this court is adjourned,” and struck it.

Hansen practically
collapsed back into his chair and sighed with relief. He felt as though a
million pounds had just been lifted from his shoulders. Next thing he knew, he
was on his feet again, holding Heather close and lovingly stroking her long
strawberry-blond hair while she squeezed him as tightly as she could. His ever
faithful younger brother and his sister-in-law made their way to him and
reached over his weeping daughter to hug him as well. Then they all headed for
the exit together.

Hansen
recognized nearly all of the military personnel he came into contact with on the
way out. Most of those he knew by name congratulated him on his sudden
retirement, shook his hand, and wished him luck in his new life, but a select few
flashed him dirty looks. No matter. He’d grown used to that years ago. Some
enemies would always remain enemies, regardless of the passage of time.

He caught
up to Mirriazu in the lobby before her security detail could whisk her away, introduced
her to Heather’s aunt and uncle, and thanked her for her incredible
thoughtfulness. When she graciously accepted his thanks, he followed up by inviting
her to visit them in their new home at any time, wherever that new home might
end up being, but her response to that invitation wasn’t at all what he
expected. She stared at him for a moment, then turned her back and walked off,
surrounded by her ever-present security team.

He couldn’t
blame her, he supposed, considering that he’d lied to her and betrayed her
trust, but the moment carried with it a certain feeling of finality that he
found...regretful. He gave Heather one more gentle squeeze and kissed the top
of her head, then nodded to his brother and sister-in-law and led them out of
the building for the very last time.

He was pleased
to see that the chilly, damp, overcast morning had turned into a warm and
beautiful sunny afternoon. He unfastened his collar and the top part of his
jacket. So what if that wasn’t the proper way to wear the uniform? He was
retired and was wearing it for the very last time, so what did he care? It didn’t
mean he wasn’t proud of it, or of what it stood for.

“What do
you want to do first, Nick?” his younger brother asked as they walked casually
toward the parking lot.

“You know
what, Jason?” he responded as he decided he liked the idea of not having to
work for his pay anymore. “I think I’m in the mood for a great big pepperoni
pizza.”