Solfleet: The Call of Duty (23 page)

“Since we
have no way of knowing which if any of these theories is correct, there’s no
way I can answer that question, ma’am.”

“So you may
run the risk of losing your time-traveling agent forever,” the president
concluded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And have
you found an agent willing to risk his or her own life on a mission based
solely on these theories of yours? Willing to risk everything he or she holds
dear to carry out this mission that the Chairman has already planned so
efficiently?”

They weren’t
actually
his
theories of course, but that was beside the point. “Not
exactly.”

“Not
exactly? What does that mean?”

“Commander
Royer—my executive officer,” he pointed out for the professor’s benefit—“has
been involved in the planning of this mission almost since it began, and she’s
come to me with a recommendation. It’s a little unorthodox, but I believe has
merit.”

“And what is
that?”

“When
Captain Graves took command of the
Excalibur
he was married and had four
young children—a girl and three boys. One of them, the middle son, is currently
a squad sergeant with the Solfleet Marine Corps Rangers stationed on Cirra.”
Had the chairman and the professor not been present, he could have been more
specific as to the squad sergeant’s exact assignment, but they were present and
that information was classified, so pointing out that he was a Marine Corps
Ranger would have to suffice. At least for the moment. “When Commander Royer
first told me about him, she asked me a question that I think makes a very good
point. Who among us would be more highly motivated to prevent the
Excalibur
’s
destruction than one of its captain’s own children?”

“But he is
not one of your agents,” the president said.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then does
he not lack the specialized training and experience that someone assigned to
such a mission would require?”

“Sergeant
Graves has only been with the Marines for about two years. Before that he spent
about seven years with the Military Police Security Forces and something over a
year with the Criminal Investigations Division. He’s also worked at least one
major undercover operation before, which I understand he performed very well.
If he were to attend the S-I-A Academy, he’d gain the skill set to accomplish
this mission and he’d know how to use it. We’ve already sent an agency
recruiting officer to see him.”

The president’s
eyebrows climbed halfway up her forehead. “Oh? Have you really?”

“Yes, ma’am.
About three and a half weeks ago.”

“I trust
your recruiting officer doesn’t know anything about this resolution?”

No, ma’am,
of course not.” As well as she knew him, how could she even ask such a
question? Perhaps the pressures of her office were taking more of a toll on her
than was already apparent. “All we told him was that we’re interested in bringing
Sergeant Graves into the agency, and that’s all he was sent to talk to him
about.”

“And has
Sergeant Graves expressed an interest in joining?”

“No ma’am.
Not according to the latest report,” Hansen answered hesitantly, “but we’re
still working on it.”

“Why not
just order him to join?” Verne asked.

“That’s not
the way the agency operates, Professor,” Hansen explained, “or the rest of the
fleet for that matter. Due to the nature of the job, our agents are recruited
strictly on a voluntary basis. If we were to make an exception to that practice
for one individual it would draw too much attention.” He looked back to the president
and added, “The most we can do is to put a little pressure in him, quietly, but
in the end it will have to be his decision.”

“Yes, well,
I will leave that to you.” She let out a long, slow breath. “Well, gentlemen,
this is certainly one that I am going to have to sleep on for a while. I am
obviously not up on all of these time-travel theories myself, and there is an
awful lot to think about. I sincerely hope that we will never find ourselves in
the position of having to seriously consider taking such a drastic step, but if
we do find ourselves in that position, and if I ultimately decide to authorize this
mission, I will transmit that decision to you in plenty of time for you to carry
it out. Now please, excuse me. I have a lot of research to do. Thank you for
coming.”

As Hansen
and Verne stood up to leave, Chairman MacLeod took it upon himself to offer the
president one last piece of unsolicited advice. “Consider this point as well,
Madam President, if you would. Our latest estimate puts the Veshtonn armada at
our doorstep within six to eight months. The longer you take to make your
decision, the more campaigns the Veshtonn will win and the closer they’ll get
to this system. And if they do reach Earth again, we’ll fall quickly and we’ll
fall very hard.”

“I believe I
just told you, Mister MacLeod, that if it becomes necessary, I will give you my
final decision in plenty of time for you to set your mission into motion...
if
I decide to authorize it.”

“Yes, ma’am,”
MacLeod said with a submissive nod as he stood with the others. “Thank you,
Madam President, for your time.”

Verne had
wanted to make one last comment as well—a comment that might very well have
swung the president’s thinking over to his side of the argument for good. But
in view of how she’d just responded to MacLeod, he reconsidered that desire and
quietly followed the chairman out of the office.

Hansen fell
in behind the others as they left, but as he passed through the doorway, the president
called after him, “Just a moment, Admiral, if you will.”

“Certainly,
Madam President,” he responded. He stepped back in and let the door close the
others out, then started back toward her desk, but she raised a hand, halting
him in mid stride.

“First, I
want to apologize for snapping at you,” she began. “You didn’t deserve that,
and I was wrong for doing so.”

“No apology
necessary, ma’am. With all the pressure you’ve been under...”

“Nonetheless,
I do apologize.”

“Then I
accept,” he said, nodding graciously.

“Secondly,”
she continued, “why didn’t you tell me about the
Albion
?”

“As Chairman
MacLeod pointed out, ma’am, that information was unconfirmed, and still is. But
I would have told you this morning, if he hadn’t done so himself first.” The president
gazed at him for several seconds without saying anything more, so he asked, “Was
there anything else, Madam President?”

“Yes,” she
answered after another moment. “I trust your judgment without reservation,
Admiral,” she told him. “I always have, but I have to ask. Wouldn’t it make
more sense to send one of your properly trained and more experienced agents on
a mission like this? Why this Marine Corps sergeant? Are you really that
confident in him?”

Hansen drew
a deep breath and let it out slowly—time enough to whip up an answer she might
actually buy—then explained, “I don’t know the sergeant personally, but I have
had some indirect experience with him.”

“What
experience?”

“That
undercover operation I mentioned? I was referring to the Caldanran
Intervention. He was one of the Security Forces troops who posed as a crewman
on the
Athena
. More recently he was with the
Tripoli
Marines at
Rosha’Kana. Not assigned. Just in the wrong place at the right time. Overall,
his military record is exemplary. He started as one of Sergeant Walker Carlson’s
products—was with him during the Tamour incident in fact. He really proved
himself back then and he’s been decorated several times since. He’s highly
intelligent, physically fit, and extremely dedicated to his duties. He doesn’t
give up easily when things don’t go his way. And he’s not just a Ranger. He’s
with our Special Ops, so he’s practiced at deceit and keeping secrets. Add to
all of that the fact that the
Excalibur
’s captain was his father, and...
I’d have to say yes, Madam President. I am that confident.”

“For someone
who’s never met him you sure know a lot about him.”

“Special
Operatives’ record jackets are extensive, and extremely detailed.”

She gazed at
him for several long seconds without saying a word, then settled back in her
chair a little more and folded her arms across her chest. “Sit down, Nick.”

Hansen
hesitated, realizing that he’d fallen far short of convincing her—that she hadn’t
bought one word of his explanation. Then, not wanting to make her ask a second
time, he took a seat in the same chair he’d warmed during the meeting and
looked her square in the eye. Several more seconds passed in silence between
them before the president finally spoke again.

“What are
you not telling me?” she asked.

“Ma’am?”

“I know you
better than that. The familial relationship between the
Excalibur
’s
captain and this Marine sergeant of yours is interesting, but it isn’t nearly
enough. Not for you. And all that song and dance about his impressive military
record?” She shook her head. “Irrelevant. No. Under normal circumstances you
would never entrust such a sensitive and important mission to anyone but the
best and most experienced of your deep cover agents.”

“Begging
your pardon, Madam President, but the current circumstances are anything but
normal,” he reminded her.

“Granted, but
there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? Much more.”

Hansen drew
another deep breath and exhaled long and loud, then nodded affirmatively and
admitted it. “Yes, ma’am, there is.”

“What is it,
Nick? Aside from this awful war, what’s troubling you?”

“Off the
record?” he asked, almost pleading with his eyes.

“All right, provided
you tell me the whole truth this time.”

He nodded
again, then began. “As you well know, that...incident with Vice-President
Harkam and his family stayed with me for a very long time.”

“You
eventually sought counseling as I recall.”

“Command
mandated that counseling, so I had no choice. But, yes, I did see a counselor
regularly for several months afterwards. What you don’t know...what
no one
knows...is
that from time to time...” Another deep breath, then, “The nightmares have
returned.”

The president’s
gaze fell to her desktop. She recalled how troublesome those nightmares had
been for him all those years ago. How he’d suffered from chronic exhaustion,
unable to get even a single good night’s sleep for the longest time. To think
that they’d returned to haunt him after so many years... She looked back up at
him. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Nick,” she said, genuinely concerned, “but
what does that have to do with...”

“What does
that have to do with Sergeant Graves?” he asked for her.

“Yes.”

Hansen stood
up, folded his hands behind his back, and stepped around to the window to gaze
out at the mountains and the lake. The president turned her chair with him and
gazed at him as several more moments passed in silence. She wanted to say
something more. She wanted to coax the truth out of him, but she refrained.
Better to let him take his time and allow him to offer it up on his own.

“The
nightmares were always the same back then,” he finally began, staring out the
window but seeing only the horrible pictures in his mind. “The battle, the
unspeakable horrors of what...what they did to Harkam’s family while they
forced us all to watch, Harkam himself crying out in agony and begging me to
stop the pain...” He paused, drew another deep but trembling breath, then
continued. “And the loneliness—that awful feeling of complete and total
isolation. Knowing that I’m the only survivor aboard a powerless ship full of
rotting, eviscerated bodies, doomed to drift helplessly through deep space
until my oxygen runs out and I slowly suffocate.”

“
Were
the same,” the president quietly asked after a moment. “Has something changed?”

Hansen
nodded almost imperceptibly—she was as always an extremely perceptive woman—then
blurted out, “I’m not the only survivor anymore.”

Her eyes
narrowed. “What?”

He folded
his arms across his broad chest as he turned and faced her. “The nightmares
returned again last month, just after the Veshtonn victory in the Rosha’Kana
system.” He started pacing slowly around the room. “Everything that ever filled
those nightmares still happens, but now there are subtle differences in the
minor details. Someone says something in a slightly different way, or...or
agrees to eat chicken for dinner instead of holding out for steak. Little
things like that. And at the end of it all, there’s another survivor—one of the
Security Forces troops under my command. I see his face clearly enough, but I
don’t recognize him. I mean, I think I know him in the dream, but in real life
I don’t.” He stopped pacing and looked at the president. “At least I didn’t,
until Commander Royer showed me his file.”

“Sergeant
Graves?” the president asked, bewildered.

An
extremely
perceptive woman. “Sergeant Graves,” he confirmed, nodding.

“But...that’s...not
possible,” she pointed out, shaking her head.

“I know.” He
returned to the window and folded his hands behind his back again. “Don’t ask
me to explain it, Mirriazu, because I can’t. I know there were no other
survivors aboard that ship, and that Dylan Graves was just a small child at the
time, so he couldn’t have been there regardless. But when Commander Royer
showed me that file, I recognized him immediately as the second survivor in my
nightmares.”

“I...I don’t
understand.”

“Neither do
I,” Hansen confessed, shaking his head, “but my gut tells me that if we
do
send someone back on this mission, it absolutely has to be him. No one else.”