Solfleet: The Call of Duty (26 page)

“In other
words,” Hansen concluded, “after more than half a dozen attempts, including
yours, we’re no closer to recruiting him than we were before we started trying.”

“Not even a
little bit,” Royer reluctantly confirmed.

Hansen sighed.
That was discouraging news, because Royer had been right about Graves. Once
properly trained, he really would be the most logical choice for the mission.
Hansen would have known that even if he hadn’t seen him in his nightmeares. But
because
of his nightmares, though he didn’t completely understand why,
Hansen had been hoping even more that they would succeed in persuading him to
come aboard. Even more so now, since the president herself had asked him to try
his best to recruit him. He’d hate to disappoint her almost as much as he’d
hate to act against that gut feeling he still had.

But the sergeant
had given his answer, and they were quickly running out of time. The mission
itself had to take priority over everything else, and that included his own intuition
and psychological well-being.

“Who’s at
the top of your original list of candidates?” he asked, apparently giving up on
the sergeant.

Royer was taken
aback by the admiral’s uncharacteristic defeatist attitude. In all the years
they’d served together, she’d never known him to give up on anything so easily,
and she didn’t know what to make of it. What kind of grilling had the president
put him through down there? More importantly, what could she do about it? She’d
been considering the possibility of meeting with the sergeant herself, but she
really hated deep space travel, primarily because of the long separations from
her wife that came with it, and in this particular case she couldn’t even be
sure her efforts would make a difference anyway.

No matter.
Whether she succeeded or not wasn’t the most important issue anymore. The
admiral’s continued faith in the mission was vital, for her brother’s sake, and
the strength of that faith lay in the continuing possibility that they might
get Sergeant Graves to carry it out.

“Wait a
minute, sir,” she said. “I never said I was ready to give up on him just yet.”

“I didn’t
say that either, Commander,” Hansen clarified. “As a matter of fact, I have no
intention of giving up. On the contrary, I intend to keep trying until he
agrees to sign on or until it doesn’t matter anymore. But in the meantime we
have to be prepared to send someone else in case we suddenly run out of time before
we expect to.”

“Understood,
sir, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Oh? You
have something particular in mind, Commander?”

“Nothing
specific yet, Admiral, but I’m working on it.” She leaned forward and picked up
her drink. As she sat back and tilted the glass to her lips, a large drop of
condensation formed at its base and dripped onto the front of her blouse. “I’m
sure I’ll have a solid plan in place by the time I get there.”

The droplet
faded, absorbed by the material of her... What? ”By the time you get there?”

“That’s
right.”

“By the time
you get where, Commander?” Where else could she mean but...

“Cirra, sir.”

“Cirra.”

“Yes, sir,”
she answered, palming the bottom of the glass in her lap to keep her skirt from
getting damp. “I thought that since I was the one who brought Graves to your
attention in the first place, I should make one more attempt, personally,
before we give up on him entirely.” She raised a hand, stopping the admiral’s
retort. “I know. We’re not giving up on him.” Hansen still didn’t look
convinced, so she added, “Besides, I’m afraid Ensign Pillinger might have come
off wrong with the sergeant’s C-O and I’d like a chance to correct that. You
never know. We might need his cooperation some day.”

“We have
other recruiters,” Hansen pointed out unnecessarily. “And what about Karen?”

“Karen has
been a military spouse long enough to know that long separations are part of
the job description, sir,” she explained. “As for sending out one of our other
recruiters, just how many people can we involve in this process before we risk
compromising its secretive nature?”

She had a
point, and the only logical response to that question was obvious. “As few as possible.”

“Exactly.”

Hansen
considered. The idea of Liz leaving the station for the next month or more didn’t
exactly thrill him. She was a valuable asset and did a lot to make his job a
hell of a lot easier than it would be otherwise. He’d miss having her there. “What
about the supply shipments to Charlie Colony?” he asked her, reminding her of
one of her most important routine responsibilities, albeit unnecessarily. “They’re
already a month behind schedule and the colonists are beginning to get a little
desperate. I’ve got wartime Intelligence operations to oversee, Commander. I
don’t have the time to actively devote to the colony right now.”

She took
another drink. “They’re cyberclones, Admiral,” she reminded him, as if that in
itself made the point of his question moot. “Trained combat soldiers, every one
of them. They’re used to living with adversity for short periods of time.”

“They’re
living, breathing human beings, Commander, and you’ll be gone for at least a
month,” the admiral countered, glaring at her as he shifted in his chair and
leaned slightly toward her. “They’re counting on us for their survival until
they become permanently self-sufficient. And you know as well as I do that most
of them have never even seen real combat,
and
that there are a lot of
civilians up there with them now, too.”

Yes, she did
know that. Over the past few years, despite being told that they would never be
allowed to return to their homes again, thousands of men and women had
immigrated to Charlie Colony, a handful at a time so as not to be noticed, to
help the former would-be combat soldiers settle their new world. Thousands of weddings
had been performed so far, and over the past several months many of those couples
had begun having children.

“Point
taken, sir,” she said in quick capitulation. A wise person would not dare
challenge Admiral Icarus Hansen once he took a stand in defense of someone’s
life and well being. “Tell you what, Admiral. I’ll turn colony support
operations over to Lieutenant Vandenhoven until I get back.”

“Lieutenant
Vandenhoven?” Hansen snorted. “Are you sure that guy can be trusted with the
colony?”

The sour
look on his face told Royer exactly what was on his mind. Poor Vandenhoven.
Back when he was only a lowly, newly commissioned ensign who hadn’t yet been on
station a month, he’d inadvertently let the cat out of the bag about a surprise
party the senior staff had planned for Hansen’s mother’s seventy-fifth
birthday. He’d happened across her one day when she was visiting her son at his
office and he was dropping something off to the admiral’s secretary. They’d
struck up one of those friendly conversations that sometimes occur between
strangers when they meet, during which the elder Hansen had mentioned that she’d
known the admiral all his life. Having no idea who she was and without
realizing quickly enough what her words inferred, he’d asked her if she was
going to the admiral’s mother’s surprise birthday party, to which she’d
whimsically replied that she hadn’t been invited.

The party
had been a pretty big bash with a lot of important guests, and the admiral had
been furious to learn that the surprise had already been spoiled. Four years
had passed since that night, but the admiral apparently still hadn’t let it go.

Perhaps that
had something to due with his thoughts on the idea of having an Intelligence
officer who couldn’t keep a secret on staff.

“I’m sure
your mother got over that a long time ago, Admiral,” Royer commented. She’d
meant only to lighten his mood a little, but when he responded with a burning,
laser beam stare, she quickly dropped the subject and answered his question. “Yes,
sir, I am absolutely sure he can be trusted. Lieutenant Vandenhoven has been
inspecting and maintaining all the Charlie Colony supply inventories for me
since before we sent the first shipment. Plus, he’s pending review for promotion
nomination, so he’ll be extra attentive to his duties.”

“I know, but
he’s not exactly the most energetic officer we’ve got. And I hate to say it,
but he doesn’t always show the best judgment, either. Is he fully aware of the
absolute secrecy of the Charlie Colony operation?”

“We’re still
here, aren’t we? Besides, do we ever run any
other
kind of operation out
of this office?”

“Good point,”
he admitted. Then he stood up and straightened his jacket. Royer set down her
glass and stood up with him. “All right, Commander. It’s your call. If you
really believe he can handle it, then go ahead and turn Charlie Colony
operations over to him, but on a temporary basis only. Just make damn sure he’s
aware that it’s your responsibility and his career if he screws it up.”

“Will do,
sir.”

“When do you
leave for Cirra?”

She started
to answer, but before the words could escape from her mouth, her comm-panel
chirped. “
Commander Royer?
” it called.

She touched
the comm-link on her collar. “Royer here.”

“
This is
Senior Crewman Pratt in Command-and-Control, ma’am. Admiral Hansen isn’t in his
office. Is he there with you?
”

“Yes, he’s
right here. Go ahead. He can hear you.”

“
Oh, uh...all
right,
” the crewman responded, sounding hesitant to do so for some reason. “
Admiral
Hansen, sir, we just received a priority message for you from the Provost
Marshal’s office on Europa.
”

Hansen and
Royer exchanged a look.

“O’Donnell,”
Hansen mumbled, rolling his eyes. “I’ll bet you a month’s pay it’s about O’Donnell.”
Then, speaking loud enough for Royer’s comm-link to pick him up, he asked, “What’s
the message?”

“
Uh, just
a reminder first, Admiral. We’re on an unsecure channel.
”

“That’s all
right, Crewman. If the message were classified the Provost Marshal would’ve sent
it encrypted and directly to me. Just give me the bottom line.”

“
The
bottom line, yes, sir.
” A short pause, then, “
At zero eight twenty-two hours
today, Europan Colony Time, while enroute to Mandela Station to face court-martial
proceedings, Crewman First Class Stefani O’Donnell commandeered a lifeboat and
escaped from Military Police custody and control.
”

“Are you
kidding me?” Hansen roared.

“
No, sir!
That’s exactly what the message says!
”

“Forward it
to my office. Hansen out.”

Royer tapped
her comm-link, closing the channel.

“Son of a...
How the hell did she evade a police transport in a lifeboat? Can’t the M-P’s
keep one little girl under lock and key, for God sake?”

“That
little
girl
has a reputation for being a very resourceful individual, Admiral,”
Royer reminded him. “And working Linguistics and Communications for us these
past few years, she’s no doubt become pretty familiar with a lot of our
methodology.”

“Maybe we
should send
her
to the academy,” Hansen commented sarcastically.

“What? You
mean as an instructor?”

Hansen
stared at her for a moment, then snickered and grinned—her goal when she said
it, of course—and his momentarily foul mood brightened again. Not that it had
been all that bright to begin with. “At least she can’t get too far in a
lifeboat,” he stated, as much to reassure himself as to point it out to Royer. “So,
where were we?”

“You asked me
when I was leaving for Cirra, sir. Early tomorrow morning.”

“All right,
Commander. Enjoy your trip, as much as possible.” He turned and headed for the
door. “Just try not to be gone too long.”

“Trust me,
Admiral, I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can be.”

Just as he
reached the door, he turned back. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“After the
meeting this morning, the president asked me if I really thought Sergeant
Graves was the right person for the job. When I told her that I did, she asked
me to try my very best to recruit him.”

“I
understand, sir.”

“I want him
for this mission, Commander. Lean on him a little if you have to. Make this
trip of yours worthwhile.”

Royer gazed
at him for a moment. Had he just given her card-blanche to do whatever was
necessary to bring Graves aboard? If so, then she would, without hesitation. If
not, better that she assume he had anyway. She’d have more room to maneuver
that way. “You can count on it, sir,” she assured him.

Hansen
nodded once, and then left her alone.

Let Günter
go, the admiral had told her. Like hell. He was her big brother. He’d been her
protector in childhood and her moral support in adolescence. She would
not
abandon
him...ever. A long time ago she’d promised herself that she would bring him
home, no matter how long it took, and the Timeshift mission appeared to be the
perfect opportunity to do just that.

Planet Cirra, The Next Day

Earth Standard Date: Saturday, 28
August 2190

The painful
throbbing behind Dylan’s eyes seemed to be worsening by the minute. It felt as though
a pair of ice-picks had been jabbed through his temples to hold his eyeballs
firmly in place while the herd of stampeding elephants inside his skull tried
with each pounding heartbeat to push them from their sockets. It hurt so much
that he was beginning to think he might actually get sick. He’d tried Marissa’s
relaxation technique at least a half dozen times in the six or seven hours
since they’d broken camp and started back toward civilization, and was trying
it yet again, but it still didn’t seem to be working.