Solfleet: The Call of Duty (3 page)

Not expecting any kind of response from the crowd, he
briefly glanced down at his handcomp again, then got on with his speech.

“By the time an officer makes it to the lofty ranks of the
admiralty, more often than not he or she is content to spend the duty day sitting
at a desk in the relative safety of a large central headquarters somewhere and
commanding from afar. Look at me, for example.” He paused briefly and smiled
while more chuckles came from the audience, then continued. “All kidding aside,
I mean what I say not as a slight toward any of the fine officers who serve
with honor in our great body, but rather as a comparison to those few who, at
least in my eyes, stand out above the rest of us.”

He glanced downward again.

“Every so often, an individual comes along who refuses to
allow the immense weight of those golden starbursts on his shoulders to hold
him down. Despite his newfound status as a flag-grade officer, he insists,
sometimes quite vehemently, on continuing to serve along
side
those who
serve subordinate to him, rather than from some rear area far behind them. This
morning we recognize and honor just such a man.”

Chaffee snapped to attention, then turned and marched out
to center stage, stopped, and turned sharply to face the audience again. “Rear-Admiral
Icarus Hansen,
post
,” he commanded.

Rear-Admiral Icarus Hansen, longtime Chief and Commanding
Officer of the Solfleet Intelligence Agency, didn’t yet own a set of the new
black-and-tan class-A’s, and the metal rank pins on his dress grays would have
been too difficult to change both expeditiously and in a manner appropriate to
the occasion. So, given no other choice, he’d donned his crisp, seldom worn,
black and brown class-A uniform for the ceremony, complete with its rows upon
rows upon rows of colorful ribbons and all its highly polished gold-plated
accoutrements. And in thirty-five years of military service, he’d acquired a
lot of ribbons and accoutrements.

In accordance with longstanding tradition, he was sitting
in the back of the auditorium. He stood up, straightened his jacket, and then
marched down the dimly side-lit right aisle to the stage. He ascended the five
plastiwood steps, marched over in front of Admiral Chaffee and faced him,
assumed the position of attention, and saluted sharply.

Chaffee returned his salute just as sharply, and then both
men dropped their hands back to their sides together. Hansen then executed a picture-perfect
about-face to face the audience and remained at the position of attention.
Chaffee then posted himself to Hansen’s right and stood at attention as well.

Admiral Rodrigo Martinez-Colon, Chief of Staff of the
Solfleet Naval Forces, and General Kristjana
Jóhannsdótir, Chief of
Staff of the Solfleet Aerospace Forces, stood together and stepped forward.
Admiral Martinez-Colon, who held a pair of presentation folders, a medal case,
and another slightly larger case in his hands, posted himself to Chaffee’s
right while General Jóhannsdótir stepped up to the podium.

“Attention
to orders,” Jóhannsdótir commanded, speaking slowly in her strong Icelandic
accent. Once again, everyone in the entire auditorium stood up, and as before,
those who served in uniform assumed the position of attention. After all,
Command Chief Watson might have been watching from wherever it was he had
hidden himself.

“Special
order number twenty-one ninety dash four thirty-seven,” the general continued,
reading from Chaffee’s handcomp. “By order of Command Fleet Admiral Jeremy W. O’Shea,
Commanding Officer, Solfleet, Solfleet Central Command announces the following
award. The Distinguished Service Cross with Valor device, second award, is
hereby presented to Rear-Admiral Icarus Hansen, Chief and Commanding Officer,
Solfleet Intelligence Agency.”

She paused
and tapped the page button, then cleared her throat, quietly so the microphone
wouldn’t pick it up, and continued.

“On eleven
February, twenty-one ninety, Rear-Admiral Icarus Hansen was a passenger aboard
the starcruiser
U.E.F.S. Bokken
, returning to Earth after completing an
inspection tour of his agency’s facilities in the Caldanra system. While
traveling through jumpspace in the vicinity of the Rosha’Kana system, the
Bokken
was attacked by a Veshtonn scouting party, forced to drop out of jumpspace, and
then boarded by several dozen Veshtonn warriors. The
Bokken
’s Security
Forces fought honorably to defend their vessel, but were vastly outnumbered and
barely able to slow the enemy’s advances toward several of the ship’s vital
facilities.

“At great
risk to his own life, Admiral Hansen left the relative safety of his cabin and
gathered together a platoon of Solfleet Marines whom he knew to be among the
passengers to help defend the ship. After leading those Marines to the armory
to retrieve their weapons and equipment, Admiral Hansen broke them into fire
teams and assigned a team to each of the ship’s vital areas. Admiral Hansen
himself led the team that defended the
Bokken
’s command bridge. The fighting
onboard the
Bokken
lasted for more than two hours, but in the end, under
Admiral Hansen’s command, the Marines and what Security Forces remained successfully
prevented enemy forces from capturing or destroying the vessel.

“Immediately
following this action, Admiral Hansen assumed tactical command of the
Bokken
and ordered her captain to change course and enter the Rosha’Kana star system,
home system of our Tor’Kana allies. This decision led to the discovery of an
observation post the Veshtonn had recently set up there, which in turn led
directly to the discovery of their plans for invasion and allowed the Coalition
time to gather its forces in preparation for that vital system’s defense—an extremely
intense campaign that continues to this day.

“Rear-Admiral
Hansen’s unwavering dedication, superb leadership, and distinguished
performance of duty is in keeping with the finest traditions of the military service
and reflects great credit upon himself, the Solfleet Naval Forces, and Solfleet
Central Command. Awarded under my hand on this sixteenth day of July,
twenty-one ninety. Signed, Jeremy W. O’Shea, Command Fleet Admiral, Solfleet,
Commanding. Endorsed by the Honorable Harrison G. Culpepper, Secretary General,
United Earth Space Exploration Council. Approved by Madam Mirriazu Shakhar,
President, United Earth Federation.”

Admiral
Martinez-Colon opened the medal case and held it out in the customary two-handed
hold as Admiral Chaffee turned to him. Chaffee took the medal from its case,
then he and Admiral Hansen faced one another. Chaffee pinned the medal in
place, centered just below Hansen’s ribbons on the lip of his breast pocket,
then accepted the empty medal case and one of the presentation folders from
Martinez-Colon and handed them over to Hansen in the very official and traditional
manner. He then saluted the recipient, and Hansen returned his salute, and when
they finished with the obligatory “Congratulations, Admiral,” and “Thank you,
sir,” the audience broke into applause.

They faced
the audience again and waited while the applause continued. Then, when it
finally started to wane, General Jóhannsdótir once again commanded, “Attention
to orders.” What applause still lingered ceased abruptly and the service
members in attendance returned to the position of attention once more. Admiral
Martinez-Colon took a step back and moved behind Hansen to his left side.

“Special
order number twenty-one ninety dash four thirty-eight,” Jóhannsdótir read. “By
order of Command Fleet Admiral Jeremy W. O’Shea, Commander, Solfleet, Solfleet
Central Command announces the following personnel action.

“Madam
Mirriazzu Shakhar, President, United Earth Federation, has instilled special
confidence and trust in the patriotism, professionalism, and outstanding
leadership of Rear-Admiral Icarus Hansen, Chief and Commanding Officer,
Solfleet Intelligence Agency. Rear-Admiral  Hansen is therefore hereby promoted
to the permanent rank of Vice-Admiral, Solfleet, with an effective date of rank
of one July, twenty-one ninety. So ordered under my hand this sixteenth day of
July, twenty-one ninety. Signed, Mirriazu Shakhar, President, United Earth
Federation.”

The admirals
at Hansen’s sides each took an epaulet, removed his old rank boards and slipped
the new ones on in their place. Once again, salutes, handshakes,
congratulations, and thanks were exchanged, and once again the audience
applauded.

“You may be
seated,” Jóhannsdótir announced. Then, once the audience had settled down, she
raised an inviting hand toward Hansen and extended the invitation that he had
hoped she would forget, despite knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that she
would not. “Admiral Hansen, would you like to say a few words?”

She stepped
aside the moment he started to approach.

“Thank you,
General Jóhannsdótir,” he began, smiling warmly at her and pronouncing her
difficult name perfectly. Then he looked out over the audience, paused for
effect, and then said, “In all my years of military service, the one thing I’ve
grown to dislike immensely is having to sit in the most uncomfortable chairs
money can buy while some over-the-hill windbag like myself drones on and on at
infinitum about some intangible topic that doesn’t concern me in the least.”
Chaffee wasn’t the only one who could make an audience laugh, as the crowd
quickly proved, but he hadn’t said it simply to compete with the fleet X.O. He’d
actually meant it. “Therefore,” he continued as the audience quieted, “I’m not
real big on making speeches of my own. I would, however, just like to thank
President Shakhar, Admiral Chaffee for his extremely kind words, the Joint
Chiefs for their participation, and all of you for taking the time to be here
this morning. Your support means more to me than you can possibly know. Thank
you.”

He stepped
aside to the audience’s renewed applause, and as General Jóhannsdótir returned
to her seat, Command Chief Master Sergeant Watson reappeared from backstage and
replaced her at the podium. “This concludes this morning’s ceremony,” he
announced. “Please stand for the departure of the honored member and the Joint
Chiefs of Staff.”

Like
hundreds of mindless robots, the audience rose to its feet one more time.
Hansen led the way as the official party marched off stage.

“On behalf
of Admiral Chaffee and the Joint Chiefs, I also would like to thank you all for
attending,” Watson announced, bringing the gathering to its official close. “Dismissed.”

Hansen hung
around backstage for a while and politely accepted congratulations from the
other three Chiefs of Staff, his friends, those of his associates who had been
available to attend, and anyone else who took the time to make their way back
there, all the while looking for his daughter and waiting for her to find him.
Then, when he finally decided that she wasn’t going to show and that no one
else intended to come his way, he started gradually making his way toward the
nearest exit. Admiral Chaffee stopped him long enough to hand him a bag full of
enough new rank bars and pins to outfit the rest of his uniforms, and a few
more people offered their congratulations as he happened to cross paths with
them, but it didn’t take him very long to break free of the masses and head for
his quarters.

The
Distinguished Service Cross with Valor device, he reflected as he strolled
through the wide earth tone corridors. He’d certainly never expected to be
awarded another one of those. Of course, were it not for Admiral Chaffee going
to bat for him, he probably wouldn’t have been. For that matter, were it not
for the fact that his longtime friend Mirriazu Shakhar happened to be the president,
he’d probably still be on the outside of the admiralty looking in. Even after
so many years, O’Shea still held a huge grudge against him. The son-of-a-bitch
probably wasn’t even sick. He probably just couldn’t stomach the thought of not
only having to pin a medal to his old rival’s chest, but also having to promote
him on top of it.

Of course,
Hansen went on to reflect as he had so many times before, he was damn lucky to still
be in the fleet at all at this point, and he knew it. Liz, too, for that matter.
The threat of exposure had been hanging over their heads for six long years now,
and he’d worried about it damn near every day. He’d worried that the truth
might finally come out, and that both of their careers might suddenly come to
an abrupt and shameful halt. And yet at the same time, more than once, he’d
almost wished for it. At least then the knowledge of what they had done—of what
he
had done—would have stopped feeding the fear that still haunted his
every waking hour. He’d have been freed from his chains. He’d have taken
whatever he had coming to him, and he’d have moved on.

But so far
that hadn’t happened. Might he actually make it to retirement, he wondered? He
was already eligible, but he was not yet ready.

As a
flag-grade officer, he’d been assigned family quarters fairly close to the bulk
of the fleet’s offices and other non-industrial facilities, so it only took him
a few minutes to walk home. He raised his right hand toward the security panel
as he approached the door, but instead of waiting for him to log in as a locked
door should, it slid aside, disappearing into the bulkhead, and released the
ear-splitting clamor of screaming engines and screeching tires, blaring sirens,
and blazing guns into the corridor. He sighed and shook his head in disgust.
Typical fourteen year old, forgetting to lock the door and playing her beloved
virtuavid games so ridiculously loud that she wouldn’t have heard anything if a
whole gang of juvenile delinquents broke in and started busting up the place.
When was that girl ever going to learn?