Solfleet: The Call of Duty (6 page)

Hansen
leaned back, kicked his feet up on the desk, and sipped his coffee while he
waited patiently for Hal to perform its task. He thought about his earlier
exchange with Heather and his heart quickly filled with regret. Seemed all he
ever did anymore was correct her misbehavior and lecture her about every aspect
of her life. When was the last time they’d gone somewhere or done something fun
together? Hard as it was to believe, she was almost fifteen years old already. She’d
be a sophomore in high school soon. Time was flying by and he was fast running
out of it. Next thing he knew she’d be off on her own, hopefully to college, even
more wrapped up in her own life than she already was. Then they wouldn’t have
any time for each other at all. Not that they had much now.

He sighed.
If she’d just make an effort to improve her overall...

“
Nick?
”

Hansen
looked at his computer console. Finished already? “That was fast, Hal.”

“
I have
not entirely completed my task yet, but I have discovered an apparent pattern
that I think you will find quite disturbing.
”

Hansen set
his coffee down, dropped his feet back to the floor, and sat up. “What have you
discovered?” he asked.

“
While
compiling the list, I dedicated some of my resources to determining the current
status and whereabouts of personnel, as requested. So far, I have determined
that one hundred percent of the nine hundred thirty-seven personnel I have
positively identified are listed as deceased.
”

The little
hairs on the back of Hansen’s neck suddenly stood on end as a chill ran down his
spine. Nine hundred thirty-seven personnel who served in the same place during
roughly the same relatively recent period of time, all dead? The odds against something
like that happening had to be...astronomical, and unfortunately, the odds
against all of them having died of natural causes had to be even more incredible.

“All of
them?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

“
Yes.
According to all available information, those personnel were all declared
deceased within three years after the destruction of the starcruiser
Excalibur.”

Something
was definitely very wrong. “Thank you, Hal. Continue with your task. I’ll
inquire as to the results later. And Hal, you’re to disclose that information
under my voiceprint identification only. Understand?”

“
Yes, I
understand.
”

Given a
choice, Hansen would have preferred to keep the information completely quiet
for the time being—to follow up on it himself and see where it might lead, but his
position didn’t afford him that luxury. He was a Sofleet officer, a man of duty,
and one of his duties as Chief of Solfleet Intelligence was to advise the Earth
Security Council of any potential significant threat to Earth in as timely a
manner as possible. The way things were stacking up, he was beginning to think
there might be just such a threat.

He reached
for the intercom. “Vicky?”

“
Yes,
Admiral?
”

“Get me a
direct channel to Chairman MacLeod, please. Priority...priority three should do
for now.” In all honesty, Hansen suspected there might be more than just a ‘potential’
threat at this point, but with all that was going on in the world, elevating
the situation to priority-two so quickly might have alarmed the chairman
unnecessarily, and he wanted to avoid doing that as much as possible. MacLeod
had a tendency to be overzealous and get carried away sometimes.

“
Right
away, Ad... Sir, you have a call coming in.
”

“All right.
Hold off on calling MacLeod for now and transfer the incoming to me.”

“
Go
ahead, sir,
” she said immediately, apparently having anticipated his instructions.

The wall
screen came to life once again, but this time it was neither an agency
underling nor a starcruiser captain whose image appeared. In fact, it wasn’t a
military service member at all. Well, not a
current
one anyway. It was
Sir Nigel Worthington, retired British colonel, now the sole proprietor of the
most exclusive and therefore most expensive jewelry store in the entire Rotunda.
He was a pleasant enough gentleman in his own right, but a gentleman with whom
Hansen’s dealings had been unavoidably less than enjoyable.

“Uh oh,” was
all the admiral managed to say by way of greeting.

“
Sorry to
call you at your office, Admiral,
” the merchant apologized in his always
regal sounding British accent, “
but I’m afraid ‘uh oh’ is right.
”

Much like
the captain of the
Tripoli
a few minutes earlier, Hansen clenched his
jaw, drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly to calm himself down before the
temper storm had a chance to hit. Then he closed his eyes and asked, “What did
she try to steal this time?”

“
A gold
necklace. Nothing too incredibly expensive, but...
”

“But the
cost doesn’t matter,” Hansen finished for him as he opened his eyes and looked
at the gentleman again.

“
Quite
so. You’ve always done right by me, Admiral, so I thought I’d ring you first.
”

“I
appreciate that, Colonel Worthington, thank you.” Hansen almost always
addressed him by his rank as a matter of respect. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The
gentleman nodded politely. “
We’ll be in my office, Admiral.
”

The screen
went dark.

Hansen drew
another deep breath and sighed, then shot to his feet and stormed out of the
office. “Be back as soon as I can, Vicky,” he barked, eyes glaring straight
ahead as he marched past his secretary, whose knowing eyes followed him with
sympathy.

“She’s just
a kid, Admiral,” she reminded him, calling after him.

The simple
fact that she knew exactly why Sir Nigel had called was telling, and Heather
had finally pushed the boundaries one too many times.

Worthington
Custom Jewelers. Of all the hundreds of private businesses operating on Mandela
Station, Sir Nigel Worthington’s always spotless store held the distinction of
being the oldest and most respected, as did the gentleman proprietor himself,
among both his peers and his customers. Three times a hero of the cyberclone
revolt of 2160-61, the British government had awarded him both the
Distinguished Service Order and an unprecedented
two
Victoria Crosses,
each for separate and specific acts of conspicuous gallantry. Now, having long
since retired from one life of selfless service to another, Sir Nigel enjoyed a
reputation for serving his clientele as honorably as he’d served the British
Crown.

Admiral
Hansen stopped for a moment just outside the gold-trimmed, smoked plastiglass door
and took one more deep breath to calm down before he dared go inside. He’d
learned a long time ago that if he lost his temper with Heather and started
hollering at her, she’d simply shut him out, turn within herself, and refuse to
hear a single word that came out of his mouth, no matter how loud it might be.
Besides, he was in uniform and in the public eye, in the civilian section of
the station no less, and from what he could see through the large pane window,
there were more than a few well dressed shoppers inside, scattered throughout
the store. It was important that he maintain his professional demeanor, most
especially as a member of the admiralty, and represent the fleet in a positive
light at all times.

Sufficiently
calm, he hoped, and as ready as he’d ever be, he went inside. Some of those
well-dressed shoppers threw curious glances his way as he marched toward the
back of the store, eyes straight ahead, but quickly turned their attention back
to their own business and left him alone. Others paid him no attention at all.
As residents of the station—he assumed they
were
residents, and not just
visitors—they’d no doubt grown used to seeing military personnel in the area on
a regular basis. In fact, chances were good that at least a few of them were
military personnel themselves, or at least military family members.

One man in
particular though, a tall and slender Cirran, seemed to go out of his way to
avoid him, as if being in close proximity to an Earth soldier might somehow
adversely affect him. Odd behavior, considering that Solfleet had led the
assault that had liberated their world from Veshtonn domination a few years
ago. Oh well. “Guess you can’t please everybody,” he mumbled under his breath
as the violet-eyed stranger moved to avoid him a second time.

Putting the
stranger out of his mind—he had more immediate concerns, after all—Hansen
stepped behind the royal-blue velvet curtain that separated the storefront from
the private offices and paused one last time just outside Sir Nigel’s door.
Having visited the elderly proprietor there on more than one occasion in the
past, thanks to Heather’s behavior, he knew exactly which of the four identical
gold-trimmed doors led to the man’s office. He gathered his patience, then
knocked twice and stepped inside.

“Ah,”
Worthington exclaimed from his seat behind the desk as he looked up. He stood
up and reached across the desk to offer his hand. “Admiral Hansen. How nice to
see you again, sir.”

Whether or
not the proprietor was being sarcastic when he said that, Hansen couldn’t be
sure. He certainly had every right to be, given the amount of grief Heather had
caused him over the last few years. But knowing the gentleman as he did, Hansen
sincerely doubted it.

He
approached the desk and shook the man’s hand, and greeted him with a simple, “It’s
good to see you, too, Colonel.” Then he clenched his jaw and glared down
through blazing eyes at his delinquent daughter, who sat cowering in a chair
just out of backhand range to his left, near the corner of the small office, staring
silently at the floor in front of her, hair hiding most of her face from view.
At least she’d worn some semi-decent clothing for a change, he noted, instead
of the too sexy, often too revealing styles that she and most other girls her
age usually wore these days. “I only wish our meeting were under better circumstances,”
he added.

Worthington let
go of the admiral’s hand and picked a sparkling gold chain necklace up off his
desk and held it out, dangling it in front of him where Hansen could get a good
look at it. “This is the necklace your daughter attempted to steal,” he
explained. “One of my clerks saw her hold it up to the light, then drop it down
inside the front of her blouse. When he confronted her, she tried to tell him
that it was an accident, and that she had intended to take it out immediately.
However, given her storied history in my establishment, he found that quite
hard to believe. Honestly, Admiral, I do as well.”

Heather
slapped her hands down on the arms of her chair and angrily exclaimed, “I swear
to you, I wasn’t trying to steal it!” When both men looked at her and didn’t
say anything right away, she seized the opportunity to explain to her father, “Dad!
That clerk guy grabbed me like two seconds after I dropped it! He didn’t give
me a
chance
to pull it out! And I wasn’t trying to leave the store,
either! Hell, I wasn’t even
facing
the damn door!”

“You watch
your language, young lady,” her father told her. Then he looked back at
Worthington and folded his hands behind his back. “Grabbed her, Colonel?” he
asked. “Your clerk put his hands on my daughter?”

“Damn right
he did!” she adamantly asserted.

“You be
quiet!” Hansen barked, glancing at her again, but only briefly. She clammed up
immediately and averted her eyes.

Worthington
dropped his gaze and exhaled as he carefully set the necklace back down on his
desk, then looked back up at the admiral. “I’m afraid so, Admiral,” he readily
admitted with regret. “Unfortunately, my employee did become somewhat overzealous
in his duties, and for that, I sincerely apologize. I would like to add,
however, that he only took her by the arm. I can assure you that nothing more inappropriate
occurred.”

“I accept
your assurance of that, sir,” Hansen told him. “I would never have suspected
otherwise in your store.” Then he asked, as he reached into his breast pocket
for his identicard, “So, would you like me to pay for the necklace, or...”

“Oh, heavens
no, Admiral,” Worthington answered, deflecting the suggestion with a wave of
his hand as if the idea were ridiculous. “Not at all. She didn’t damage it a
bit.”

“All right,”
he assented, slipping his card back into its place. “I do appreciate your
calling me, Colonel, as I told you before, but...”

“Well, as I
said on the line, Admiral,” the proprietor interjected, “you’ve always done
right by me in these situations. You’ve even returned the things she stole
without
getting caught when you’ve found them. You’ve always acted honorably, and I
thought it only proper to reward that honor by not involving the police in the
matter. That being said, however, this
is
growing quite tiresome. I
cannot allow this to go on any longer.”

“I
understand completely, sir,” Hansen said, “and I assure you,” he continued as
he turned and took a single, ominous step toward his daughter, staring down at
her, “this
will
be the last time. You have my word on that.”

Heather
gazed up at her father again, mouth open, but didn’t dare say a word. Everyone
who knew him knew that Admiral Icarus Hansen wasn’t one to promise anything
lightly or recklessly. If he gave his word that something wouldn’t happen
again, then he had a plan in mind to ensure that that would indeed be the case.

“As of right
now, young lady,” he continued, his voice filled with unyielding authority, “you
are confined to our quarters for at least two weeks.”