Solfleet: The Call of Duty (48 page)

A’s, B’s,
and C’s, and
maybe
fatigues. After a few moments’ thought, Hansen
finally decided to go with the happy medium. Class-B’s it was.

He pulled on
his trousers, shirt, and shoes and socks, then brushed his hair, but as he
grabbed his jacket out of the closet he suddenly realized that he wasn’t
hearing any running water. He stepped up to the bathroom door and held his ear
close to listen. He was right. No running water. No sound at all in fact. No
indication whatsoever that Heather was in there.

He knocked. “Heather?”
he called. She didn’t answer. He knocked again, a little harder. “Heather, are
you in there?” Still nothing. Had she even gotten out of bed?

He opened the
door and leaned in, and found no sign of her. He crossed to her door and
knocked. “Heather, are you up?” He knocked again. “Heather?” He waited a few
more seconds, then pressed the button to open her door. It failed to open—locked
from the other side.

He went back
through his bedroom and crossed the living room to her bedroom door, but as he
reached up to press the ‘open’ button, he heard her come into their quarters through
the front door. He turned toward her, his hand still raised as if searching for
the button, and she froze wide-eyed in her tracks when she saw him. He immediately
took note of the fact that she was dressed in her favorite leatherette
mini-skirt and tight knit half-top—the same scant, provocative clothes she’d
had on when she went back out last night.

“Where have
you been?” he asked as he dropped his hand to his side.

“Relax, Dad,”
she answered as she resumed her approach. “I just went out to breakfast with
the same friends I was with all day yesterday.”

He stood his
ground as she drew closer, blocking her path, knowing that she knew better than
to try to go around him. “You mean the same friends who talked you into going
over to the adults-only beach?” he asked sharply. And the moment he said it, he
wished he hadn’t.

“Yes,” she
answered defiantly, looking him right in the eye. “And for your information,
they didn’t talk me into it. I decided to go there myself, and I decided to
take my top off myself.”

“All right,
all right,” he said, raising a hand to stop her oncoming tirade before it
started. “So what you’re telling me is that you came home last night, went to
sleep, and then got up and went out again early this morning?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes, that’s
what I’m telling you,” she answered, still staring him straight in the eye.

Pretty bold
of her, he had to admit to himself, staring him right in the eye while she lied
to him like that. She was getting braver all the time, which meant the time had
come to put her back in her place...again. “Then tell me this. Since when does Heather
Hansen wear the same clothes two days in a row?”

She dropped
her gaze and exhaled sharply, then rolled her eyes and confessed, “Okay, fine.
You got me. I didn’t come home last night. You going to have me arrested now?”

“Where were
you all night, Heather?” he asked, ignoring her smart-ass remark, at least for
the moment.

She shrugged
her shoulders. “Different places,” she answered evasively.

“Such as?”

She huffed
and rolled her eyes again. “Such as, we went back to the beach for a while. The
public
beach,” she added quickly before he could ask. “I wore the suit
you approved of. I’m wearing it under my clothes right now, if you want to see
it.”

“Not
necessary,” he told her, briefly shaking his head. “Where else did you go?”

“Antonio’s
Pizza for dinner, then the coffee shop, then bowling, then the youth club. You
know, that kind of stuff. Now can I go to my room, please?”

“You do know
school starts this morning, right?”

“Yes, I know
school starts this morning,” she answered sarcastically. “That’s why I want to
go to my room, to get ready.” When her father only stared at her with doubt in
his eyes, she added, “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll make it.”

“See that
you do,” he said. He glared at her for another moment, then sidestepped out of
her way.

“I will!
God!” She stepped up to her door and practically rammed her finger through the ‘open’
button, then mumbled something unintelligible under her breath as she stepped
inside her room. She glared back at him with disgust, then closed and locked
the door behind her.

Hansen
sighed and shook his head. “I knew her good behavior was too good to last,” he
mumbled. Then he pulled on his jacket and headed out to work.

As usual, Vicky
was waiting with the admiral’s first cup of coffee when he arrived. “Good morning,
Admiral,” she said, holding it out to him as he absentmindedly passed her by.
Then she asked, “No coffee this morning?”

He stopped
short and turned back to accept it. “Good morning, Vicky,” he replied. He must
really
have been preoccupied, he realized, to have forgotten his first cup of
coffee. “Thank you.” He took a careful sip, then turned and headed straight to
his office.

“Meeting
with the Joint Chiefs at zero nine-hundred, sir,” she reminded him, speaking to
his quickly retreating back.

“Thank you,”
he responded automatically as he punched in his code and pressed his palm to the
scanner plate. The door opened, but as he stepped inside it suddenly dawned on
him that he hadn’t consciously acknowledged what his subconscious mind had
apparently taken full note of, and he turned around again. Vicky had worn her
hair loose and flowing down over her shoulders. Her copper satin blouse was
only fastened about as high as her sternum and revealed an inappropriate amount
of cleavage, and her hip-hugging, charcoal-gray, pinstriped skirt was even
shorter—
substantially
shorter—than the one she’d worn last Saturday.

“Was there
something else, Admiral?” she asked, smiling provocatively.

He shook his
head and said, “Never mind,” then stepped back to let the door close him in.

He crossed
to his desk, set his mug down in front of his chair, and sat down. As usual,
his message light was flashing—when was the last time he
hadn’t
found
messages waiting for him first thing in the morning?—but at least it was
flashing green this time. Good. No urgent reports. No bad news to ruin his day.
Well, no
exceptionally
bad news anyway. He knew he’d only have been
fooling himself if he thought for one second that any of the waiting messages
contained any
good
news of any real consequence.

He called up
the message list and was even more pleased to discover that there were only two
reports waiting for him. As usual, the twice daily report of overall fleet
actions topped the list. The other one was an update on the hunt for the
fugitive Stefani O’Donnell. He tapped it, then picked up his coffee and leaned
back.

“
Admiral
Hansen,
” the unfamiliar man on the wall screen began, “
I’m Special Agent
Jankewich, Mandela Station C-I-D. My station chief asked me to provide you with
a courtesy update on the O’Donnell case. As you know, it’s been three days now
since she escaped from Military Police custody. We’ve spread as many of our
agents and informants as we can spare throughout the system, concentrating most
of our manpower in the rougher parts of the largest cities where most of the
known criminal safe houses are located, but so far we’ve got nothing. No
sightings, no communications, no trail of purchases. Nothing at all. Wherever she
is, she’s being very careful.

 
“
That’s
it, Admiral. I know it isn’t very much, but it’s all we’ve got at this point. I’ll
let you know whenever anything changes.
”

The message
closed. Hansen set his coffee down and tapped the ‘pause’ button before the
summary of fleet actions report started to play, then leaned back in his chair
again, rested his head on one hand, and sighed.

Stefani O’Donnell.
He had a feeling her name was going to be synonymous with trouble quite a bit
in the foreseeable future. Still a fugitive, on the run for three days and
apparently not leaving a trail of any kind in her wake, she could easily have made
it out of the solar system by now, and if he were to guess based on her
reputation, he’d guess that she probably had. Hell, if she was lucky enough to
find a transport right away she could have made it to any one of the three
Centauri star systems already, and it would be a real bitch to find her in one
of them.

And then
there was Heather. What was he going to do with her? Fifteen years old by only
a few weeks, sneaking onto the adults-only beach and taking off her top, then
staying out all night with her friends on a school night and trying to lie
right to his face about it afterwards. And then getting upset with him...upset
with
him
...for calling her bluff on it! It wasn’t like lying to him was
anything new for her, of course. She’d been doing it for years. Lying, cutting
classes with her friends, shoplifting, using narcotics—that one
still
surprised
him—dressing like a low-rate escort whenever she thought she could get away
with it.

Speaking of
which, what in God’s name was going on with Vicky all of the sudden? Sure she
had a tendency to wear her skirts a little on the short side—she certainly had
the legs for it—but generally speaking, she’d always dressed for work like the
consummate professional. So why so short today? And why so much cleavage? Was
she trying to seduce him? Was she trying to fan the flames of his unspoken
interest in her. The way she’d smiled at him... But how could she know about
that? He’d certainly never told her? Hell, he didn’t even think about it
himself! That kind of relationship was the
last
thing he needed at this
point in his life.

He chased
those thoughts from his mind and sat up. He didn’t have time to ponder such
things as romance and child rearing and fugitives from the law. And there, he
knew, was the root of all of Heather’s problems right there. He didn’t have time.
He had too much work to do. He
always
had too much work to do. He was
going to have to figure something out and soon, before it was too late to make
a difference in her life.

He reached out
to his comm-panel again, but before he could tap the other message the small
text monitor blinked to life and indicated that he had an incoming live
transmission. So he tapped the ‘receive’ pad instead and said, “Admiral Hansen
here.”

The image of
another man he didn’t recognize filled the wall screen, and the first thing he
noticed—how could he not?—was how incredibly thick his longer than regulation
dark brown hair and his close-cropped yet still very full dark brown beard
were. “
Good morning, Admiral,
” the man began. “
Agent Bob Thornton of
the Grainger Field Office on Cirra. I just finished reviewing the report on
last night’s action.
”

That guy was
one of his agents? “How’d it go?” Hansen asked.

“
Overall,
the mission was successful. They got the Crown Prince and his concubine out
alive, but they took heavy casualties. Report says there were Veshtonn
blood-warriors there.
”

Veshtonn
warriors on the surface of Cirra? Things were getting worse every day. “Can you
send me a casualty list?”

“
Yes,
sir. I have it right here.
” On the wall screen, Agent Thornton leaned forward
just long enough to tap the ‘send’ button on his own comm-panel, and barely a
second later the words ‘File Received’ appeared on Hansen’s text monitor.

Hansen
called up the list and was saddened to see that nearly two dozen young Marines
had lost their lives. Several others had been wounded, a number of them
critically. Squad Sergeant Dylan E. Graves’ name appeared on that list, but he
was expected to survive. Hansen sighed with relief. The sergeant was alive. “Thank
you, Mister Thornton,” he said. “I appreciate you getting word to me so
quickly.”

“
My
pleasure, Admiral. Thornton out.
”

The wall
screen went dark.

‘Severely
wounded’, Hansen reflected, ‘but expected to survive.’ That was something at
least. Liz’s trip might still be worthwhile. And just as importantly if not
more so, the Marines had succeeded. The Cirran government had gotten its Crown
Prince back alive. Now, hopefully, the situation in the Caldanran star system
would stabilize enough to allow the Coalition to go forward with Operation Mass
Eviction. The Joint Chiefs would be pleased to hear it.

Speaking of
which... He glanced at his watch and saw that he still had plenty of time
before he had to head out to his meeting. He tapped the other recorded message
and sat back to listen, coffee mug in hand, and was pleased when Roderick Johnson’s
face appeared on the wall screen. He really did like that young man. His always
professional demeanor was refreshing.

“
Hello
there, Admiral,
” the lieutenant began, seemingly fighting back a smile so
as to maintain his air of professionalism. A smile? With everything that was
going on in his sector? He must have had some very positive news to report.

“
I don’t
have any footage to show you this time, at least not yet, but I wanted to
report this to you as quickly as possible. The
Rapier
has found the last
of the missing Tor’Kana vessels adrift in deep space and is engaged in rescue
operations as I speak. It took a hell of a beating and several decks are
proving very difficult to reach, but Captain Erickson reports his teams have
found over a thousand survivors so far, including several hundred females.
”

“Excellent,”
Hansen whispered aloud.

“
I’ve sent
word upstairs to the sector commander so he can dispatch a recovery group as
quickly as possible and get them to safety.