by Glenn Smith
SOLFLEET: BEYOND THE CALL
by Glenn E. Smith
Copyright © 2014, Glenn E. Smith
All Rights Reserved
ACKOWLEDGEMENTS
To all the “Solfleet” fans out there who have been waiting... and waiting.... and waiting, I thank you for never giving up hope.
A special thanks to Andrew “Sarge” Grieb for his proofreading prowess. Thank you, Andy, for your service... and for your service.
And a very special thank you to Juan “JC” Baez for creating for me another great “Solfleet" cover.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SOLFLEET: BEYOND THE CALL
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Prologue
Mars Orbital Shipyards
Earth Standard Date: Monday, 28 March 2168
Private First Class Nancy Gillis covered her mouth and yawned big while she waited for the tea dispenser to finish filling her cup. Last night had been one more in a long line of slow, quiet nights. Not that she was complaining, of course. On the contrary, she was one of those very few security police troops who actually preferred to work the midnight shift for exactly that reason. She didn’t need action. She didn’t want action. She didn’t care how many arrests she made. Long quiet nights on shift afforded her plenty of time to devote to her schoolwork on the job, thus freeing up a lot of her non-duty hours, especially during the breaks between classes like the one that had just started.
This time her break was a good long one, too. She had three whole weeks ahead of her to enjoy before classes were scheduled to resume again and she intended to enjoy them to the fullest. To begin with, she was looking forward to going off shift in a little while and spending the rest of the morning deep in dreamland, and then having the whole afternoon to hit the Rotunda and do some serious clothes shopping. She’d decide how to pass the rest of the evening as she went along.
She glanced around the dining area as she carried her cup of tea over to the nearest table and felt pleased to find that she was currently the only customer—the only person in the whole restaurant who didn’t work there. She preferred the quiet solitude the civilian sector restaurants afforded her as they opened for business early in the morning to all the chatter that accompanied the light but fairly steady overnight traffic that flowed through the dining facilities back in the military sector, short-lived though that solitude may be. Pretty soon now, probably in a matter of minutes, the early breakfast crowd was going to start showing up and she was going to have to leave before the wrong someone saw her sitting there in uniform, armed and on duty and outside her jurisdiction. The restaurant’s owners didn’t care, of course. After all, her money was as good as anyone else’s. But standing orders dictated that all on-duty security police personnel remain in the military sector unless their duties required them to cross into the civilian sector, so it would be better if no one found out where she was.
Their duties. She couldn’t help but grin at that irony. The instructors back in the security police academy had thrown so much information at the recruits—military laws and regulations, police security and patrol procedures, police-community relations, the use of force pyramid, arrest and detention procedures, marksmanship training on nearly half a dozen different kinds of weapons, crime scene security, evidence collection and preservation procedures, interview and interrogation techniques, report writing, and so on and so on. She and her fellow recruits had been so inundated with information that she never would have dreamed her duties would turn out to be as easy as they had.
Still, despite all that, despite how easy her job was and how much free time her duties afforded her, she still wanted to finish school. She still wanted to earn her bachelor’s degree and then go to Officer Candidate School and earn her commission. After all, that was where the real money was—in the Officer Corps.
And knowing that all the NCOs and enlisted folks were going to have to call her ‘ma’am’ all the time was kind of nice, too.
She blew gently across the steaming surface of her tea and took a careful sip...
Three steady second-long tones—the ‘attention all patrols’ alert warning—sounded over her comm-link and were followed by the desk sergeant’s voice calling out, “All units, all units, this is Security Control. Fugitive alert. The civilian suspect in the assault on C-I-D Special Agent Ashley Urbana has escaped from custody. He has killed one S-I-A agent and has assaulted another. Both agents’ service weapons are missing, presumed stolen. Suspect is to be considered armed and dangerous. If sighted, apprehend immediately. Deadly force is authorized under standard regulations.”
“Aw shit,” Gillis grumbled as she jumped up. She took as big and as quick a second swig of her tea as she could stand without burning her mouth and then tossed the cup into the trash as she walked quickly toward the exit. “Of course this happens right before the end of shift,” she complained under her breath to whatever powers might have been listening to her, “and of course I’d be the closest S-P to that asshole’s most likely destination.” She rested her hand over her sidearm as she left the restaurant and took off jogging toward the docking ports. “So much for sleeping all morning,” she grumbled on. “Probably won’t get off duty before noon now.”
“Control, Gamma-two,” Squad Sergeant Orwell’s voice thundered over her link so loud that she had to turn down the volume on her earpiece. From the sound of it she figured he must have been running, which hopefully meant that he wasn’t too far away. Good. She didn’t want to face the suspect alone if she didn’t have to.
“Go ahead, Gamma-two,” Security Control responded.
“I’ll be approaching the docks from section Charlie-fifteen, corridor-five. E-T-A about five minutes. Maybe four.”
Gillis’ stomach sank like a brick in a swimming pool. Four or five minutes? A lot could happen in four or five minutes. Those four or five minutes were going to seem like four or five hours if she happened to run into...
The suspect
suddenly appeared in front of her, running full-speed out of a cross-corridor barely thirty feet ahead. He turned wide without slowing down, bounced off the far wall, and then kept running in the same direction she was without even looking the other way, as though he knew exactly where he was going, which she felt sure he did—the docking ports, running as fast as his unusual legs would carry him.
“Halt! Security Police!” she shouted as she sped up, and just as she expected he would, he ignored her and kept on running. She started running faster, trying to catch up to him to affect an arrest as was her duty, but at the same time she couldn’t help but wonder whether or not she really wanted to catch him before Orwell or one of her other comrades arrived to back her up. Perhaps the smarter thing to do would be to just keep pace with him and keep Security Control up to date on his location.
“Copy, Gamma-two,” Control responded to Orwell’s last transmission. “Will route other units to cover additional approach routes...”
Gillis slapped her link twice to override all other transmissions. “Gamma-five breaking in!” she shouted. “Have suspect in sight, section Charlie-twelve! In pursuit, approaching main dock security checkpoint via corridor-four!”
“Copy that, Gamma-five,” Control quickly responded. “All units, all units, this is Security Control. Gamma-five in pursuit of suspect in section Charlie-twelve, corridor-four, approaching main dock security checkpoint. Corridor-five covered. All remaining units converge on that area via corridors one through three. I say again, corridors one through three. Reminder... suspect is armed and dangerous. Exercise extreme caution. Deadly force is authorized if warranted.”
“Halt!” she shouted again, but the suspect continued to ignore her and just kept running, and started slowly pulling away. Gillis was already running as fast as she could, digging deep to give it all she had, but she decided at that moment that losing him would be even worse than catching up to him before back-up arrived—her fellow security policemen would taunt her about it to no end and never let her live it down if she lost him—so she refused to give up the chase. “Halt! Se... Security... Police!”
Sweat stung her eyes and she grew short of breath as her tortured lungs began demanding more air than she could give them. Still she pressed onward, refusing to slow down—refusing to stop, no matter how painfully her body protested. But despite her efforts, and despite his own unusual gait, the suspect continued pulling farther and farther away from her, faster and faster. “Stop running... or I’ll... I’ll shoot you... in the back!”
She wouldn’t really shoot him in the back, of course, but he didn’t necessarily know that. As a fleeing felon he was a legitimate target, and deadly force had been authorized.
Of course, he didn’t know that, either.
He cut to the left, down a side corridor, and by the time she reached that intersection and made the same turn he’d already made it to the next connecting corridor. She dodged a bystander who looked a little rattled—the suspect had probably frightened him—and then barely caught a glimpse of the suspect before he cut to the right and disappeared, once more heading directly toward the docks.
“Suspect... now appr... approaching docks... from corridor-three,” she reported.
“Copy, corridor-three,” Control affirmed. “All units, all units, suspect now approaching docking port via corridor-three.”
She slowed down just enough to make the same right turn without running into the wall, then realized after she had done so how lucky she was that he hadn’t stopped around that corner and waited to shoot her in the head when she followed. Several bystanders lined both sides of the corridor, all of them standing around and looking with shock and surprise toward the entrance to the docks, but the suspect was nowhere to be seen. The doors at the end of the corridor were just closing, however, so she kept running straight ahead as fast as she could, knowing that it had to have been he who had just passed through them. Otherwise, all those bystanders wouldn’t be standing around and looking in that direction with such baffled expressions on their faces.
She stopped running and drew her sidearm as she reached the doors. Panting heavily and growing a little dizzy from breathing so fast and so hard, she wiped her sleeve across her sweat-soaked forehead and then slapped the button on the wall. The doors opened and she cautiously stepped forward into the docking port security zone, where she found at least a dozen people scattering in all directions to find cover while the suspect, pistol in hand, worked the panel in the opposite wall, obviously trying find the right code to unlock and open the security doors that led to the actual docking ports. Security Control had likely overridden the codes by now, so his chances of succeeding were slim to none. He’d reached the end of the road.
Still sucking wind, trying to catch her breath, Gillis raised her weapon and did her best to take aim, then shouted, “Solfleet Security Police! Stop what you’re doing... and raise your hands over your head!”
He ignored her, just as she’d known he would, and for that she felt thankful. It bought her back-up that much more time to get there.
She moved a few meters to her right and shouted again, “I said, stop! Step away from the panel and... and raise your hands over your head!”
Still, he ignored her.
She moved back to her left, a few meters beyond where she’d started, but just as she was about to shout at the suspect again she spotted an older gray-haired gentleman in dress slacks and a lab coat emerging from corridor-five to the right. His eyes were glued to the handcomp he was carrying and he was obviously unaware of the danger that he was strolling right into.
“Sir, stay back!” she shouted, but he kept on walking. “Sir! You in the lab coat, stop!”
The suspect looked toward the old man.
“Sir!”
The old man looked up at her, but too late. The suspect dashed behind him and threw an arm around his throat and pressed the muzzle of his stolen pistol against his temple before the old man could even begin to react to what was happening to him. He dropped his handcomp to the deck and grabbed and pulled at the suspects arm, but he clearly didn’t have the strength to free himself.
“Son of a bitch,” Gillis mumbled as the suspect backed himself against the wall, staring daggers at her. Then she tapped her link and reported, “This is Gamma-five. I have the suspect cornered at the docking port security checkpoint. He has taken a hostage, an elderly gentleman, and is holding him at gunpoint.” Control would repeat the information to all units. She didn’t bother to listen for it.
“It was a good effort, but there’s nowhere else for you to go,” she told him, hoping to buy some more time for all the back-up that was on its way to help her. Where the hell were they, anyway? What, were they walking? “There are at least six more security policemen on their way here right now. There’s no way you’re going to escape, so just let that man go. Lay down your weapon and surrender, and you won’t be harmed.” Please surrender, she repeated in her mind. She didn’t want to have to shoot at him, especially now that he had a hostage. If she did, and if she were to miss the suspect and hit the hostage...
The suspect kicked his hostage’s handcomp over to the doors and then pulled the hostage himself sidelong to the same place.
“Those doors are not going to open for you,” Gillis told him. “All the access codes have been changed by now. You’ve gone as far as you’re going to go. Now let the man go and lay down your...”
The doors opened, and as far as she could tell there wasn’t anyone inside who might be able to jump the suspect from behind.
Now what the hell was she going to do?
The suspect kicked the handcomp back behind him, sending it sliding across the docking bay floor, and then started backing in there with his hostage.
“No!” she shouted. She no longer had any choice. He was a killer. She couldn’t let him escape. She was going to have to take the shot. She raised her weapon, took aim as carefully as the adrenaline pumping through her system would allow, prayi
ng with all her soul that she’d hit the suspect rather than the hostage...
She saw the flash...
And then she realized, almost as quickly as the room grew dark, that she hadn’t even heard the shot that took her out.
Chapter 1
One Week Earlier
Monday, 21 March 2168
Awareness. Thought. Consciousness.
Awareness of... what? Nothing. There was nothing. Blindness. Were his eyes even open? No way to know. Deafness. No sound at all. Not even the quiet whispering ring he could almost always hear whenever total silence surrounded him. Nothing.
No cold. No heat. No sensation at all.
He drew a breath. Or did he? No odor. No taste. Was he breathing? Could he breathe? Did he even need to breathe?
No ground. Where was the ground? Weightlessness? No nausea.
Nothing. No sensation at all.
Not even his own heartbeat.
Was this death?
Awareness. Thought. Consciousness.
PAIN!
* * *
Pain?
Sensation!
Awareness. Thought. Consciousness.
And pain!
He felt pain. His head hurt. A headache or an injury, he didn’t know which. Perhaps both. Throbbing. Excruciating pain. The front of his head. The back of his neck hurt, too, as though he lay with his head turned at an odd angle. Had he broken his neck? What about his back? No. No pain in his back. Pressure though. Something was there. Something firm was pressing against his back. Or more precisely, he was pressing against something. A surface of some kind. No, not pressing against it. Not exactly. More like... lying on it? Yes. He could feel it against the back of his head as well, and his bottom, and against his arms and his legs. He was lying on something. Something firm. Something hard and firm. The ground? Yes, that was it. The ground. There was ground. He was lying on the ground.
He could feel it!
He inhaled suddenly, desperate for air, filling his lungs to capacity. Then he exhaled. He drew a second breath and then let that one go as well.
Breathing!
He was ALIVE!
“Are you all right?” a distant sound echoed in his mind.