by Smith, Glenn
Lieutenant J.G. Dylan Edward Graves had answered the call of duty—a call unlike any other that had ever gone out before—and had paid for it with his life. Unable to acknowledge that the Portal had ever existed, Solfleet Central Command had listed him officially as Missing-In-Action, but all of the classified evidence that Hansen had seen, thanks mostly to one of his loyal former subordinates, indicated that Graves had been there on the surface of Window World when the Veshtonn glassed it, so he knew the truth.
He only wished that he could tell Miss DeGaetano that truth, to relieve her of the burden of false hope that she was bound to carry with her for the foreseeable future. The desperate hope that somehow, somewhere, her fiancé might still be alive and might soon return to her.
Yes, Window World was gone. The Timeshift Resolution would never again be a viable option. If humankind was going to help win the war, then he was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way. He was going to have to outthink, outmaneuver, and outfight the enemy. Of course, considering how things had turned out this time, not to mention what had happened with Günter, perhaps that was for the best. Perhaps the Portal being destroyed was the best thing that could have happened.
Portal and time-shifting aside, so many other questions still remained, and Hansen knew that with his sentence about to be passed he’d likely never learn the answers to any of them. Who had kidnapped Stefani O’Donnell and why? Where were they holding her, if she was even still alive? Where was her father, assuming of course that the message that had started them all down the Timeshift path in the first place was genuine, and that its author really was the former Excalibur tactical officer and not some enemy intelligence agent trying to mislead them? Was he still being held captive somewhere deep in Veshtonn space or had they already executed him? Perhaps the new commanding officer of the S.I.A., whoever that might turn out to be, might eventually find those answers. But as for why Graves’ memory-edit had failed...the answer to that question would likely remain a mystery forever.
As would the answer to the one question that begun troubling Hansen more than any other. The question as to whether or not he had been subjected to a memory-edit at some point in time as well. He alone had survived that horrible attack on Vice-President Harkam’s ship twenty-three years ago and he’d suffered from nightmares for a long time afterwards. But with the help of professional counseling, those nightmares had eventually gone away. And then, just last year, they’d suddenly returned, and for reasons he still couldn’t begin to fathom Dylan Graves had started appearing in them as the Security Police sergeant and second survivor, even though the SP sergeant who’d really been there had been killed along with everyone else onboard.
Hansen’s memories of the attack were clear, even after more than two decades. He knew that he alone had survived. He’d always known that. Hell, Graves would only have been about six years old at the time, so he couldn’t possibly have been there. Nevertheless, he had made an appearance in his nightmares, as a grown man, and as hard as he tried, Hansen couldn’t think of another explanation for the discrepancy. Even though his symptoms weren’t exactly like those that Graves had suffered—in Graves’ case both conflicting memories were at least possible—they had to be the result of a failing memory-edit. They simply had to be.
But why? Why had he been subjected to a memory-edit? What had he ever been involved in that someone in authority higher than his own would have wanted removed from his memory? And almost as importantly, why had yet another memory-edit begun to fail in the first place? Those things were supposed to be infallible.
Yes, a lot of questions still remained unanswered. But as he’d already reminded himself a few moments ago, at least he was still alive to ponder them. He only wished that he could do so while spending whatever remained of his life in freedom with his daughter rather than behind bars. Especially now that she’d finally put forth the effort to straighten herself out. Since learning of his arrest, Heather had left her delinquent ways behind and had stood firmly and uprightly by his side. She hadn’t gotten into any trouble and in fact stood poised to finish the school year on the honor roll for the first time ever.
Hansen couldn’t have felt more proud of her, and he knew that regardless of what might happen to him in the next few minutes, at least he could feel confident that she’d be all right in her aunt’s and uncle’s care.
“All rise,” the sharply uniformed bailiff called out suddenly.
Hansen looked up from the heavily varnished wooden tabletop he’d been staring at while his mind processed the instructions they’d just been given, then joined everyone else in standing up as the panel of three black-robed military judges, two men and a woman, Solfleet admirals all, marched single file out of their chambers and returned to their places on the bench.
“The defendant will remain standing,” the bailiff instructed as soon as the admirals had taken their seats. “All others, be seated and come to order.”
“Vice-Admiral Icarus Hansen,” the judge in the center seat began once everyone else had sat back down and settled in, “you stand before this court and before all the people of the Earth convicted of committing a capital crime against humanity, that being the willful violation of the Brix-Cyberclone Cessation Act of twenty-one sixty-two. Do you have anything to say before this panel passes sentence against you for that offense?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I do,” Hansen answered. “I could probably go on for the next several minutes explaining why I did what I did, but I wouldn’t be telling this court anything it hasn’t already heard several times during these proceedings. The bottom line is that I did it. I am guilty as charged, sir, and so convicted. My only regret is that I haven’t been a better father, and now I’ll likely never have an opportunity to make up for it.” He knew Heather was back there. He knew she was watching him and listening to his every word, and that she was probably crying now, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn and face her. “That’s all I wanted to say, Your Honor,” he concluded.
“Admiral Hansen, the crime of which you have been convicted is not only one of several serious offenses with which you were originally charged,” the judge pointed out, “it also happens to be one of the very few crimes on the books that still carry a maximum possible sentence of death.”
Somewhere behind Hansen, Heather gasped and whimpered, “No.” The fact that the rest of the charges had been dropped for reasons of planetary security—if they hadn’t been, a lot of highly classified information would have been disclosed during what had quickly become a very public trial—suddenly didn’t seem to make much of a difference anymore.
“However,” the judge continued, “having taken into account your more than thirty-five years of honorable service to the fleet, no one sitting on this bench could bring him- or herself to even consider passing such a sentence against you. But you have been convicted and you must be sentenced in accordance with the law.”
This was it. This was the first moment of the rest of his life.
“Vice-Admiral Icarus Hansen,” the judge proclaimed in his most official sounding tone of voice, “it is the decision of this panel that you be sentenced as follows. Effective immediately, you are stripped of your Solfleet commission and reduced to the pay grade of E-one. In addition, you are ordered to forfeit all pay and allowances, as well as any and all retirement benefits that you have earned, and you are to be confined to whatever Solfleet correctional facility might have survived the last invasion for a period of life, minus those thirty-five years of service.”
The judge relaxed his posture...slightly, then continued, “Now we obviously have no way of knowing when your life will end, so the term of your confinement has been calculated based on the average human life expectancy of one hundred and twenty years. Therefore, you are to be confined for a period of just less than thirty-one years, and are to be released on your eighty-fifth birthday.”
Hansen remained still and stoic as he watched the judge reach for his gavel, but Heather’s quiet
sobbing somewhere behind him nearly tore his heart out.
The judge raised his gavel and proclaimed, “This court is adjourn...,” but the doors in the rear of the courtroom burst open before he could strike it. With his arm still in the air, annoyance twisted his features as he drew a deep breath, no doubt intending to admonish the intruders. But then he saw who those intruders were, and he wisely held his tongue.
“Not yet it isn’t, Your Honor,” a familiar voice begged to differ.
All eyes, including Hansen’s, turned to find President Shakhar marching forward through the center of her four-man security detail, the rear two of whom closed the doors behind them. All military personnel in the room, including the judges, stood up and assumed the position of attention. Some of the media and other civilians stood as well. Hansen took the opportunity to steal a glance at his tearful daughter and was pleased to see her aunt and uncle seated to either side of her.
“As you were, everyone,” the president commanded as she stopped near the center of the public seating area. “Please, everyone, take your seats.”
Except for the senior judge, everyone quietly sat back down. “What can we do for you, Madam President?” he asked her.
“May I approach the bench?” she asked in return.
“Certainly, ma’am.”
She went forward, alone, and spoke to the senior judge for a moment while the other two judges listened in, too quietly for anyone else to hear. Then she produced some kind of document from within the folds of her sarong, handed it to him, nodded briefly, and then promptly turned and headed back toward the rear of the courtroom.
She looked alive again, Hansen noted as she passed. Not so gaunt and troubled as she had looked on that morning in her office so many months ago. The sparkle had returned to her eyes, and while her close-cropped hair had continued slowly fading from black to gray, so too had the healthy glow returned to her chocolate-brown skin. That meant she was resting well, and that pleased him.
He sat quietly and stared straight ahead while the judges took a few moments to review the document she had given them, and he wondered what she was up to. He’d known all along that she was listening in on the proceedings, of course, but he’d thought she was doing so through a secure link to her temporary office in Norway. He’d had no idea she was actually in the building. Was it possible that she...
“Mister Hansen,” the senior judge called out.
“Yes, Your Honor?” he replied as he stood up again.
“I have here, in my hand...” He raised the document for a brief moment, then set it aside as he continued, “...a presidential decree concerning your sentencing. It is not a reversal of your conviction. Nor is it a pardon. Rather, it is a short letter of explanation reemphasizing the reasons why you did what you did, and a set of guidelines that we on the panel have been asked to abide by in passing sentence. We have discussed it amongst ourselves and have decided to do so. In light of this, your sentence is hereby amended as follows.
“Effective immediately, your Solfleet commission is retired rather than revoked. You are ordered to forfeit all active duty pay and allowances, but your retirement benefits, to include full payment of all pension installments under the standard plan, will commence immediately. In addition, your sentence of confinement is hereby commuted. You are instead sentenced to military probation for the same period of thirty-one years.” He paused a moment, then added, “Go home, Admiral. Leave all of this behind you and start a new life with your daughter.” He raised his gavel into the air once again, proclaimed, “Now this court is adjourned,” and struck it.
Hansen practically collapsed back into his chair and sighed with relief. He felt as though a million pounds had just been lifted from his shoulders. Next thing he knew, he was on his feet again, holding Heather close and lovingly stroking her long strawberry-blond hair while she squeezed him as tightly as she could. His ever faithful younger brother and his sister-in-law made their way to him and reached over his weeping daughter to hug him as well. Then they all headed for the exit together.
Hansen recognized nearly all of the military personnel he came into contact with on the way out. Most of those he knew by name congratulated him on his sudden retirement, shook his hand, and wished him luck in his new life, but a select few flashed him dirty looks. No matter. He’d grown used to that years ago. Some enemies would always remain enemies, regardless of the passage of time.
He caught up to Mirriazu in the lobby before her security detail could whisk her away, introduced her to Heather’s aunt and uncle, and thanked her for her incredible thoughtfulness. When she graciously accepted his thanks, he followed up by inviting her to visit them in their new home at any time, wherever that new home might end up being, but her response to that invitation wasn’t at all what he expected. She stared at him for a moment, then turned her back and walked off, surrounded by her ever-present security team.
He couldn’t blame her, he supposed, considering that he’d lied to her and betrayed her trust, but the moment carried with it a certain feeling of finality that he found...regretful. He gave Heather one more gentle squeeze and kissed the top of her head, then nodded to his brother and sister-in-law and led them out of the building for the very last time.
He was pleased to see that the chilly, damp, overcast morning had turned into a warm and beautiful sunny afternoon. He unfastened his collar and the top part of his jacket. So what if that wasn’t the proper way to wear the uniform? He was retired and was wearing it for the very last time, so what did he care? It didn’t mean he wasn’t proud of it, or of what it stood for.
“What do you want to do first, Nick?” his younger brother asked as they walked casually toward the parking lot.
“You know what, Jason?” he responded as he decided he liked the idea of not having to work for his pay anymore. “I think I’m in the mood for a great big pepperoni pizza.”
“Me, too!” Heather added enthusiastically. “I’m starving!”
“Sounds good to me,” Jason’s wife agreed.
“Then I guess it’s lunchtime,” Jason concluded.
“Yes it is,” Hansen confirmed.
The Earth wasn’t safe. The war between the Coalition and the Veshtonn Empire wasn’t over. It would continue to rage on and on until one side or the other finally emerged victorious. But for this one very small moment in time, everything seemed right with the world.
“Admiral Hansen,” someone called out from behind them as they crossed the street.
All four turned to find a well dressed young man hurrying toward them, though he wasn’t actually running, carrying something flat and square in his hand.
A picture frame? “Do I know you?” Hansen asked him when he reached them.
“I doubt it, sir,” the man answered. “I’m new to the, uh...to the...to the department you used to work in, sir.”
“What can I do for you?”
“My supervisor asked me to give you this,” he answered, holding the picture frame out to him. “Said to tell you it was taken a few days ago near Drexel University in Philadelphia.”
Hansen accepted the frame and gazed down at the holophoto, and an icy chill suddenly climbed the length of his spine. “Oh my God,” he uttered neutrally, being careful not to display the utter shock he was feeling at that moment.
“What is it, Dad?” Heather asked, looking up at him with concern. “What’s wrong?”
A wide city sidewalk, much like any other, except for the brief message that appeared to have been scratched into the plasticrete when it was still wet.
‘Lt D-G, 21 Mar 2168.’
Hansen drew a deep breath and exhaled very slowly.
He’d made it.
THE END
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