Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  “That’s gone nowhere. I’ve seen to that.” Neanderthals, everywhere. Frightened of change.

  “As I said, you won’t be SecGen forever.” Derek shot me a look of appraisal. “Though you have a few years left.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” Derek would stay the night, as would my chief of staff. Jerence Branstead and I were old friends from Centraltown days, when he’d been but a boy.

  The party was definitely winding down; Arlene’s glances were ever more pointed. I drifted off to join her at the door.

  “What a relief.” I eased off my shoes, rested my feet on a hassock.

  Wiping an end table, Arlene frowned. “Your shoes? They’re your favorite—”

  “The reception.” I gestured vaguely at the nearly empty room. House staff joeys were quietly, efficiently gathering abandoned glasses and hors d’oeuvres.

  Branstead settled himself comfortably on a sofa, near Derek. “By the way, about your Devon press conference—”

  “Don’t start. Please.”

  “—when Vince Canlo asks a hostile question, turn it aside. No need to alienate—”

  “Newsnet hates us,” I said sourly. “They’re in the Terrie Party’s pocket.”

  “All the more reason not to feed him. A diplomatic evasion now and then ...”

  Derek grunted. “That’s not Nick. Never has been.” He raised an eyebrow at Branstead. “You’ve been with him long enough to know.”

  “Would you have him play into their hands?”

  “I’d have him tell the truth, as he does.” Derek pursed his lips. “I concede they were harrying you, Nick. You don’t personally dictate clean air policy.”

  “I didn’t raise sea levels, either.” I tried not to sound glum. “Or cause the Santa Monica mudslides.”

  Arlene handed a waiter the tray of glasses she’d collected, and perched on the arm of my chair. “Feeling sorry for ourselves, love?” Her fingers brushed the back of my neck.

  “Not at all, hon, it’s just ...” I sighed. “I can’t please everybody.”

  “You please me.” Abruptly her mouth hovered before mine, and rewarded me with a long kiss. “They snapped and growled at your heels.” Another kiss. “You stood up well. Sounded like the wrath of God. When Canlo brought up the ruins of Bangladesh ...”

  I’d nearly lost my temper. As I had when Holoworld asked about strengthening the New York Seawall. Didn’t they know that their questions gave credence to the fulminations of the Eco Action League? How could mediamen support those ruthless murderers?

  I growled, “You’ve all nothing better to do than stare at a holovid?”

  “You’re news, love.” Arlene settled into my lap, a beautiful, slender woman. I felt myself stir.

  “Um.” I looked about helplessly. “We ought to help straighten the house.”

  “He’s embarrassed,” she told Jerence sweetly, getting to her feet. “Or he doesn’t want me.”

  “Arlene!”

  A wicked grin. “Tonight you’ll have to show me otherwise.”

  I tried not to blush.

  Chatting with Derek, I puttered about the room. It was amazing where joeys might set down drinks and food. Once, I was lighting a fire and found—

  “... the Patriarchs?” Jerence waited expectantly.

  “Eh?” I wrenched my mind to the present.

  “We ought to prepare for your meeting,” he said patiently. He’d known me too many years to be offended.

  “How can we?” I hadn’t a clue why I’d been summoned. “It’s probably the religious education budget. Get me next year’s figures.”

  “Will do, but I doubt they’d hold a special session to—”

  “Nicky.” Arlene tapped my shoulder. Something in her tone gave me pause. “P.T.’s come.”

  I regarded her steadily.

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  “No.”

  “Please, love.”

  “No.” I turned away, but she caught my arm, swung me back. “Don’t walk away from me, Nick Seafort!”

  I tried to disengage her fingers. “What do you want of me?”

  “Speak with your son.”

  Casually, Derek swung from his seat and drifted toward the hall. I stayed him with a gesture. He was my oldest friend; from him I need not have secrets.

  “Not today of all days, Arlene. Not after Devon.”

  “Nick, this can’t go on. The two of you are like little children.”

  “Don’t call me a—”

  “He’s waiting in the hallway.”

  I looked to Derek and Branstead, but they said nothing. “Well?”

  Derek shrugged. “Far be it from me to—”

  “Damn it!”

  “How long have you been estranged?”

  I shrugged. “A year or so.”

  Arlene folded her arms. “Almost three.”

  Derek said, “And you’re miserable.”

  “I’m no such thing. He deserves—”

  “For God’s sake, Nick. I’ve known you forty years.”

  I capitulated. “Even if I were, it’s a matter of principle.”

  “Mr. SecGen, don’t be an ass.” His tone was light, but his eyes were not.

  “You’re the second person today to read me off.” For a long moment I stared at the carpet. “I don’t know if I should see him. It’s been so long, and when he left—”

  “Hello, Fath.”

  I whirled.

  P.T. stood in the doorway.

  At twenty-four he was everything I’d once hoped him to be. Brilliant, athletic, dedicated, and handsome, at least to a father’s eyes.

  “Philip.” I yearned to sink into my favorite leather chair, but that would extend the conversation, and I wanted at all costs to do otherwise.

  “You’ve been well?”

  My tone was harsh. “Is that why you’ve come?”

  Derek’s eyes caught Branstead’s, but neither man spoke.

  “No, sir.” Philip’s hands fluttered, found his pockets. “When I heard the news from Academy ...”

  I waited, refusing to make conversational sounds that would help him.

  His glance flitted to his mother. “Should I go?”

  I said, “Perhaps another time would be ...”

  “Nick.” Derek.

  I knotted my fists. “Say what you came for.”

  P.T. said earnestly, “We had nothing to do with it. I swear by Lord God.” His eyes searched mine for absolution.

  “Philip, the Enviro Council is composed of fanatics that cause us no end of trouble. Did you plot the murder of my cadets? No. But you created the atmosphere that made it possible, and I find that unforgivable.”

  Jerence opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it. I rounded on him. “Well, they did! Their constant carping about our policy, the way they undermine us in the Assembly ...”

  “Fath, how can you oppose us? Have you seen holos of Bangladesh?”

  “I’ve been there.” In what little was left of that hapless swamp.

  “Do you know what Holland is facing? Louisiana? For that matter, how’s Micronesia holding up?”

  “Is this about politics, you two?” Derek stood, hands on hips.

  I ignored him. “Philip, it would take generations to reverse—”

  “No it wouldn’t! At the Council we’ve done studies of the economic cost. I’ve run the stats myself, in fact it’s my project. In the long run, reversing the ecological damage will actually save—”

  “Over how long?” I glared. “Generations.”

  “Stop it, both of you!” Derek looked every inch the Stadholder of Hope Nation.

  “Thirty years,” P.T. said stubbornly.

  “Paid for out of this year’s budget. Philip, we haven’t the money.” How many times had we been down this road, my intransigent son and I?

  “South Atlantic fish yields are down again. It’s the fifth summer—”

  “And colonial food imports are up. We balance.”<
br />
  I looked past him to the doorway, hoping he’d take the hint, yearning for him to go.

  “I won’t watch this.” Derek’s eyes had a dangerous glint. “Jerence, let’s leave them to their lunacy.” He tugged at Branstead’s sleeve. “Nick thinks he’s in the Rotunda, arguing with a Territorial deputy.” He brushed past. “And you!” He stopped short, to scowl at Philip. “You’ve nothing to be proud of this day. For a prodigy, you act like a dolt!” And he was gone.

  Branstead followed, squeezing my arm in passing.

  Silence.

  “Is there anything else?” My tone was unyielding.

  Arlene said softly, “Remember why you came.”

  Philip braced himself. “Yes, sir, there is.”

  “What, then?”

  His voice was unsteady. “Fath, I love you.”

  I bolted past him to the door, but my fingers slipped on the knob, and then he was there, his hand over mine.

  “Father, I’m begging you!” He sank to his knees.

  “DON’T DO THAT!” With horror, I realized my fist was raised to club him into submission. Instead, I hauled him to his feet.

  Once, in my youth, a man had begged me on his knees, and I’d refused to spare his life. It was a gesture I could no longer abide.

  I covered my face. “P.T., leave, I beg you.”

  “Sir, it doesn’t have to be this way between us.”

  “You made it so. Who was it rifled my office, copied my private environmental papers for the Territorials?”

  He cried, “I was nineteen, and stupid! They said it would help.” And sardonically, they’d betrayed him.

  “You were never stupid. Over and again I’ve asked you to stay clear of the enviro fringe. You knew the political capital they made of your support. They still do!”

  “We’re not fringe, Fath.” His tone was reasonable, but he abandoned it. “I love you so much, sir!” His voice cracked.

  Unable to respond, I faced the door, hugging myself.

  “Can’t we be friends again? Please?”

  “Yes, Nicky, can’t you?” Arlene’s voice was soft.

  I swallowed, until I was sure I could speak. “How’s Jared?”

  P.T.’s tone was pitifully eager. “Fine, sir.” Jared Tenere had lived with us once, as a boy, and caused all sorts of trouble. I’d disliked him intensely. Now he and Philip were paired.

  “Still planning to adopt?”

  “He wants to go monogenetic clone.”

  “Whose cells?”

  “Mine.”

  “Derek is monogenetic clone.”

  “I know.”

  We were marking time.

  I took a deep breath. “Will you give up enviro politics?”

  He glanced at his mother, with resignation. “No, Fath.” His tone was resolute.

  It should have made me furious, but for some reason I was glad. I forced myself to turn, and faced my son. Something stung my eyes. Damned pollutants. Not that the enviros were right; there was nothing we could do about them.

  Philip’s hands began to pick at his shirt. His eyes darted. “Oh, God, I’m revving.” It was a frenzy he’d often worked himself into as a child, when the breathtaking speed of his thoughts outpaced his ability to cope. He closed his eyes for a moment, tried to breathe deeply. “I can’t stand—about the cadets, sir, I swear I’ll do whatever you say to make it up. Don’t shut me—”

  Lord God, I can’t bear any more.

  His fingers scrabbled at the cotton of his tunic. “Oh, Fath, please don’t cry!”

  I opened my arms.

  With a moan, he fell into them.

  Arlene leaned against the door, silent. Surreptitiously, she wiped her eyes.

  I yawned. It was late, but I treasured my time with Derek. Arlene nestled close, holding my hand. Branstead was in the den, communing with his caller. Derek slouched on a comfortable sofa. “So, it’s done,” he said.

  I shrugged. “And then he went home.” After our fervent embrace, Philip and I had chatted awhile longer. Despite the emotion of the moment, three years of estrangement couldn’t be so easily overcome. Our talk had veered again to politics, and become strained. Eventually, he’d left, with a vague promise that he’d visit soon, with Jared. With shame, I realized I was glad to see him go.

  Arlene stirred the remains of her drink. “I’m glad you reconciled.”

  “Who said we did?”

  She snorted.

  “You could say we reconciled, after a fashion.” My tone was grudging. I hadn’t told Philip how I’d cherished cradling him in my arms. Perhaps my fragile, genius son already knew.

  “Between the two of you ...” She shook her head.

  She must have been miserable, these last years. I’d been so caught up in my stubborn anger ... “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you from him.”

  “Good heavens, did you think you had?” She looked at me quizzically, but squeezed my fingers.

  “I don’t—you and I haven’t talked much about—” I sputtered to a halt.

  “Not since that day you began shouting, at breakfast.”

  I cringed. It hadn’t been one of my better days. Still, I felt betrayed. “All this time you’ve been seeing—”

  “Of course. I’m his mother.”

  “And I’m his father!”

  “Yes, love.” She didn’t quite make it sound an accusation.

  Hastily, I retreated. As always, Arlene would do what she thought right.

  “I’m glad it’s over,” said Derek. “You can bear only so much loneliness.”

  “You forget yourself, sir!” My tone was ice.

  “Do I?” The Stadholder of the Commonweal of Hope Nation met my scowl, unflinching.

  I struggled to hold on to my vexation. “If I want analysis of my feelings, I’ll ask.”

  “Is he abusing you, Derek?” His calls completed, Branstead peered in from the door.

  “No, but he’s trying.”

  “Don’t gang up on me,” I said sourly.

  Derek said quietly, “You’ve always been lonely, haven’t you, Nick?”

  Uncomfortable at the probe, I considered his question. “Not reall—I suppose so.” Life in Father’s cottage had been lonesome, except for my friendship with Jason, though I hadn’t considered it so at the time. During my years on ship I endured the unyielding isolation of a Captain. Command of Academy wasn’t much different. Then had come the monastery. I glanced quickly at Arlene, curled at my side. “Except for my marriage.”

  “If only it were true.” She smiled to ease the hurt of her words.

  “Arlene?”

  Languidly, she rose to her feet, wrapped herself around the back of my chair to massage my shoulders. “You’ve been a loving husband, and attentive too. But nothing can penetrate the wall you’ve built. I blame your father for that.”

  “Bah.” I waved it away. “What’s come over you all tonight?” Gently, I set aside Arlene’s fingers, struggled to my feet. “I have work to do. It’s morning in Asia; Hiroto-san is waiting. And I want to call Hazen about that murderous sergeant. Has Charlie gone to bed?” My staff middy and I often worked into the night. It was a peaceable time, and productive.

  “Witrek will be transferred in a week,” Jerence reminded me.

  “Call someone down. We have a list.” The last thing on my mind was choosing a middy aide. Tomorrow, I’d have to fly to New York; the Council of Patriarchs waited. The day after, we had the Von Walthers banquet at Earthport Station.

  I paused at the door, disconcerted. At last I muttered, “Derek ... thank you.” A quick wave good night, and I limped to my office.

  In Father’s cottage, tongue between my teeth, I bent over my desk, laboring over my balsa model of UNS Repulse. Jason and I had chosen it on one of our infrequent bicycle rides to Cardiff. I hoped to have it finished by his next visit, so we could paint it together.

  I struggled to attach the disk of Level 3 to the central shaft. Repulse was, like most ships of
the line, a three-decker.

  Not that there was much chance I’d ever see her.

  I was twelve, desperate for a year to pass so I’d be old enough to apply to U.N.N.S. Academy. Last year I’d managed, after months of scrimping and saving, to set aside enough coin for Neilsen’s Naval Academy Entrance Exam Prep Guide, and at my stubborn insistence, Father now included a heavy measure of math in my home schoolwork.

  “Nicholas, it’s bedtime.”

  “Aye, Father.” Reluctantly, I set down the model. If it was only possible ... I closed my eyes, rested my forehead on the scarred desk.

  I’d have to get past transcript evaluation, two interviews, and final cull, before I might ever see Academy. Each year many thousands applied, and fewer than five hundred were selected.

  I busied myself making ready for bed, knelt next to the covers for my prayers.

  “Lord God, I beg You, let me serve in the Navy. I’ll be noble, and good, I swear. I’ll be true to You forever.” I took a deep breath, echoed earnestly, “Forever.”

  “Nick, you’re kicking me.”

  “Wha—” Slowly, I came awake.

  Arlene gently stroked my flank. “You were thrashing about, love.”

  “I’m sorry.” I put my head down, pretended sleep, felt my eyes burn.

  Could I start over, Lord? You gave me such a magnificent gift, this life. And I’ve made such a hash of it.

  3

  WHAT’S THAT RACKET?” I paused at the heli door.

  “Demonstrators, sir.” Karen Burns, deputy chief of security. Her tone was disapproving.

  From the helipad I couldn’t see the protesters, of course. A high wall surrounded our compound. When P.T. was younger, it had been my dread that some crazed partisan would scramble over the wall and injure him. But then, as now, Security kept vigilant guard.

  “Who now?” I wiped my face. The day was sweltering. It seemed summers were worse than ever.

  “European Independencers by the cottages, Earth Firsters south of the gate.”

  “How many?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Let’s take a look.”

  “No, Mr. SecGen!” Karen grabbed my arm before I’d taken two paces.

  I rapped her with my cane. “Belay that!”