Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

His eyes shone. “You were ... magnificent, sir!”

  I reared up, or tried to. “You spied? Despicable.” I pounded the chair. “I’ll have you caned. No, dismissed from Academy. If you haven’t the honor—”

  “You ordered me to stand outside the door!”

  My mouth worked. How dare this insolent, impudent child defend anything so contemptible as eavesdropping? What effrontery. What—

  I had told him to stand outside the door, to stop Saythor’s aides from doing precisely what he’d done.

  “Hmpff.” It was all I could say.

  “May I speak?” His tone was pleading. I nodded. “Sarge used to tell us stories about your days in Academy. How you and Admiral Thorne went on secret missions raiding the coolers. How later you stood up alone to the fish. Sir, I ...” He squirmed. “Sometimes I didn’t believe everything they—but today you were wonderful. The Elder was out of line, and you faced him down without a qualm. Now I see how it could all be true.”

  “Goofjuice. I’ve never heard such nonsense.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you so much for assigning me. It’s—I’m—”

  “Yesterday you begged to go home.”

  It was as if I’d knocked the wind from his sails. He deflated. “Yes, sir. I’m ...” He bit his lip. “Shit.”

  “Bevin!” I’d have said more, but his eyes were damp. “It’s all right, boy. Come.” I grasped his hand. “We’ll say no more about it.”

  “Thank you, sir.” It was barely a whisper.

  “Help me awhile in my office.” I rolled to the hall, basking in the gleam of his approval.

  For two hours, Danil and I worked diligently, making significant inroads on my stack of paperwork. To my surprise, I found the cadet a willing and cheerful worker, toiling without complaint at whatever task I gave him. When he came upon the Boland report concerning the Volgograd gravitron works, he scanned it quickly, posed a series of acute questions that had me thinking. Yes, we needed its production, but was it absolutely necessary that it spew so many metallic by-products? I scrawled a series of queries.

  Moira Tamarov arrived at midday. She’d brought the children by Hitrans train from New York, and by taxi from the station. The gate guards confirmed their authorization on their list, admitted them past the guardhouse. Why she hadn’t come by heli, I didn’t know. Certainly, with Alexi’s pension, she could afford it. I made a note to ask.

  Arlene greeted the Tamarovs while I extricated myself from my office. I joined the women in the kitchen, over tea. My wife perched on the counter, smiling down at Moira in the breakfast nook.

  “Mr. Seafort.” Moira came to her feet. Her dark hair was tied behind her neck. Her oriental eyes were dull and lifeless, much changed from the last time I’d seen her, a decade past.

  “It’s Nick, please.” I rolled forward, gave her an awkward embrace. “I’m so sorry about Alexi.”

  “I know.”

  “I was sedated when they held his funeral.” Perhaps I might have begged his forgiveness. “Where are the children?”

  “Outside, I think, with your middy.” She seemed uneasy.

  “Is there something wrong?” Of course there was, you idiot. Her husband had been blown to pieces a month before.

  “I hope, while we’re here ... I warned them.”

  “Who?”

  “Carla and Mikhael. They’re ... it’s mostly him, but she goes along.”

  “With what?”

  A commotion, at the door. “Excuse me, could we have—” Tad Anselm, two teeners in tow. He glanced among us. “Oops. I’m intruding.”

  “Nick, you’ve met our joeys, have you not?”

  The girl was about twelve, awkward, with the promise of grace.

  “This is Carla, and ... Mikhael, don’t hide in the hall. Come say hello.”

  “Good to meet ...” I ground to a halt, sucked in breath. “Alexi?” It couldn’t be so. The room spun. “But you’re—” I covered my face.

  “It’s all right, Nick.” Arlene slipped from the counter, hugged me from behind.

  I wept.

  The boy was his father, as I’d met him many years ago, on Hibernia. To the life. His face, his height, his slim form, his hair. Every aspect but the sullen look he wore.

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “Mikhael!” His mother was aghast.

  I mumbled, “How old is he?”

  “Fifteen, and don’t talk past me.”

  I wiped my eyes. “Sorry. You gave me a start.”

  “Ask me if I give a fuck.” Mikhael thrust through our stunned tableau to the hall. A moment later, the slam of the veranda door.

  With a grimace, Anselm backed out of the room.

  Moira’s hands fluttered. “I’m so sorry. He’s been wild and angry ever since Alexi left on Melbourne. Disobedient, and ...” She seemed oblivious of Carla’s contempt. “It’s best we go, I think.”

  “Stop that.” I tried to smile. “I’m glad you’re here; we’ll work it out.”

  Carla snorted.

  I wheeled on her. “Are you angry too?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Is your brother usually like this?”

  “When there’s reason.”

  “What’s the cause?”

  “If you don’t know, there’s no point discussing it.”

  Moira threw up her hands. “I can’t deal with them, and they know it. We lost Alexi so suddenly, he’s not there to reassure them, and ...” Her eyes filled.

  I rolled to the door.

  “Nick, where are you going?” Arlene’s voice was soft.

  “To find Mikhael.”

  “Be ... understanding.”

  “As always. I’ll join you at dinner. Chair, outside, and this time don’t scrape the wall.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Be silent.” I was in no mood for argument.

  The sun beat down. I glanced up, debating. Should I carry a sunshield? I hadn’t heard the day’s ozone report. Well, I wouldn’t be out long.

  “To the gate.” I beckoned the guard. “Have you seen the Tamarov boy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Chair, circle the house.” Thank heaven the ground was dry; I could imagine the chair backing and filling its way out of soft mud. Well, I wouldn’t wander the lawn often, and I wouldn’t live in the chair long. Death was infinitely preferable.

  We bounced over the lawn, to no avail. I tried the sheds, the helipad, the guardhouse at the rear wall.

  I found Mikhael at the bungalow that once belonged to Adam and Jared Tenere. These days it was unoccupied, though occasionally, when the house was full, the cottage served to accommodate guests.

  The boy was sprawled on a chaise lounge in the shaded patio, where Adam had liked to sit.

  “May I join you?”

  He gave no response; I took it for assent, rolled past the hedge.

  “It’s hot.” No answer. I had to do better than that, and knew it. “Mikhael, why are you angry?”

  He folded his arms, looked away.

  “Is it about your father?”

  “I didn’t need him. I’m almost grown.”

  “I’m sorry you lost him.”

  “What’s it to you?” His tone was scornful.

  If I’d dared speak so to Father, Lord knew what ... a strapping, at best. Where did this sullen joey find the gall to sneer at the Secretary-General of the U.N.?

  “You done glaring?” He spat the words.

  “Well, your dad wouldn’t fault your courage.”

  “Don’t speak of him!”

  I owed Alexi the effort, but the boy was unreachable. Defeated, I resettled in the chair to ease my aching back.

  Steps, behind me. “Oh. I didn’t realize ...”

  I twisted. “Jared.”

  “I’ll leave you.” Philip’s partner shifted awkwardly.

  “No, stay.”

  With a look of distaste Mikhael uncoiled his lanky form, brushed past Jared to the path.

 
; “Get back here!” I spoke without thought.

  The boy turned, hands on hips.

  “This instant!” If he ignored me, I was helpless.

  Slowly, Mikhael returned to the patio.

  “Plant yourself in that chair! How dare you walk off without excusing yourself!”

  “You’re not my—”

  “Father? No, but I’m adult and you’re a child. You’ll show me courtesy, or ...”

  “Yes?”

  “Try me.” My tone was level. After a moment his eyes dropped. “You’ll stay put until we’re done.” Still annoyed, I looked to Jared.

  Tenere said hesitantly, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Jared, this is Mikhael Tamarov, son of my old friend Alexi. Mikhael, take his hand or ... take it!” I’d had enough.

  Jared blushed. “If that’s how you’d dealt with me when I was a boy, I’d ...” His voice trailed off.

  I studied him. He was what, now? Twenty-seven? Three years older than Philip. Had we ever spoken in depth, in the dozen years since he’d fled our compound? From time to time I’d met Jared in his guardian Rob Boland’s company, and he’d murmured something polite. On my part, I’d had little desire to speak to him.

  “You’d what?” I sounded testy.

  “I’d have been better off.” Again, he colored. “Perhaps I shouldn’t bring it up.”

  “Why not?” I was barely civil. How could I extricate myself? I’d thoroughly alienated the boy I’d wanted to engage, and found myself in a conversation with a joey I wished to see as little as possible.

  He glanced uneasily at Mikhael, plunged ahead. “Mr. Seafort, there’s something I’ve wanted to say for years.” “Get it said, then.” In a moment I’d order the chair inside. Somehow, we would all make it through the week.

  “I was horrible as a teener. I see that now. I resent—I hated you.” His gaze was almost defiant. “Because you gave P.T. what I never had.”

  “Love?” His father had literally died for him. If he didn’t understand the depth of Adam’s love, I had no sympathy.

  “More. A sense of ... order. Of P.T. knowing his place in the family, and your limits. Of knowing he had to behave.”

  I wasn’t having it. “The difference is that he wanted to.”

  “Yes, sir.” His glance was shy. “I used to sneer at P.T. for calling you ‘sir.’”

  From Mikhael, a snort of contempt.

  “And now?”

  Abruptly his composure wavered. “I wish I could undo so much! If Dad had thrown my puter out that window”—he jabbed at the bungalow—“and if you—that night you caught me on the roof ...” He’d been spying on Rob Boland and his father, in our guest room. “If you had put an end to it ...”

  Had I possibly ... I shied from the thought. Could it be that I’d misjudged him? “Adam wanted me to discipline you.” My tone was gruff. “He didn’t know how.”

  Abruptly, Jared seemed to change the subject. “You know, I love—”

  “I’m going inside.” Mikhael, truculent.

  I turned, wheeled my chair to his seat. Deliberately, I slapped his face.

  “God damn you!” He clawed at my eyes.

  Somehow I caught his fingers, grasped his wrist, managed to twist his arm behind his back. Struggling, he fell across my chair. I raised his wrist ever higher between his shoulders, until he squealed.

  “You’ll sit until I tell you.” No answer. “Right?”

  “Okay!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “I won’t—stop twisting—yes, sir!”

  I let go. Mikhael fell back, nursing his arm. Breathing heavily, I turned back to Jared, thankful for my incredible luck. The boy could easily have pulled me from my chair, left me flopping helpless on the ground.

  “You were saying?”

  “I love Philip.” Perhaps my savagery had unnerved him; his tone held a challenge.

  “I’m aware.”

  “He doesn’t speak much of you. He doesn’t want to hurt me, you see. He’s dom, even though I’m older. He knows so much more, and ...” Blessedly, he left it at that.

  “What do you want of me?”

  “I don’t want you between us! Oh, God, that’s not how I meant it. I know I was awful. Only Uncle Robbie saved me from prison. And Dad ... what I did was terrible, but I love P.T. so, and we ...” He broke off. “I want to crawl into that cottage, and be fifteen again, and come out right, not glitched like I’ve been. If only you knew how I dream of it.”

  A long silence, broken only by Mikhael’s breathing.

  My voice was soft. “I do, son.” More than Jared knew.

  “Mr. Seafort, could you possibly forgive me?”

  Slowly, shyly, I offered my hand.

  Minutes later I watched him go, warmed by I knew not what.

  Time to cope with the disaster I’d caused. I turned to Mikhael, my face grim. How could I explain this fiasco to Moira? I had no more right to touch her son than ... than ... I rolled myself toward him.

  He recoiled, flung up an arm to cover his cheek.

  “I came to get you to stop hating me. Now I don’t care. Hate me all you like.” I glowered. “You’re not to show it in my presence.”

  A subdued nod.

  “Now, before we go in, I want ... no, that’s not fair. I’m asking you, not ordering. Would you please tell me why you’re so angry at me? What did I do?”

  “You know goddamn ...” He swallowed.

  “It’s all right. Tell me in anger, if that’s the only way.”

  He studied my face, to see if I meant it. Apparently reassured, he said bitterly, “You killed him.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “You might as well have. You dragged him to the U.N., knowing they’d already tried to assassinate you.”

  I cried, “Wild horses couldn’t have stopped him!” He stared in surprise. “Son ... Mikhael ... you didn’t know your father very well, did you?”

  “Dad’s last cruise to New China ... it was a year and a half. I begged to go, but he and Mother decided I should stay in school. When he brought Melbourne home he arranged six months’ extra leave, so we’d get to know each other again. Only, before he could ...” His voice caught.

  I spoke to the hedge. “Once upon a time, your dad was a middy with me, on Hibernia. He was ... how can I make you see him? Conscientious, of course. Handsome, as you are. Poised. In fact, he looked so like you I thought I saw a ghost today.”

  I waited for his scorn, but none came.

  “We lost several officers, so we were shorthanded. Captain Malstrom appointed him to defend a sailor at his court-martial. No defense was possible, and the man was condemned to death.”

  “So?”

  “I found Alexi on his bunk in the wardroom, crying.” How could I make him understand? “The sailor set up a still to make and sell illegal drugs. He clubbed a petty officer. He deserved conviction, but your dad tried his best to save him. He was heartbroken he couldn’t. That’s the sort of man he was.”

  I stole a glance; Mikhael contemplated his fingers.

  “I comforted him. I wasn’t good at it, but I stroked him, tried to give him peace.”

  A sniffle.

  “Of course he went with me to the Rotunda, son. I was to be dismissed by the Patriarchs that day, and he couldn’t let me face it alone.”

  The boy’s eyes rose, tormented.

  My voice strained. “If you pray to Lord God that we switch places, he and I, I’ll pray it with you.”

  We sat in silence.

  “I’m going to give you a special present. If you don’t want it, don’t reject it in scorn. That’s all I ask. Treat it with respect.”

  “What is it?”

  “A surprise. After I have your promise.”

  A long while passed. “I promise.”

  “I promise, sir.”

  A pause I thought would last forever. “I promise, sir.”

  9

  SAFE AT LAST IN the privacy of my study, I ca
lled my Rotunda office. “Where’s Derek Carr?”

  “In Singapore, arranging wheat contracts. He’s due back Monday next.”

  I frowned; Derek lost no chance to subvert our colonial policy. Now he was bypassing the Import Bureau. “Put me through to him.”

  In ten minutes the caller buzzed. I said softly, “Derek, old friend, I need you. Will you come?”

  “When?”

  “As soon as you can.”

  “I’ve negotiations in progress ...” A sigh. “I suppose I can move some of them to Washington, and do others by holo. Tomorrow morning. I’ll wrap up a meeting tonight and catch a suborbital.”

  We rang off. Thank Lord God for Derek. Knowing I wouldn’t summon him lightly, he didn’t ask my cause. Fifty years of trust will do that.

  I did my best to bring cheer to dinner, but nothing could salvage the day. There’d been too much emotion, and we were all tired. Afterward, I apologized to Moira for striking her son. To my astonishment, she threw her arms around me.

  Late in the evening, I retreated to my study, where Midshipman Anselm found me.

  He hemmed and hawed, before at last he came out with it. “I want a drink.”

  “I told you—”

  “Yes, sir. I spent the afternoon thinking of going out. I could jump the wall, if I had to. But I don’t; I found every kind of liquor in your cabinet.”

  “You sneaking little—two demerits! Four!”

  “I didn’t say I drank it.” His shoulders slumped. “I was stupid to come here. I thought perhaps you’d help.” It could have been contempt, and insolence. Or desperation.

  I shifted, to ease my back. “Why me?”

  “Who else, sir? You’re my commanding officer.”

  Why did every bloody joey I knew toss his problems in my lap? I had too many of my own, and no more strength. “Very well, my order is rescinded. Drink all you want.”

  He blinked. His fists clenched, relaxed, clenched again.

  “Anything else, Anselm?”

  He sagged, as if defeated. “No, sir.” He trudged to the door.

  Let him sink or swim. He hadn’t been born an alcoholic, he’d become one. He’d made his bed, now he could sleep in it.

  It was always day somewhere. When the Americas were in moonlight, functionaries in other parts of the world were toiling at their desks. I took as many calls as I could, but in an hour I was yawning uncontrollably. Giving up, I rang Security, wheeled myself to the stairs. In a few moments, three burly guards gripped my chair.