Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  “What’s your problem?” I tried to sound severe.

  “Nothing, sir. I’m just happy.”

  At the helipad, Karen Burns intercepted my chair. Her tone was cold. “Mr. SecGen, again I protest.”

  “Noted. I’ll check in at least once a day, and I’ll call in an emergency.” As if that would be any use.

  “We’ll monitor your transponder.”

  “Very well.”

  P.T. and Jared Tenere strolled to the heli, carrying their gear. Arlene walked with Philip, arm in arm.

  “Hon, do you know where they’re taking me?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “That means you do.”

  “Philip and I had a chat.” She gave him a casual hug. “Take care of your father.”

  “I will, Mom.” He busied himself helping Jared load the duffels.

  “I didn’t know what to bring.” My tone had a hint of reproach.

  Arlene was firm. “It’s Philip’s show.”

  I growled, “It’s my heli.”

  “Look again, love.” I did. The machine was smaller than my usual craft, and showed more wear.

  P.T. said, “I rented it.”

  “Where’d you get the coin?” I doubted his work with the Enviro Council paid much; they were always strapped for funds.

  “The money Grandma Sanders left me.” He seemed untroubled. “I told you it was important, Fath.”

  We said our good-byes and lifted off.

  Strapped into the front seat, my chair stowed between Jared and the cadet, I tried to let myself relax. P.T. was a competent pilot; I’d taught him myself.

  I peered at the compass. “Now, will you tell me?”

  “Soon, Fath.” We were heading west. “I thought you’d end up taking her.”

  “Mom? Oh, you mean Karen.” I shrugged. “You can’t blame her for trying to do her job.” I thought a moment. “That reminds me.” I reached to the dash, keyed off the transponder.

  P.T. raised an eyebrow.

  “Otherwise they’ll track us. I presume you want privacy.” If Karen traced our transponder, next would come overflights, then open surveillance.

  “Why provoke them?”

  “Adolescent rebellion.” It made no sense, but it quieted him awhile.

  In the back seat, Jared chatted animatedly with Danil, about puters, Arcvid, and nets. The cadet was polite at first, as he was required to be with civilians. Soon he warmed to Jared’s enthusiasm, and the two were deep in discourse.

  I dozed.

  “Fath, we’re here.” The engine was silent.

  “That was fast.”

  “You’ve been snoring three hours.”

  I peered about. “Where are we?”

  “South of Lawrence, Kansas.” He jumped out, came around, swung open my door. To Jared, “Help with the chair, love.” The boys manhandled the machine to the dusty ground. Philip made me comfortable, gave me a reassuring pat. Did I seem that old, that doddering?

  “Now what?”

  He hauled out the sunshields, inserted an umbrella in the receptacle in my chair, handed the others around. “Take a look, Fath.”

  At what? The remains of a swaybacked farmhouse sagged in tired defeat. Rusty barbed fencing still stood for most of its length, but behind them acreage was gone to weed. Past the house, the lower half of a silo jutted angrily at a lowering sky.

  Philip had brought me here for a reason. It was my job to figure out why, but I could not. “Son, it’s just an abandoned farm.” The American countryside was littered with them.

  “Let’s sit on the porch.” He strolled ahead. I was forced to follow, Bevin and Jared flanking my chair. P.T. perched on the floor under the splintered rail, his feet dangling. I rolled as far as the broken steps.

  I shivered. “It’s cold.”

  “The wind will be up soon. It’s early afternoon. I’ll have to get you under cover.”

  I glanced up at the sunshield. It would do. “I’m not afraid of a little wind.”

  He smiled, sat peaceably. Somewhat bored, I looked about, while the cadet scuffed his feet in the dust.

  The house had once been painted soft green, faded now to gray. An animal skittered under the porch.

  “The last owners were the Wattersons. Janice and Tom. They bought it from her father, in 2199.”

  Forty-two years ago. I shrugged. “So?”

  “The place had been in her family for two and a half centuries, Fath.”

  “Philip, don’t be cryptic. If you’ve something to—”

  “When did you stop trusting me?” His voice was sharp.

  Why had I agreed to this jaunt if I had no faith in my son? “I’m sorry.”

  “They grew sorghum, wheat, corn. Sometimes they’d put in beans. Janice’s father was named Roland. Roland Kitner. His friends all called him Rollo. He farmed here with his own father. The high school he attended is three miles down that road.” He pointed.

  Dutifully, I peered, saw nothing.

  “Janice died a few years ago. She was a widow by then. Jared, roll Fath’s chair so he can see the barn.”

  I suppressed my annoyance, let the boy move me, scowled at the cowshed.

  “She became a widow in 2212, when Tom Watterson blew his brains out in that barn. Their joeykids were seven and nine. The older girl—”

  Enough. “Son, why are you telling me this?” Wind ruffled my hair.

  “I’m personalizing, so you’ll understand. With you, it’s the only way.”

  I snarled, “Don’t patronize me!”

  “Be quiet and listen!”

  I gawped.

  “I’ve staked everything I have on this expedition! You owe me my chance.”

  “I’ll pay for the heli.”

  “You will not!”

  We glared in mutual fury.

  Jared cleared his throat. “Please ...” He looked from one to the other of us.

  I said heavily, “Go on, Philip.”

  “First National Bank of Irvington held a crop mortgage, Farmer’s Bank the second. Wheat prices were sky-high, but for some reason the Wattersons couldn’t keep a crop. The first year—2208—was a fluke. Everyone said so.”

  “And they lost the farm. Get on with it.”

  “Not the first year. Not until July 2212, after they tried every damn crop they could plant, one after another!” Viciously, he tore a blade of grass that poked through the floor.

  “I’m sorry for them, but that was twenty-nine years ago.”

  “Aye.” It startled me to hear him use the old speech. It recalled Father, in Cardiff. “It wasn’t just the Wattersons, sir. How many American farms went under in 2212?”

  A gust swirled dirt in a small dust devil.

  I said, “I’ve no idea.”

  “Six thousand two hundred twelve, according to census.”

  “How do you know all this?” My wave took in the house, the barn, the fields.

  “I’ve studied.” Philip sounded bitter. “How many were abandoned last year?”

  “Ask my agri minister.”

  “Eleven hundred fourteen. Not many, except as a percentage. There are so few left to abandon. Did you know America was once the breadbasket of the world?”

  Yes, I knew. But that was what our colonies were for. I glanced upward at the darkening sky. “Times have changed.”

  “Yes!” Abruptly, he stood. “We’d better get you in the heli.” Without leave, he turned my chair, rolled me along the walk.

  In a few moments I was glad he did. The wind had come up sharply. Clouds scudded overhead. Dust swirled.

  “Help me cover the intakes!” Philip had to shout to be heard. Danil scrambled to help. Agile as a monkey, he climbed atop our craft, helped P.T. adjust tarps.

  “Please, Lord.” Jared spoke softly, almost in my ear. “No tornadoes. Not today.” He rocked.

  “Are you frightened, son?”

  “No. Yes.” His hand sought mine. “I’m supposed to avoid anxiety. It throws me out of bal
ance.”

  “We’ll be all right.” My tone was gruff.

  A sudden roar, as the door was yanked open. P.T. and Danil jumped into the heli. The cadet was panting happily. “What a zark!”

  Jared smiled weakly.

  “This would be a dust bowl,” Philip shouted, “except for the daily rain.” As if on cue, a few drops splattered the windshield. “Nothing but weeds would grow for Janice and Tom, you see. Any crop that grew high enough, the wind got. But rainfall was up by thirty-two inches a year. It washed out the seed. The fields were a sea of mud and weeds. If you’d like, in an hour I’ll show you. I’ll have to carry you, I think.”

  “We have to stay here an hour?”

  “I can’t fly in this, Fath.” Around us, wind howled and battered at the windows. Our blades swung wildly, disengaged.

  Jared moaned.

  Outside, the drumming crash of hail.

  I said harshly, “Let Danil sit in front with me.” Startled, P.T. gave way, moved to the rear with Jared. I hoped it would help.

  Late in the afternoon, the weather calm, we lifted off from a soggy field. Philip spoke loudly, over the engine’s whine. “Notice the landscape, Fath. This was once the most productive land in the world.” Obligingly, he tilted to provide a view of the lacerated land.

  I hung tight.

  “Now where?” It was getting late.

  “I’ve booked us rooms in Florida.”

  “Zarky!” Bevin bounced in his seat.

  “Cadet!”

  He subsided. Grumbling, I tightened my strap.

  “Where the hell have you been, Mr. SecGen?” Karen’s voice was tight.

  I grimaced at the caller. I’d intended to be apologetic, but her manner irked me. “Out,” I said coolly.

  “I have you at the Searest in Tampa.” She was showing off.

  “Very well, next time I won’t call.”

  “If you’re spotted ...”

  “There’ll be a nuisance. Autograph seekers, who knows what.” I made no effort to hide my sarcasm. We’d checked into the hotel without a problem. Of course, I’d sat in the heli while Philip made the arrangements.

  “I see why Tilnitz resigned.”

  “That’s quite enough.” I broke the connection. I’d promised to call, not to put up with her presumption. Were they my detail, or I theirs?

  Fuming, I punched in Arlene’s code, waited. “Hi, hon.”

  “All’s well. How goes it?”

  “Lord knows what Philip hopes to accomplish. If he expects me to go mushy and tearful at a rotting farmhouse ...”

  Her tone was dry. “I think he knows you better than that.”

  “Hmpff.” I changed the subject. “Is the middy behaving himself?”

  “I suppose. I don’t take inventory.”

  “I left him chores. See that he’s kept busy, would you?”

  “I’ll have him to dinner tonight.”

  “No need to spoil him. How was Mikhael?”

  “A bit sullen, after you left. I put him to work in the sheds.”

  “He didn’t mind?”

  “Yes, he rather did.” Her tone was cool.

  I grinned. An old salt like Arlene, used to handling middies shipboard, wouldn’t take guff from a teenager. Mikhael would have to learn.

  “Moira doesn’t object?”

  “She asked me to do the same with Carla. Nick, some joeys just shouldn’t be parents.”

  “Don’t bring that up.” During the Kahn Administration, the licensing bill had almost wrecked the Terrie Party. It failed, but Arlene and I had differed sharply on its provisions.

  “I almost wish P.T. were young again,” she said wistfully. “He’d set Mikhael an example.”

  “He was a good lad,” I said. Then, grudgingly, “Still is.”

  Her mind was still on Moira Tamarov. “It was no accident,” she said. “We made him so.”

  We chatted a bit longer, and rang off.

  In the morning, the boys and I had breakfast in the hotel restaurant. I ignored odd looks and whispers. One joey actually peered at me and told his wife, “He looks just like the SecGen.” Of course, they knew it was out of the question for the head of Government to spend the night in such a seedy, run-down inn; my resemblance to the SecGen was mere coincidence. I found I was actually enjoying myself.

  On the way to the heli, Bevin picked up a handful of pebbles, skipped them one by one across the lot.

  “Cadet ...” It was a warning growl.

  P.T. said, “Why not let him play?”

  “Because ...” I searched for a reason, gave it up. “Carry on, Danil.” My own fault, dragooning a joeykid out of Academy. He hadn’t even the maturity of a middy. I snorted. The maturity of a middy like Anselm. I asked Bevin suddenly, “Have you ever tasted liquor?”

  Danil’s eyes widened. “No, sir. It’s illegal.”

  Our gear packed, we lifted off. Squinting into the unrelenting glare of the sun, I asked, “Where to?”

  “A few miles south.”

  Below, an incomplete causeway stretched across a spacious bay. Philip slowed, banked to give me a view.

  “All right, I’ve seen it. Where are we headed?”

  “This is it.” We swooped down. When the blades came to a stop he flung open the door.

  The air was a soggy brick: hot, heavy, unyielding. I wore no tie, but I felt like whipping off my shirt. “People live in this climate?”

  “It’s worse than it used to be.”

  I rolled my eyes at the lecture I’d no doubt triggered. “Do tell.”

  “We’re on the run-up to the Tampa Bay bridge. The causeway began as an American interstate connecting Tampa to St. Petersburg. Let’s get you in the chair.” Danil jumped out, tugged at my transport, tongue in his teeth.

  “Easy, joey.” Jared worked the other end. Between them, they lowered the machine to the ground. “Let me help you, sir.” With surprising gentleness, Jared guided me to the chair. Abruptly he pulled a handkerchief, wiped my brow. “You’ll need your umbrella.” He raised it. P.T. looked on, a smile in his eyes.

  I asked my son, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Ride along the roadway.”

  “I’ll be run down.”

  “That’s not possible.” He sounded sad. “It’s been closed twenty years.”

  “Why?”

  “Tell your chair to go south.”

  In for a pence ... “South, chair. Along the roadway.”

  The concrete roadbed was cracked and broken. We veered around huge potholes, past piles of driftwood. Philip trotted to keep pace. “Tides, Fath. They’re up ...”

  “Two point seven feet.” The zines parroted the figure, over and again.

  “No, sir, that’s only the last four decades.” He drew breath. “The bridge is a hundred seventy years old. Add another foot and a half.”

  “Slow, chair.” If I weren’t careful I’d give P.T. heatstroke. “Surely they built five feet over water level?”

  “More than that; they weren’t idiots in the twentieth. It’s storm surges, Fath.”

  “Hold, chair.” He leaned on the arm; I patted his hand to forestall his speech. “Get your breath. I’m sorry.” I waited.

  “A hundred years ago, high tides began to wash over the roadway. The road people repaired the damage.”

  “Get under my shade.”

  “Yes, sir. After a time, water again undercut the roadway. We rebuilt. That is, the old American Government; they were still independent then. Two billion of their dollars. Fifteen years later, water was again lapping over the road. No one knew tides would rise so fast. See over there? It was a fishing pier. Joeys would drive out to the bridge, park, fish any time of day or night.”

  “Why don’t they still?”

  He looked at me strangely. “Fath, they can’t get here. The road’s washed out in thirteen places.”

  “Oh.” I felt a fool.

  “Look at the bridge.”

  “I did.”

&n
bsp; “No, really look.”

  I studied the mighty span that soared into the distance. Elegant, slim supports soared to the clouds. The causeway ran many miles, hugging the waterline, until it reached the bridge. “It’s beautiful.”

  “And horribly expensive.”

  I shrugged. “A pity.” I wiped my face. At least the heli was air-conditioned.

  “Care to see it up close?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t reach it. The bridge is isolated. I suppose in a stunt heli it might be possible to land between the pillars.”

  Huge cables, mighty pylons, a few gulls. Other than ourselves, not a soul was in sight.

  “At its peak, this roadway served ninety million vehicles a year. SecGen Von Walthers authorized vast sums for dredging the bay. See those rocks? They were a breakwater.”

  “Are we done?”

  “Fath, don’t you care?”

  “Yes, it was a stupid waste of resources. I don’t think I’ve let money be spent so foolishly on my watch.”

  “Fath, ninety million vehicles. Even discounting multiples, that means millions of citizens who can’t cross the bay.”

  “Isn’t there a new bridge?”

  “Yes, but the feeder routes ...” He made a face.

  The sun was broiling me. “Anything else, son?”

  “I guess not.” He sounded disconsolate. “We’ll talk over lunch.”

  A few minutes later we lifted off. I basked in the blessed cool.

  We headed north. Somewhere in the Carolinas, he set us down. The restaurant was pleasant enough. Philip fished in his pocket, gave Jared and Danil coin. “I need to speak with Father alone.” The two settled at another table.

  Philip waited for me to dig into soyburger and rice. “Fath, do you see a theme?”

  “The world’s going to hell.” There was nothing I could do about it.

  “Anything else?”

  “You’ve been brainwashed by your lunatic friends.”

  His fingers tightened on his glass. “Is that all?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Excuse me.” A woman, tawdry in a purple jumpsuit and matching shades. “Are you by any chance the SecGen?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Well!” She went off in a huff.

  Philip grinned. “You have the damnedest way of not lying.”

  “Don’t blaspheme.” But it had dissipated the strain between us. I took a fork of rice. “P.T., I’m not an idiot. You’re showing me enviro disasters. I don’t know why. Are you looking for a change of heart?”