Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  “One of your joeys will let himself be seen. They’ll catch on.”

  “And we take them in custody. It’s under control, Mr. SecGen.”

  “Have you found Booker?”

  “Not yet. P and D will reveal his whereabouts. One of them has to know.”

  “And if not?”

  He sounded patient. “We keep looking.”

  “Be careful, Donner. If they escape I’ll ...” No need to threaten. He knew. “Keep it under wraps.”

  “No one knows we found them but Ms. Burns from Naval Intelligence, and three of my own U.N. Security aides. I didn’t even tell the jerries.”

  “Very well.” We rang off.

  I’d see that P and D was authorized for the lot of them. This time we had the evidence, and no rational judge could object. Our cadets would be avenged. And Alexi. I sat brooding, until the caller woke me from a doze.

  “It’s Mikhael. Ms. Seafort said I could call.”

  “How are you?”

  “Let me go home.” A silence, which I did nothing to break. “It’s a mistake, staying with you.”

  “Your mother said two months.”

  “She won’t mind.”

  “I will.” The gash in my forehead throbbed. I would have a lump. Lord God knew what the mediamen would make of it.

  “I hate it here. I’m calling Mom.”

  “Be silent!” I spoke as to a middy.

  “She’ll send a frazzing ticket. I’m out of here.”

  I choked the caller, wishing it were he. “For the moment I’m your guardian. You’ll—”

  “So?”

  I roared, “Put Arlene on the line! Do it now!”

  “All I said—”

  “This instant!”

  Long moments passed.

  Her tone was cautious. “I hear you’re on the warpath?”

  “Give him calisthenics ’til his tongue hangs out. Put him to work, and ground him to his room otherwise. I’ll be back day after tomorrow. He’s not to use the caller.”

  “He irked you?”

  “I won’t put up with—” Distant, impotent, I fumed. “I’ve caned middies for less!”

  “No doubt.”

  I gathered the shreds of my calm. “He wanted to go home. Why?”

  “He told a few tasteless jokes. I was a bit short with him.”

  “Such as?”

  “What do you call a Hollander with a life vest? Bob. What’s a Hollander doing in a boat? Camping out.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Nicky, those joeys have been through hell since the polders flooded. I wish you’d been here to greet them, that day you stayed at Academy. I wasn’t that hard on him, after all he’s an adolescent, but—”

  “Alexi would be disgusted.” I was sure of it. Once, he’d heard our middies make jokes about the transpops, and ... I brought myself back to the present. “The jokes were obnoxious, but more important, Mikhael was rude to me. Deal with him, hon. You have a knack with joeykids.”

  “Easy for you to say, from across the globe.” Her tone turned serious. “Love, I spoke with Philip. He’s rather upset.”

  It took me aback. “Why?”

  “He says he hurt you. And that you mock him.”

  “Hon, it’s ...” I couldn’t explain; it was too complicated. “I’m all right. And I won’t mock. Now, as to Mikhael—”

  “I’ll set him straight.” Her tone was grim. Almost, I pitied the boy. Arlene was quite capable of enforcing her will. Even P.T. had learned that, in his teen years.

  A knock. I rolled to the door.

  Jared Tenere, shifting from foot to foot like an errant schoolboy. “May I come in?” He squeezed past. “P.T. thinks I’m out for a walk.”

  “Why?”

  He sat. “Mr. Seafort, I haven’t known you long enough to ... I mean, since our talk ...”

  “It’s all right.”

  He studied the carpet. “I came to explain him.”

  I snorted. “There’s no need.”

  “You’re wrong.” His quiet assurance startled me. “You think he’s ... impulsive, as he was as a boy.”

  I smiled. “You were more so.”

  “I was glitched.” A calm acceptance, that earned my approval. “But he’s planned this trip for months. Years.”

  I swallowed.

  “My Philip ...” He came off the chair, settled on the floor at my feet, crossed his legs. “He’s the most passionate joey I ever met.” A sudden blush. “I don’t mean that way, though even there ...” A shy smile. “He’d give his life for his beliefs. He’s so intense he frightens me.”

  I said, “A fanatic.”

  “Not at all. He listens; fanatics don’t. You can convince him he’s wrong, but that’s seldom.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “He wants desperately to persuade you, Mr. Seafort. I don’t know what he’ll do if he fails.”

  “There are other politicians.”

  “We’ve lived together ... how long now, five years? I love him. But you’re still the focus of his life. He reveres you. When he saw your blood ... tonight I held him for over an hour. He couldn’t stop revving. He held it off all afternoon; he couldn’t let you see.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was afraid you’d commit to help him, from pity.”

  Oh, Philip.

  He whispered, “You’ve so much power to hurt him.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “It’s not that you try.” He groped for words. “But you won’t truly listen. You won’t open your heart to him. And you know, is it so terrible what he wants? To bring the world back from ruin?”

  “It’s not so simple.”

  “It is, if you do it.” His hand darted to my knee, for a fleeting moment. “If you simply do it.”

  I sat silent a long while. “Rob Boland did a good job with you.” My tone was gruff.

  “Uncle Robbie saved my life.” A tentative smile. “That’s all I came to say.”

  I leaned forward, kissed him softly on the brow. “Take care of my son.”

  Just past midnight, the caller buzzed. Groggily, I switched it on. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Seafort? Cisno Valera.”

  I tried to sit up, realized I’d have to haul my legs into position, gave it up. “Something’s gone wrong?”

  “I do wish you’d turn on visuals.” My Deputy SecGen sounded peevish. “It’s so much easier, seeing who you’re talking to.”

  I hated visuals, and he knew it. Everyone knew, who’d ever called me. But no point alienating Cisno; I’d embarrassed him enough in my hospital press conference. I tried not to sigh aloud. “Just a moment.”

  With an effort, I dragged my legs into position, sat up, propped pillows behind my back, brushed back my hair. I flicked the visuals switch, waited for the intellilens to find me, lock in its focus.

  “Yes?”

  Valera’s sallow face loomed. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you’d gone to bed. You’re going too far, with the enviro bills. The natives are restless.”

  “What natives?”

  “The Senate is up in arms.” He spoke from his Rotunda office. He was staying late. No, it wasn’t that late in North America. “For one thing, why haven’t you cracked down on the enviro fringe?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You demand my explanation?”

  “Not I.” His tone was unctuous. “The Senate does. We have to show those eco loonies we won’t dream of caving in. Instead, you push enviro legislation, and let the Eco League go unpunished. You haven’t—”

  “We’re searching for—”

  “—a state of emergency would let us use P and D—”

  “—any sign of them. And until—”

  “—you’ve gone soft!”

  His words rang in the sudden silence.

  Valera cleared his throat, spoke with less vehemence. “Look, you can sway the Assembly with foolish enviro sentiment, but Senators tend to ally themselves with business interests, regardless of
party. You know that’s so.”

  “Cisno, what’s the crisis that provoked your call?”

  “The Senate won’t go along with your Greenhouse Gases Act.” Did I detect a hint of satisfaction? “I had word today from Rob Boland. Such a massive reduction in emissions—”

  “Five percent is a pittance!” Now I sounded like Cadet Bevin, or worse, his father. Forgetting I had visuals, I rolled my eyes.

  “Interstellar Ltd. doesn’t think so, or Boeing Airbus, or—”

  “Spare me the list.” I rubbed my face. “You support the Administration on this?”

  “I always support your Administration.” His voice was silky.

  “Mine, or ours?”

  “You’re the SecGen. It’s your policy.”

  “And if we fail in the Senate ...” The Government wouldn’t fall; only an Assembly vote could unseat us. But a defeat on legislation that had so caught the public eye would bring calls for my resignation, some from my own party. Valera, of course, would be waiting quietly in the wings. I could almost sense his glee.

  “So, now.” I savored the moment. “How shall we handle this? Dissolve the Assembly and Senate and call new elections?”

  “Mr. SecGen!” That would be the last solution he sought: my bringing the battle to them, on my own terms. The game of politics was truly dreadful. I quelled my distaste.

  “Or perhaps I ought to reshuffle the Cabinet,” I mused. “Give you that Colonial Affairs post you always wanted. Bring Robbie Boland in as Deputy SecGen.”

  I’d resign before I put Colonial Affairs in Valera’s hands, but he needn’t know that. He would be aghast at my proposal; what he’d hoped for was the colonial ministry in addition to his post as deputy, not in place of it.

  As I expected, he launched a flurry of protest. I let him persuade me to leave things as they were.

  Regardless, he’d heard my unspoken message; I considered him expendable, and would throw him overboard if I heard a hint of disloyalty. He’d still work against me, perhaps, but with much more caution.

  One of these days, I would have to squeeze him out of Government. He had worked assiduously to cultivate the party, and many were beholden to him. But if I pitted my approval against his, he would lose.

  For now.

  Breakfast, in my suite, was a miserable affair. I hadn’t slept an iota. In the small hours, I’d crawled out of bed, done my best to kneel, spent an hour in unanswered prayer.

  Now, I was tired, irritable, and sore.

  “Fath?” Philip’s hand covered mine. “One more favor?”

  “Whatever it is, all right.”

  He looked startled. “You mean it?”

  “Yes.” Did he doubt me?

  “When we get in the heli, I want ...” He looked uncomfortable. “I’d like you to sit on the floor.”

  I roared, “What?”

  “So you won’t see where we’re going. It won’t take long.”

  “Absolutely not! Out of the question.” Was he twitting me? Of all the disrespect ...

  “Very well, sir.” He said no more.

  Bevin looked reproachful. Almost, I slapped him. “One demerit. Change your demeanor.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He threw down his napkin. “May I leave the table?”

  “Make it two.”

  I gulped my lukewarm coffee, poured more. Maybe it would help.

  While Philip loaded the heli, I called the desk, asked to pay our bill. Philip already had. I told them to change it to my name. They refused; he’d left instructions not to allow it. I slammed down the caller.

  Danil held the doors for my chair. At the heli, I sat in the doorway, useless legs dangling, while they loaded my battered machine. Jared threw in the duffels.

  I eyed him sourly. “Sit in front, with Philip.”

  “And you, Mr. Seafort?”

  “Back here.” I tried to make myself comfortable on the heli’s deck. “Give me a cushion.” Philip shot me a look of such gratitude it was almost worth the discomfort.

  With the sun behind clouds, I had no clue as to our heading. The engine droned. I dozed. Bevin sat, arms folded, staring out the window. I debated canceling his demerits; if he’d looked at me even once, I would have.

  An acrid odor woke me. I raised my voice over the motor. “How much longer?”

  “Soon, Fath.”

  “I ache.”

  “This is our last stop.” His voice was sad.

  Home. A decent bed. Arlene’s warm embrace.

  A while later we swooped down. In moments the blades came to a halt. Wearily, I stretched. Danil threw open the door. A stench assaulted my nose, my throat. My eyes burned.

  “We’ll need these today.” Philip handed out masks. I slipped mine on. After a moment my breathing eased. The heli’s filters had done well; the pollution hadn’t been a problem until we landed.

  “Where are we, Volgograd?” The pollution from heavy metals outside the sprawling gravitron plant was infamous.

  Philip made no answer. From the deck of the heli, all I could see was a roadway, barren dead trees beyond.

  P.T. said, “Danil, help Jared with the chair.” He climbed in, sat beside me. “Let me tell you about the joeys—”

  “Don’t personalize it. Not again.” An effective tactic, until one grew weary.

  “—who lived here last. Three generations.” His voice was muffled in the mask. “Farmers, two of them. The son went off to the Service. Later, he brought his wife home, to stay. By then, the land was no longer farmed. They divorced. She lived on awhile, with her second husband. They sold out.”

  “No one died? No flood?” I’d promised not to mock, but the night had unraveled my intent.

  “No, they just left. The neighbor who bought it hoped to add it to his farm. But that wasn’t possible.”

  “Because of the smell. Show me what you came for. It must be exceptional, if you saved it for last.”

  He grasped me around the shoulders, slipped his hand under my arm. With strength I didn’t know he had, he moved me to the doorway. Together, he and Jared lifted me to the chair.

  “Behind us.”

  The heli blocked my view. For a moment, in our bulky masks, we were huge ungainly flies come to survey a windowsill.

  “Chair, around the heli.” Obediently, it rolled. “Philip, what am I looking for?” He couldn’t hear me. I tore off the mask. “P.T.!” Sulphur gagged me. I coughed, spluttered, wheezed. Hastily I donned the mask.

  I blinked to clear my streaming eyes. I’d rub them, but the mask interfered. Placidly, Philip rushed my chair along a walk, down a slope toward a dimly seen house.

  “I don’t need to see, son. You’ve made your point.”

  He squeezed my shoulder, turned, and walked away.

  Danil took his place. “Sir, where are we?”

  “Some godforsaken hellhole. No doubt he picked the worst place on the planet, to impress me.” I blinked; my vision began to clear. Brown, unhealthy grass. A neglected fence. A few scraggly trees, struggling against impossible odds.

  “It’s just a farm,” said Danil. “A ratty old place, if you ask me. Mr. Winstead could show you a thousand—”

  A cry of despair.

  He leaped, as if galvanized.

  “No. Not here. NO!”

  “Sir, what—”

  “Take me away!” My fists beat a tattoo on the chair.

  He drew back, stared at me in shock.

  Father’s farm, the home of my boyhood.

  Cardiff.

  The remains of blistered paint hung from sagging siding.

  A quarter century, since I’d last been home. Not since my wife Annie ... I’d left her here with Eddie Boss, and fled to the monastery. Eventually she divorced me. The farm was a last gift. I hadn’t wanted to see it, see her, recall life’s promise I’d squandered.

  The gate I’d oft vowed to fix lay rotted across the walk.

  The hill behind, down which I’d run, arms spread wide to catch the wind, was gr
ay and dead.

  In my mask, I began to weep.

  Danil’s hand flicked to my shoulder, darted away as if burned.

  “Philip!” It was a plea.

  “Yes, Fath.” His breath rasped in his mask.

  “Why?”

  “I had to personalize it.” His tone was gentle. “So you’d understand.”

  It undid me.

  When he thought I could hear, he said, “Part of it is the reopened mills.” He gestured toward Bridgend road, and Cardiff.

  “We have pollution laws—”

  “After the fish bombed us, the regs were waived. We needed every iota of production. But the worst of it isn’t ours. It blows across from the continent.”

  “It’s unspeakable!”

  “I tried to tell you.”

  I clutched him. “Take me away.”

  “Not just yet, Fath. You mustn’t forget.” Then, softer, “We must none of us forget.”

  “What happened to ... them?”

  “Annie died, a few years ago. Eddie lives in Prague.”

  “Would he let me see him?” Why did I ask?

  “I imagine so, sir.”

  “You said they sold it.” My wave took in the house, the land, my past.

  “To Garth.” The neighbor, whose straying cows so maddened Father. “He gave it up.”

  “Who owns it now?”

  “I do, sir.” He met my gaze. “Uncle Rob lent me the money. I pay him each month.”

  I surveyed the abandoned house, the useless land. My tone was bitter. “It couldn’t have been much.”

  “Enough.”

  I stared at the rotted gate. Abruptly I whipped off my mask, leaned over the side of the chair, retched.

  “Easy, sir. You’ll be all right.”

  “Oh, no. I’ll never be that.” I fumbled with the mask. “Forgive me.”

  Was it Philip, or Lord God, to whom I spoke?

  Neither answered.

  After a time I said, “Why did you buy it?”

  “I hope to live here before I die.”

  A long time passed.

  “You will.” My grip on his arm was iron. “I swear so, Philip. You will.”

  We sat in the heli, drained. Jared produced a flask; eagerly I swallowed the stinging liquor. I handed it back; he drank deep, offered it again. I poured a small amount into a tiny cup, gave it to Danil. “None of you see me.” SecGen or not, it could land me in gaol. The boy likewise.