Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  Without thinking, I hauled myself upright. In zero gee, I realized, I had again the freedom for which I yearned. “I need to speak to Branstead. Have you a secure caller?”

  “Of course, sir. In the cockpit.”

  He and the pilot would overhear my end of the conversation, but it couldn’t be helped. “If you please.”

  “Nick?” Arlene looked between us.

  “Trouble at Earthport. I’ll be right back.” Hand by hand, I hauled myself forward, my useless legs trailing.

  I punched in codes. “Jerence?”

  “That was fast.” Branstead’s voice crackled.

  “How did it happen?”

  “A freak accident. Exterior maintenance. Someone lost control of a tool carrier, and it smashed a porthole.”

  I swore. A tool carrier was halfway between a giant thruster-suit and a tiny gig. Just large enough to be ungainly, too big for fine control. I hated them, never used them on ship.

  “You’re sure it was an accident?”

  “There’ll be an inquiry, of course. But I imagine a seaman’s attention wandered. McKay’s dead, in any case.”

  “Right. What do we know about Hoi?”

  “You met him on Earthport, didn’t you?”

  “Ah, yes.” At Admiral McKay’s conference, the one at which they’d lectured me about Galactic. A smallish joey, dapper, concerned about the Navy’s colonial role. “Do we have a preferred candidate? Someone you recommend?” Jerence deserved a say in our appointments; pay couldn’t adequately reimburse his loyalty.

  “No one in particular. I could check the list, but Admiralty’s collective nose would be bent out of joint.”

  “Then go with their man. And summon the Board of Admiralty to a conference, as soon as I’m back groundside. Reserve a whole day. “I would warn them off of politics, and break the news about canceling Olympiad and her sisters. “And send the usual condolences to McKay’s family.” I hadn’t known the man well.

  “Done. Promise you’ll call when you’ve seen Ghenili.”

  “I will.”

  “The very best of luck, sir.” He rang off.

  I maneuvered myself back to my seat. Mikhael seemed better, and was talking earnestly with Derek. As I buckled myself in, Bevin pulled himself alongside. “Are you busy, sir?”

  “Speak.”

  “I’ve been—Mr. Seafort told me details about our enviro bills. Your bills, I mean.”

  For a moment I was puzzled, until I realized he’d referred to Philip. “And?”

  His face lit. “They’re wonderful, sir. You should be proud.”

  “You’re grading my policy, at fourteen?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m out of line. But it’s still wonderful.”

  “Hmpff. Don’t get your hopes up. The Senate is against us.”

  “You’ll find a way. Like you did with the Assembly.” He spoke with the misplaced confidence of youth.

  “I doubt it. Besides, they were Philip’s ideas, not mine.”

  “No, sir, if you’ll pardon me. It was his idea, but your doing.”

  Arlene, swinging back to her seat, ruffled his hair in passing; Danil grinned like a foolish puppy. Appalling. Next she’d have him on her lap. How were we supposed to train cadets to manhood, if she coddled them constantly? Sometimes Arlene had no sense.

  As Earthport neared I squinted out the porthole, hoping to spot signs of the damage that had killed Admiral McKay. But I knew I wouldn’t; Earthport was so vast that the accident site would be invisible. A shame he’d been in that particular compartment at the moment; one chance in ten thousand. But if it hadn’t been he, it might have been someone else. Space travel was as safe as we could make it, which meant it was still dangerous. There was risk, albeit small, in bringing Mikhael aloft. As his guardian it was my job to fret about such things.

  Arlene’s suggestion that we have another child astounded me. Despite my own upbringing—I’d never seen my host mother—my wife and I were both rather old-fashioned about parenting. Could we count on being around and in good health long enough to raise him, or her?

  I wasn’t, truth be told, all that old for current times. There were Captains on the active list well past eighty; old Hoskins couldn’t even walk without aid. Despite the overwrought popular holodramas, command was exercised by cool decisions from an experienced master, not by a wild-eyed young hero sporting matching platinum lasers.

  Did I want another son? For that matter, should we choose the sex? Could I raise a daughter? Would I strangle the first young middy who eyed her?

  I sat musing while we neared the Station. Our docking berth was on Level 7, amid the Naval cargo bays.

  It was unusual, though not unheard of, to seal entry to a bay before unloading; some cargoes were military and classified. We emerged into a deserted bay, and were whisked directly to a lunar shuttle. Mikhael was bitterly disappointed; he’d hoped to go exploring. Derek took him aside and spoke rather sharply, before I could erupt. A fine father I’d be: I had no patience. Lord God only knew how P.T. had turned out so well.

  A few hours later we were in Lunapolis.

  Dr. Ghenili’s clinic was near the terminus of a clean but seedy warren, three levels belowground. Half my face covered with a disguising bandage, we wheeled past indifferent throngs, past emergency corridor seals and the occasional shop, to the entry hatch.

  The clinic installed me in a modest room. I’d have preferred a hotel, but it was out of the question if secrecy was to be maintained. Even if I bunked in a Naval warren, word would sooner or later escape. The clinic was better schooled in protecting the privacy of its patients. As it turned out, Ghenili himself was an avid enviro; he was delighted to accommodate me.

  Arlene and Derek fussed to make me comfortable. I lacked only my motorized chair; it would have been a prodigious waste of fuel to haul it aloft, and to what purpose?

  The three boys wandered my room, bored, touching everything, picking up instruments, sensors, my gear. I called them together. “Mr. Anselm, you and Danil may go on leave.” A momentary twinge of doubt. “Not a drop, Tad. Agreed?”

  “I will not drink.” A formal resolve that startled me.

  “Visit me daily, and the moment you feel the urge. Don’t hesitate. Keep an eye on Danil, and report to the Hilton by midnight.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “What about me?” Mikhael.

  “Watch holodramas at the hotel.” It devastated him, as I knew it would. Before his protest burst forth I said, “Or you may go out with Mr. Anselm.”

  He shot the middy a dubious look.

  “Under his supervision.”

  “No!” Pure dismay.

  “You’re fifteen, and I know Lunapolis too well. You won’t go out alone.” The lowermost lunar warrens were famous for entertainments that would make a sailor blush.

  “He’s only a year—”

  “But Mr. Anselm is a gentleman and an adult, by act of the General Assembly.” It was so for all officers, even if they were but sixteen. “Middy, you’re in charge. Treat him civilly, but don’t take any guff. He’s a minor and I place him in your custody.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Anselm’s tone was cool.

  Mikhael said angrily, “I’ll stay in the room.”

  “Boys, outside a moment.” I held Mikhael back. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s good practice. You have to learn to control yourself. Any cadet would—”

  “I’m no cadet.”

  “You interrupted me.” My tone was cold.

  He gulped. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Good lad. Mikhael, your father joined the Navy at thirteen. He learned the very discipline I’m trying to teach you. Give it a try for him, if not for me.”

  “I hate Anselm. I won’t call him ‘sir.’”

  “It’s not necessary. Be polite, and do what he tells you.” He folded his arms. I added softly, “Please?”

  After a moment he nodded his surrender. “Yes, sir.”

  Not knowing what else t
o do, I ruffled his hair.

  “Yes.”

  My heart leaped.

  “There’s no guarantee of success,” Ghenili added. “In fact, you have only about a forty percent—”

  “That’s good enough.”

  “You understand there’s a certain possibility you won’t survive the—”

  “I know. Get on with it.”

  “Listen, love.” Arlene squeezed my hand.

  For two days they’d poked and prodded, probed and palpitated me until I was on the ragged edge of frustration.

  “How soon?” This very moment, if it was possible.

  “Friday.”

  Three days. It would suffice.

  “Then at least a week before we can get you out of bed. You’ll be immobilized.”

  “I know.” They’d told me, over and again.

  Time slowed to a relentless crawl. Hours became weeks. I climbed into an unmotored chair, rolled around the room, and into the hall beyond.

  Arlene spent as much time with me as possible; from time to time we had to separate to save our marriage. Perhaps I was difficult.

  When he wasn’t making business calls from his hotel room, Derek spent hours stretched out on my bed, while I groused in the chair. At times he brought Mikhael, and together we gave the boy a double dose of reminiscences.

  Anselm and Bevin reported daily. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Well, a young middy could certainly expand his horizons in lower Lunapolis. I hoped he was leaving Danil behind.

  I watched holos, tuned in the news. The enviro battle dominated the newsnets; Senators and Assemblymen pontificated before the holocams as they maneuvered.

  Branstead called me, using the best security circuits we could devise. He wanted to claim we had enough votes in both houses.

  “This is your idea?” I favored him with a scowl.

  “Well ... no. Rob Boland thought of it, actually.”

  I suppressed a smile. “Did he, now?”

  “I suppose you’ll call it lying. Think of it as subterfuge.” His voice grew somber. “We don’t have many other options.”

  “I’ll think on it.” Decades past, I had spewed forth lies that sent innocent boys and girls to their death. Perhaps it was necessary, but nothing in Lord God’s firmament would get me to do it again. I’d see the Earth crumble first. It was all that kept me sane.

  “I’ll make the announcement, sir. You don’t have to say a word.”

  I wasn’t custodian of Branstead’s morals, was I? Still, it left me uneasy. “Wait. I’ll let you know.”

  Admiral McKay’s funeral made the news, as did the strange death of a U.N.A.F. officer who’d been posted to Lunapolis, but was found in an abandoned New Jersey warehouse. I wouldn’t have noticed, except that she reminded me of Karen Burns.

  Burns eluded our net. Our investigation was leading nowhere; we hadn’t even found out where she’d have taken me, or why. Sergeant Booker, too, remained at large. Donner should have blockaded Barcelona, the moment Booker’s call came through. If I’d been properly prepared, declared martial law on the instant ...

  I sighed. Von Rourke had begun his infamy before the Final War by declaring martial law; perhaps Hitler had as well. Booker would no doubt be caught. If so, I’d attend his execution, to rejoice. Thank Lord God executions were public.

  Jerence urged me to speak anew in favor of our program, in the hope of persuading a few Senators. He’d evolved a wild scheme to beam my broadcast home on a private sat-relay, and issue it from my compound as if I were speaking from there. He’d even have our puter Warren replace the white-walled background of the clinic with the familiar paneling of my office.

  I refused, of course. Not only was it too close to lying outright, though the point was debatable, but I doubted one more speech would turn the tide.

  “Hello, Fath.” P.T. and Jared stood grinning in the clinic doorway.

  “What’s this? Where’d you boys come from?”

  “We caught a shuttle.” Philip brandished a small holocam. “Before and after. This is the before.” He aimed.

  “No!” I threw my covers over my torso. “Not while I’m wearing this ... this ...”

  “All right, I’ll stop.” But he didn’t. “Mom says you’ve been charming, as usual.”

  “She can bring her complaints to me.”

  “To our autocrat?” At last, he stopped filming, bent close to kiss the top of my head. “Winstead asks after you. I didn’t tell him you’re here.”

  “Give him my”—it hurt to say it—“best.”

  “Andrus Bevin just learned you have his son on staff. He’s ecstatic.”

  “I can imagine.” A mole for the enviros, placed in—no, I was enviro too. I sighed. A year past, I couldn’t have imagined being allied with the fanatics of the Enviro Council. “Jared, don’t block the doorway; that nurse wants through.”

  “Sorry.”

  I bared my arm for the usual punctures. “Ms. Gow, the joey with the holocam is Philip Seafort, and the one fidgeting by the door is Jared, my son-in-law.” It wasn’t quite correct; they were paired, not married, but ...

  Jared broke into a pleased smile. Was it possible I’d never publicly acknowledged our relationship? Well, it was long since time. Gruffly, I patted the bed. “Sit awhile.”

  At least one day of my vigil passed quickly.

  Friday, I sent last-minute messages to Rob Boland, and notes begging support from a pair of recalcitrant Senators who no doubt assumed I was safe in my compound.

  Before the relaxants left me too groggy to concentrate, a final good-bye to Jerence Branstead. He rang off abruptly, almost in mid-word, just as I was telling how well I thought of him. A grave hug from Philip, another, to my infinite surprise, from Jared.

  Derek’s hand flitted across my brow. “I’ll be here, sir, when you wake.”

  “I know.” How could I deserve him?

  He snorted. “Feel free to take me for granted.”

  “You were a fine boy. I was proud to ...”

  “Was?”

  “Am. Will be, if I come out of this. If not ...”

  “Damn.” He blinked rapidly, disappeared from view.

  I drifted in soft mist.

  Mikhael’s face loomed over my bed. “Sir—Mr. Seafort ...” He was dressed in his best, and immaculately groomed.

  “Can’t call me that. Have to find something else.” His father couldn’t be a “mister.”

  “Yessir. I just wanted to say—” His glance shot back, to Arlene. “Get well. Thank you for everything. I mean it. Get well, sir.” To Arlene, a look of appeal. She nodded.

  “Very good, Middy.” Why did he seem puzzled? He’d been promoted ... when? Where was he posted? I’d recall in a moment. Right now it was too ... too ...

  Black.

  An endless expanse of white scrolled overhead. A bump; a sickening wave of pain.

  Oblivion.

  I drifted in and out, visiting with Father, chewed out Mikhael for his belligerence, watched P.T. grow. One day I could lift him on my shoulders, the next ...

  Hot. So hot.

  Sleep.

  “—fection is taking hold. I increased the antibi—”

  “Nick? Squeeze my hand.”

  The bed jounced. Red waves of torment.

  My mouth was dry and cracked.

  “—been three days and he’s not responding. If his kidneys shut down—”

  White haze. Pain.

  “Sir?” Derek. “Hold on, sir. Please.”

  “Farewell.” I tried to clear my throat. “Old friend.”

  “God damn you!” Arlene’s voice was a nail on slate. “Don’t die on me, you son of a bitch!”

  “It’s ... time.”

  “The hell it is!”

  I drifted toward sleep.

  “Breathe, Nick. Breathe deep.” Fingers squeezed my shoulder. “Stay with me, sir.” Derek’s voice was tight.

  I tried.

  Red faded to white. My breathing ea
sed. The world faded.

  I blinked. Derek, grizzled and gray, hunched in the corner.

  “What time is it?” A voice from an ancient grave.

  He jumped. “Lord Christ!”

  “Don’t blaspheme.”

  “Thank God.” He ran to the bed, fell on his knees. “Oh, thank God.”

  “Don’t weep.”

  “I thought I’d lose you.”

  “Where’s your dignity? You’re head of Government.”

  “You’re ...” Resolutely, he raised his head. “... my head of Government.”

  I drifted off.

  When I woke, Arlene and the three boys were keeping vigil. I was ravenously hungry. They fed me pablum from a spoon.

  “Give me real food.”

  “Dr. Ghenili says—”

  “Where is he?”

  “Right here.” From the doorway. “Welcome back, Mr. SecGen.”

  “I was ... lost.” Perhaps it was always so. I tried to wiggle my foot, could not. “It failed?”

  “You’re in a full body cast. Don’t try to move.”

  “It itches.”

  “Does it, now?” He regarded me gravely.

  After a puzzled moment I cried out in joy. “I can feel!” Despite his warning I wiggled my toes frantically. Bevin danced from foot to foot. Anselm’s eyes glistened.

  I looked to Arlene. “Where’s Derek?”

  “He’s drunk. Mikhael’s looking after him.”

  “Good Lord. Doctor, how long will I be laid up?”

  “Three more days, even with the growth stimulator. You have to heal. Then restricted movement for a month. After that, you should be well.” My eyes slid to Arlene. “Long enough to raise a child?” Her smile warmed my soul.

  16

  IF TIME PASSED SLOWLY before my surgery, afterward it stopped entirely. I was even more helpless than before, serviced by tubes snaking under my sheets. If I used the caller, the time lag from Lunapolis to New York and back would give away my location, so I could do no politicking on behalf of our enviro bills.

  I spoke to Branstead, who sounded glum. There was no hope in the Senate. He and Robbie were determined to claim victory, stake all on a last throw of the dice. I acquiesced.