Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

Philip regarded me. “Jared, please wait outside.” In a moment, we were alone in my clinic room. “Sir, shall I start lying to you?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t lie to me.” He made himself comfortable in the side chair, as if prepared for a long chat.

  “It wasn’t a lie.”

  “Don’t quibble. Between us, truth is more than a technicality.”

  He was right. “There’s something I don’t want you to know. Get some rest. In the morning, I’ll—it will be clearer.”

  “You’re agitated. You’re trying to send us off. All right, there’s a crisis. What’s your scheme? Why are you evasive? Why is Derek furious with you?”

  “Is he?”

  “He’s sitting with the cadets, like death incarnate. I wouldn’t want to cross him.”

  “He’s a tad miffed because I won’t tell him.” I sighed. “You’re making it harder. You both are.”

  “Shall I call him, so we hear it together?”

  I threw up my hands. “If you must.”

  I wheeled about the room, in a forlorn attempt to pace.

  “Fath, you can’t do it. There are courts, laws, the machinery of government. Let them bring Stanger to justice.”

  At that, even Derek shook his head.

  I said, “When he spoke of loyalty, I almost laughed in his face. Power is seductive.” I glanced from Derek to my son. “Believe me, I ought to know. You see ...” I wheeled from wall to wall. “If we submit—if U.N.A.F. and the Assembly go along—it’ll only get worse. They’ll want a higher Naval budget, more ships, guaranteed autonomy, control of the colonies. One demand will lead to another. I know we risk innocent lives, but I see no choice.”

  Derek asked simply, “When do we go?”

  “You don’t. Only the cadets.”

  “Why them?”

  “They’re available, they’re trained, they’re military and have accepted the risk.”

  “I’m available, trained, and accept the risk.”

  “You’re not even a citizen. What matter to you if my Government falls?”

  “It’s more personal than that.”

  “Sorry, Derek, but no.”

  His eyes blazed. “Listen well, Nick. I was a boy when you refused me passage on Challenger. Never again. I choose to go. Don’t shake your head; refuse me and I’ll tell Stanger what you plan.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I swear to Lord God I will.” He held my gaze until I had to turn away. “I won’t abandon you twice.”

  I sagged, defeated. “Three of you, then.”

  “Four.” Philip.

  “I go with P.T.” Jared.

  “Then none of us go.” Beyond words, I flung my cane across the room. It bounced off the hatch, just as it opened. “I won’t have it.”

  “Hey,” said Mikhael. He stooped for my cane. “Weren’t you teaching me to hold my temper?”

  “No lip from you!” I hobbled across the room, snatched the cane from his hands.

  “Why’s the middy wearing gray, Pa?”

  “He’s been demoted. Where’s Arlene?”

  “Here.” She studied Derek, her son, then me. “Who won?”

  My back throbbed. “It’s a standoff.”

  “Your husband,” said Derek icily, “is acting an ass.”

  A sharp intake of breath, from Jared.

  I debated hurling the cane at my old friend’s head, restrained myself.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Arlene said sweetly. Smoldering, I contemplated a new target.

  “Father’s not the enemy,” P.T. said quietly. “Stanger is.”

  “Thank you.” By brute force, I quenched my ire. “Only the cadets go with me.”

  “Go where, sir?” Bevin, from the hatch. Anselm peered over his shoulder.

  I surveyed the small room, suddenly so crowded.

  “Yes, where?” Dr. Ghenili, behind them all.

  “I’m checking out.”

  “You mustn’t leave.” Ghenili stood on tiptoe, to look over the crowd. “Nerves knit slowly. If the ganglia fail to heal ...” He thrust Bevin aside, crossed to my bed.

  “I know.”

  “Mr. SecGen, God knows what damage you may do yourself. Paralysis, this time permanent. Or worse.”

  I disengaged his hand. “I understand.” If that was the cost, I’d pay it. I owed my people much. Perhaps I could atone to the countless millions whom my neglect, my stupidity, had betrayed.

  Walking in my cumbersome suit was more difficult than I’d hoped. The throbbing in my spine had become a persistent ache, then a glowing ember. Perhaps it was the twisting, when I climbed into the suit. Regardless of the pain, the helmet hid my face, for which I was immensely grateful. I’d sweated through my clothes during the long trudge through the warrens, but I’d remained unnoticed. Perhaps the three boisterous youngsters running about and whooping, as I’d bade them, had distracted unwanted attention. I’d have to commend them, when all was done.

  Most shuttles were operated by U.N.A.F. or the Navy. We didn’t dare show ourselves in an area under their control.

  There were only a few public airlocks from the upper warrens. One, of course, led to the famous light show. At this hour, nominal night, the show was closed though we were in the long dark.

  We dutifully signed out as a private party, in rented suits. Idiots were allowed to kill themselves on the surface, if they really cared to. No watchmen were posted, except when the light show was scheduled.

  We cycled through the lock.

  Rope guides led toward the nearby crater where the show was held. Breath rasping in my suit, I practiced the peculiar Lunar gait groundsiders found so hard to master: half jump, half tread.

  Ahead, Bevin and Anselm played at long running leaps, landing in slow motion in sprays of Lunar dust. The last time they’d been on the Lunar surface, it had been across the globe at Farside, under the strict tutelage of their sergeants.

  Mikhael clutched Arlene’s hand as he took small, careful steps. No stranger to a pressure suit, he was nonetheless cautious and unsure. A healthy attitude.

  Derek, an old hand, walked nonchalantly. P.T. and Jared were less acclimated, but managed well enough. I shook my head, marveling that I’d been weak enough to allow them all on my odyssey. On the other hand, I couldn’t leave them at Lunapolis to face Simovich’s wrath. I’d have to find some way to detach Arlene and P.T., at the very least. And Mikhael; he was too young to risk himself.

  My foster son was older than Bevin.

  Still. I owed him parental protection.

  P.T. touched helmets. “Now where, Fath?”

  “A kilometer northeast of the crater.”

  It was a long walk, even in Lunar gravity. It was made longer by my reliance on two canes. In a pinch, I could just manage with one, but after a few steps it was too painful, and my steps were wobbly and unsteady.

  After a time I found Arlene’s arm under mine, gently supporting my weight. Casually, Derek took up station on the other side.

  The ember grew to a blowtorch. I grunted with each step.

  “I need a rest.” Derek.

  “Don’t patronize me.” I spoke through gritted teeth.

  “All right. You need a rest.”

  “It can’t be much farther.” I checked my readout. Two A.M. local. “Anytime now. Watch the horizon.” Unlike the portrayals in holodramas, shuttles glided in at an angle, rather than straight down. Until final descent, that is. Then they braked and landed as any other VTOL. I peered through my visor.

  “I see it!” Mikhael’s shrill scream nearly burst my eardrums. Too late, I dialed down my volume. He jumped up and down, in high, slow-motion leaps. “Over there!”

  The tiny shuttle’s engine glowed as braking propellant spewed. Slowly, it settled, a good half kilometer distant.

  I sighed, took hesitant steps.

  At long last we were climbing the shuttle’s ramp.

  A suited figure met us at the lock. “Good morning
, sir. I’m Pilot Van Peer.”

  The hatch closed; we cycled through. I checked the air gauge, unscrewed my helmet. “We haven’t met in years,” I said. “Not since Portia.”

  His jaw dropped. “But you’re ... you’re—Mr. SecGen?”

  “The very same.” The Commandant had followed orders to the letter; his pilot had been told to pick up a party beyond the crater, but not whom to expect. Well, the only way to keep the secret any longer would be to wear my sweltering suit all the way to Farside, and I wasn’t in the mood. I wiped my damp forehead.

  “Sir, it’s ... I’m amazed.” Van Peer had been quite a young man when I’d had UNS Portia. Casual, irrepressible, as interested in chess as I was. He’d aged gracefully, like Derek.

  “Shall we?” I indicated the cockpit.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Van Peer made preparations for takeoff.

  As we strapped in, Mikhael took in every fixture, the oxy bottles secured to the bulkheads, the thirty-one seats normally occupied by cadets. “Care to sign up, son?” My tone was as jovial as my aching back permitted.

  “No way.” He bent forward to get a better look at the cockpit. “What’s he doing?”

  “Preflight check.” If the bloody puter would cooperate. I’d found shuttle puters notoriously stubborn.

  I tried to find a tolerable position. We would be hours on board the tiny craft, and I was in considerable pain.

  I was afraid liftoff would be a problem.

  It wasn’t. I passed out.

  “Careful. Lift him gently.”

  “I’m all right.” I thrust away helpful hands. “I’ll walk.”

  “Let me help.” Mikhael’s voice was subdued. He offered a shoulder on which to lean.

  “You’ve been crying?” I eased to my feet. Thank Lord God for the low gravity; Hazen had been told to turn the gravitrons down.

  “No.” Mikhael wiped reddened eyes.

  Bevin made a word without sound. “Liar.” I pretended not to notice, leaned more heavily on Mikhael than I might have.

  A burly figure came to attention just past the lock. “Commandant Hazen reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “Very good. Stand easy.” The corridor was deserted, as I’d expected. I looked about. “Your staff?”

  “Most are groundside, with the cadets. The rest are—”

  “You’ve no cadets aloft?” I’d forgotten; he’d sent them all to Devon for the memorial. My plans were wrecked.

  Seafort, you fool. All my schemes assumed I’d have use of his cadets.

  Now what?

  “I’ll get a chair.” He disappeared. In a moment I found myself sitting, taking deep breaths of relief.

  “I’ve a barracks ready if you’d care to rest.”

  “Yes.” My head swam.

  Arlene said, “Call your med tech.”

  I said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “At least he can block the pain. Commandant, call him. Nicky, it’s an isolated base, and almost deserted. No one but the med tech will know you’re here. Don’t glower.”

  At times, Arlene had to have her way. I nodded. At a snail’s pace, I tottered to the dormitory.

  “I put you in Thomas Keene,” the Commandant said. “The new barracks.” Fifteen years old, and still they called it new. It was named after the brave boy I’d killed, one heartless afternoon in the training boats.

  “Who knows we’re here?”

  “No one. They’re aware I have special guests, of course.” That couldn’t be helped. In a small base such as Farside, the Commandant’s mysterious preparations couldn’t go unnoticed.

  “When is Admiralty due?”

  He checked his watch. “Six hours. Van Peer will meet them as arranged. Sir, it’s all been done. You’re pale as a ghost. Please, get off your feet.”

  “All right.” I was too spent to argue.

  I warned the med tech not to give me anything that would cloud my mind. Perhaps as a result, my back throbbed unbearably.

  I woke to the murmur of the boys’ voices. “I’d like another softie.” An expectant pause.

  “All right, Mr. Tamarov.” Anselm. He crossed the dormitory to an improvised refreshment table, returned with a cold drink.

  I opened one eye. Mikhael sat cross-legged on a bunk.

  “You trained here, huh? Were you in this dorm?”

  “No, sir.” Anselm’s tone was level.

  “It must be for the smart ones.”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “That’s enough, Mikhael.” Anselm, like all cadets, had routinely endured hazing far more intense than my foster son could mete out, but it wasn’t for Mikhael to dispense. Carefully, I shifted. Nothing broke, but a wave of fire swept my spine.

  “I wasn’t doing anything, Pa.”

  “Come here.” I gave him my sternest eye. “Twenty push-ups. Right this moment.”

  He gulped, but complied. In the weak gravity, it wasn’t hard.

  “Put that chair at the foot of the bed. Stand on it. You heard me. Now, what’s the capital of Ireland?”

  “Dublin.”

  “Argentina.”

  “Brasilia?”

  “Wrong. Don’t you ever study? Are you an idiot?”

  “Pa, I—”

  “Ten push-ups. Quick!”

  He jumped off the chair. When he was done, I patted the bed. “That’s hazing, son. Leave it to the experts.”

  “Yessir.” Casually, he wiped an eye.

  “And you aren’t an idiot.” My tone was gruff. Then, “Anselm, come here.” I regarded him. “Take this joey outside, and settle it between you. I don’t care how.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” With a polite gesture to Mikhael, he indicated the hatch.

  I hadn’t slept well in ages. I dozed anew.

  I woke to a dull haze of pain, and the blare of a zine. Idly, Danil played with the holovid receiver.

  “—declared SecGen Seafort’s claim illegal. Valera will command from—”

  “Admiral Hoi pledged loyalty to the Valera-Stanger government as—”

  “—imprisoned pending charges of treason. Branstead was chief of staff to former SecGen—”

  “—tomorrow’s editions.”

  “LEAVE IT!” I struggled to sit.

  “What, sir?”

  “Put it back!”

  “Jerence Branstead, a Hope Nation colonial, served despite the objection of traditionalists who felt only a citizen should be chief of staff. His capture by a U.N.A.F patrol outside the Rotunda—”

  “Oh, God.” I hadn’t heeded the warnings, and now this. And a trial for treason ... they would execute him, out of sheer vindictiveness.

  I stirred. I could move, but barely. Even if Hazen’s cadets weren’t groundside, I might not be able to carry out my forlorn plan. Without them, I faced almost certain failure, and death.

  I thought a long while.

  Very well. I deserved no less.

  The hatch slid open. Jared Tenere.

  I beckoned. “Talk with me.” He took a chair. “Jared, if Philip goes with me he’ll be in considerable risk. Dissuade him.”

  His smile was a touch sad. “How might I do that, Mr. Seafort? His mind’s made up.”

  “You said he listens to reason.”

  “When he’s wrong. Is he?”

  “Of course. He may get himself killed.”

  Jared asked, “Would you allow him to go off and risk his life alone?”

  “Of course not. I’m his father.”

  “He feels the same. He’s your son.” A pause. “I don’t know what you plan, but I have to go too.”

  “I don’t want that.”

  “Because I’m fragile?”

  “Partly.”

  “I’m no wallflower, you know.” Jared’s tone was almost conversational. “I killed joeys in the trannie war. I can do it again. Especially to protect P.T.”

  A chill rolled down my spine. For a moment, there was something fierce about him, that I’d not previously seen.


  “I don’t want you to kill.”

  “I won’t let Philip die.” It was final, unarguable.

  Derek peered in, saw I was awake. “Nick, the shuttle’s here.”

  At last. “Tell Mr. Hazen we’ll use his office.” I struggled out of bed.

  “Pa—”

  I was shaken by my long, grueling meeting, and had no patience. “You’ll stay here.” I’d have Hazen look after him. “Don’t argue.”

  “But why?”

  I was blunt. “You could get killed.”

  Mikhael said, “Let me do something brave. Dad would have. It’s time I learned. There’s more to me than whining and running away.” His eyes beseeched mine. “Please, Pa.”

  I pulled him into an embrace. “Not yet, son. But I’m proud of you.”

  He stamped his foot. “I came to live with you like you asked. I’m doing what you tell me. I call you ‘Pa’ like you want. I let you punish me like I’m your joey. Now, when it counts ...” His lip quivered.

  Derek took me aside. “Are you trying to drive him to a rebalancing ward? You offered him a home. You can’t abandon him now.”

  “Our home is blasted to rubble.”

  “You’re his home!”

  We were almost out of time. I struggled with my thrustersuit. To Anselm and Bevin, “You’re sure you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Danil looked for reassurance to the older cadet.

  “Sir?” Pilot Van Peer, from the hatchway. “If you want to make your deadline ...”

  As casually as I could, I said, “Arlene, keep an eye on Mikhael. P.T, I’ll see you in a day or two. Derek, I won’t need—”

  “You’ve been SecGen too long,” Derek remarked. “You think the entire world follows your orders.”

  I rounded on him. “Don’t start!”

  He tightened his suit seals. “Accept the inevitable. I’m part of it.”

  “I order—”

  Arlene kissed my lips to quiet me. “Hush, you foolish man. You don’t decide our lives!”

  “And Mikhael?”

  “I agree, he stays.”

  “Ma’am, no!” Mikhael was so earnest, I could barely abide it. “Let me go as far as I can. On the shuttle, at least. If I have to say good-bye ...” He hugged himself.

  Derek said, “The shuttle itself won’t be in danger. Van Peer can drop him at Earthport if we ...” He grimaced. “If he has to go to Kiev.”

  “Very well.” It was a minor mercy, one of the few I could bestow. We trudged to the shuttle lock.