Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  “Puter, can you make a copy of the Log?”

  “Of course.”

  “Duplicate the Log as it existed prior to my assuming command.”

  A millisecond’s pause. “Done.”

  “Very well. Freeze the second copy of the Log in its current state. Provide that copy in response to any request from the bridge. Acknowledge.”

  “Orders received and acknowledged, Captain.”

  I wiped my brow. “Now, Baron. Enter my orders relieving Captain Stanger and appointing myself Captain only in the original Log. Deem the original copy the official, current Log. Provide it upon request by Admiralty, or me.”

  “Noted. Captain, this is a most unusual—”

  “Do you claim it’s a violation of your programming?”

  A most distinct hesitation. “No.”

  I glowered at Tobrok. “Satisfied?”

  “Yes, sir, that should do it.” He saluted. “Master-at-arms Yvgeni Tobrok reporting, Captain.”

  Thank Lord God.

  “What weapons do you have?”

  “Two stunners, sir.”

  My face showed my dismay. “That’s all?”

  “Mr. Stanger keeps the rest locked in the armory.”

  “On Level 1?”

  “Yes, sir.” He gave me an odd look. Armories were always on Level 1.

  “What arms does he keep on the bridge?” Immediately, I knew it was a foolish question.

  “I have no idea, sir.” Stanger would have no reason to inform his master-at-arms of his weapons. No doubt he kept a laser pistol, if not more, in the bridge safe.

  “Let’s have the stunners.”

  Reluctantly, he parted with them. I shoved one in my pants, the other in my jacket.

  “Who has the engine room?”

  “Chief McAndrews.”

  “Have him—you’re joking!” The stolid, reliable Chief Engineer of Hibernia, here on Galactic?

  “I’m not, sir.” Tobrok seemed puzzled.

  “He’d be eighty, if he’s a day.”

  “Oh, no, sir. Forty at most.” A different man. My heart crept down to its usual place.

  “His father was in the Navy too, I think.”

  An eager thump. “Let’s go—no, I can’t. Call him here.”

  “He’s my superior, sir. I can’t order him.”

  “Find an excuse. Get him here flank, but don’t mention, uh, our doings.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Tobrok paused in thought. He keyed the caller. “Engine Room, master-at-arms.”

  “Go ahead.” The voice seemed almost familiar.

  “Chief, I collared one of your joeys rummaging through a passenger’s cabin. She’s willing not to press charges. I thought perhaps you—”

  “I’ll be right there.” A click.

  “Excellent, Mr. Tobrok. You’re to be commended.”

  He flushed with pleasure.

  After a time, the pounding of footsteps. The hatch was flung open. “Where is he?” A broad-shouldered man, with the physique of a village blacksmith. He ignored my braid.

  Helplessly, Tobrok looked to me.

  I put the Chief at attention, identified myself, ordered him to read the Log.

  When he was done I said, “Well?”

  “Well what, sir?”

  “Do you acknowledge my authority?”

  His brow knitted in puzzlement. “Of course.”

  Tobrok reddened.

  “I believe I knew your father.”

  The Chief’s ruddy face broke into a slow grin. “Aye, sir. I grew up on tales of the old days. I’ve always hoped to meet you,”

  “Is he alive?”

  “As of last mail. He retired to Vega. Has a new wife.”

  “Marvelous.” We’d passed many evenings over the fumes of his antique smoking apparatus.

  “Sir, this is about the enviros?”

  “No, it’s about treason.” Too late, I regretted my harsh tone. “What do you mean, the enviros?”

  “The Captain told us the Navy was called in to put down an enviro insurrection. That you made your speech dissolving the Assembly because you were captive to a fanatic cult.”

  “You believed him?”

  “Are you glitched? Of course not, after Pop’s stories.” A grin. “But I couldn’t very well tell him so.”

  “Chief, Stanger has the bridge and I’m not sure how to dislodge him. Whatever happens, I don’t want him to be able to Fuse, and we may need to cut power to the lasers.”

  “Fusion is no problem. I simply won’t do it. Laser power is another matter. I’d have to reroute buses from the mains. He’d know, of course. There’s no way to disconnect the safeties.”

  I pondered. “We have to lure him from the bridge.” I glanced at my watch. “We only have an hour.”

  “What happens then, sir?” Tobrok.

  Could I trust him? I hesitated. How could I not, after what he’d put me through? And Tobrok had summoned the Chief with a clever ruse. As for McAndrews, he was his father’s son, and that would do.

  “Reinforcements.”

  Tobrok’s eyes widened. “Marines?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” I’d sworn not to put anyone armed on the ship. I’d deliberately broken one oath in my life. It was a matter that haunted me yet. Nothing in Lord God’s creation could make me do it again.

  “We need the comm room.”

  “I could call the comm room duty officer.” Tobrok sounded dubious. “But he can’t leave his post.”

  “What Level?”

  “Three, sir.”

  Off-limits, unless I wanted to crawl; I couldn’t walk in high gravity. “I can’t manage it.” A sudden thought. “Chief, you have the gravitrons?”

  “Not the units themselves; each is at the center of its own vortex. But the controls, yes.” He frowned. “Well, I have them, but can’t adjust them unless the safeties are disconnected at the bridge console.”

  “Very well. Chief, back to your engine room. Stand by for my orders. Seal your corridor hatches.”

  His expression tightened. “Aye aye, sir.”

  “I don’t suppose you keep weapons.”

  McAndrews paused in the hatchway. “Why, no, sir.”

  “Then we’ll need cutting tools to breach the armory.”

  “No problem. I’ll send a pair of my more reliable joeys.” A salute, and he was gone.

  I turned to Tobrok. “How many of your detail can you trust?”

  “In this, sir? Let me ... Two or three, at best. The others may, uh, waver.”

  “Call them. Have them wait for us outside the comm room.” When he was done I asked, “I don’t suppose there’s a wheelchair about?”

  “In sickbay, I imagine.”

  “Get it.”

  Waiting, I toyed at the console. With a chair, I’d risk Level 3. If we took the comm room, we had a chance. The hatch slid open. “Did you find—”

  “Who are you?” A sailor, rather unkempt.

  “Stand to!”

  “You’re not from the ship.”

  A desperate lunge that toppled me from the chair. On the way down I touched him with the tip of the stunner. He collapsed.

  White jagged lightning, that threatened to cleave me asunder. I lay groaning.

  “I have the wheel—good Christ!” Tobrok knelt. “What happened?”

  “I fell.”

  “Did he—?” A glance at the sailor. If he’d touched me unbidden, it was a hanging offense. No crewman was allowed to touch the Captain.

  “No.” I held out a hand, an invitation. “Can you ...”

  Gently, he helped me to the wheelchair. “Now where, sir?”

  “Brig him. Then the comm room, and hurry.” I clutched my canes, heavy, alumalloy useless objects. Tobrok dragged the unconscious sailor through the inner hatchway, to the brig.

  Uneasy, glancing both ways, I followed him to the lift halfway around the corridor. Its hatch slid open. Two passengers made way, incurious, preoccupied with their conversation
. I suspected they were unable to decipher one rank from another.

  On the way below to Level 3 our weight altered. Even braced in the chair, I felt it as unbearable pressure. My face went pale and pasty.

  With effort, I wheeled myself along in Tobrok’s footsteps. The plush carpet eased my journey, but I held on to the armrests as if my life depended on it.

  Two grim-looking joeys with billy clubs waited outside the comm room. Tobrok introduced them, quickly told them the situation. He rapped on the comm-room hatch. “Attention!” His bellow had the watch instantly on their feet.

  With the ship in a state of undeclared war, I expected to find the comm room fully manned, and it was. Five ratings at their blinking consoles monitored Station traffic, watched the ship’s many sensors.

  “Mr. Tobrok, give them the news.” Concisely, he did so. I had all three of them call up the revised Log, to verify our entries. “Who’s in charge?”

  Silence.

  “Mr. Tobrok, throw the senior watch officer in the brig. The charge is insubordination.”

  “I guess I am, sir. Sorry.” A beady-eyed joey, fingers clenching and unclenching. “Comm Specialist Parmer.”

  “Very well. Hold, Mr. Tobrok. Mr. Panner, ignore all further communication from the bridge. Acknowledge.”

  “Orders received and acknowledged, sir. Ignore the bridge.” He was sweating. “What if the Captain—”

  “The former Captain.”

  “Yes, sir.” He fell silent.

  “Disconnect the bridge. I don’t want them to have access to Earthport Station or Earth.”

  “Aye aye, sir, I can’t.” He licked greasy lips. “The bridge can’t be cut off. The Captain can call out, or overhear anything sent from this compartment.”

  “What about other ship’s stations?” I was afraid I already knew the answer.

  “The bridge and the engine room can call anywhere. Maybe in complete powerdown they’d be cut off, but I doubt it.”

  “Very well. Put incoming communications on your speaker.”

  He tapped a few keys. The hiss of carriers, and an occasional bored instruction from Earthport’s traffic control.

  We waited. It was twenty-three fifty. Minutes passed at a glacial pace.

  Twenty minutes later, a voice I knew. “Galactic, this is SecGen Seafort’s shuttle.” It was my shuttle. Had been.

  Captain Stanger, his voice cold. “Identify yourself.”

  “Pilot Walter Van Peer, of Naval Academy Shuttle T-455.”

  “So that’s where the son of a bitch was hiding. Who’s with you?”

  Van Peer’s tone was laconic. “Sir, there’s nobody else aboard. You have my oath.”

  Good. He’d said it exactly as we’d rehearsed.

  “Very well, approach the Level 4 lock. He can swing across.” Stanger was playing it safe. Forward of the Level 2 lock I’d used was a cargo bay, with capture latches for mating airlocks. But the Captain wanted no suspicious vessel moored to his starship.

  We watched the sensor screens as Van Peer maneuvered the shuttle close.

  Tobrok whispered, “How many does he have aboard?”

  “None. He gave his oath on my behalf.”

  The master-at-arms gave me a fixed stare.

  Van Peer brought the shuttle to rest a few meters from the airlock.

  “Send Seafort through the Level 4 lock. Be warned, we have you targeted. Laser Room, prepare to fire.”

  Why had I taken over the comm room instead of laser control? I felt clammy inside my unfamiliar uniform.

  The speaker crackled. “Mr. Tobrok, call the bridge.”

  We exchanged glances. I nodded.

  He keyed the caller. “Master-at-arms Tobrok reporting, sir.”

  “Take a squad to the Level 4 lock. If Seafort is alone, let him in. Otherwise, defend the lock and report to me by caller.”

  I nodded.

  He said, “Aye aye, sir.”

  I stirred. “Mr. Panner, seal your hatch, open only for me or the master-at-arms. Tobrok, get me to the Level 4 lock. Bring your joeys.”

  He slapped open the hatch. Outside, a midshipman stood poised to knock. His gaze flickered past Tobrok. “The SecGen, here?” His tone was unbelieving.

  “Grab him!”

  He spun and bolted. One of Tobrok’s men gave chase, but it was hopeless.

  “Run!” Canes in my lap, I flailed at my wheels. “Level 4! Hurry!”

  We tore down the corridor past a gaggle of startled passengers.

  The lift was a quarter turn beyond the stairwell. Too far. “Carry me! No time!” Only Tobrok dared touch me, at first. “Pick me up, damn you. Down the stairs! You, carry the chair. CHRIST JESUS, DON’T JOUNCE!” Sorry, Lord, but that was a bad one.

  Alarms shrieked. Stanger, on shipwide circuit. “Repel boarders, Level 4 airlock! All passengers, to your cabins!”

  At the foot of the ladder they threw me into the chair. We raced toward the lock. Tobrok panted, “Why, sir? Who’s coming aboard?”

  “My reinforcements.” Just six, but Lord God willing, it might be enough. I’d gained the comm room and the engine room, stopped Stanger from Fusing. And I had the master-at-arms.

  “If they’re not on the shuttle, how ... ?”

  On a cable, tethered a hundred meters abaft the shuttle. Far enough so the gentle spurts of the shuttle’s thrusters wouldn’t roast them. Near enough to haul themselves in quickly. Van Peer’s delicate touch had brought the shuttle to rest without swinging them into the hull.

  Behind the shuttle. Not aboard it. I’d told truth.

  No time to explain. “Trust me.”

  “Attention, ship’s company!” Stanger’s voice rasped in the corridor speakers. “The master-at-arms is aiding the boarders. Apprehend him. Mr. Tobrok is relieved from his post. Speke, Wilkins, Tarnier, to the armory, flank!”

  Stanger had reacted with commendable speed. From the middy’s skimpy report, he’d pieced together enough to mobilize his defenses.

  We skidded to a stop at the airlock, the first to arrive. I peered through the porthole, saw two suited figures. Then a third. The outer hatch gaped wide, held open by an alumalloy bar.

  Hurry. I hammered at my armrest.

  “Sir, the override!”

  I glanced at the panel; the bridge override was flashing. Damn Stanger to hell. My party wouldn’t be able to open the inner hatch. Neither would we, from the corridor. How could—“What’s in there?”

  “A suit locker, sir.”

  No help. I churned my brain. Aha. “Tobrok, the Chief left a cutting assembly in your berth. Get it, flank.”

  “Force the airlock?” He was incredulous. No sailor could easily contemplate damaging his ship.

  “MOVE!”

  I had both the stunners. I handed one to each of his joeys. “Give me the frazzing billy!” The startled sailor dropped the club in my lap. It wouldn’t do much good, but it was better than nothing.

  “There!” Down the corridor, a handful of Galactic’s sailors pointed at us, gathered their nerve for an attack.

  “Charge them!” I prodded my crew.

  Tobrok’s two men took off, stunners aimed two-handed, stretched in front as they ran. They pounded along the carpet. The opposing sailors wavered. One turned, bolted. Abruptly, they all fled.

  “Come back! Quick, to the lock!” Somehow, my joeys heard me above the rush of their adrenaline. They loped back.

  The airlock was filling. Four figures. Five. I caught sight of Derek. Who was missing? Where the hell was Tobrok with the torch?

  Running steps. The master-at-arms trotted round the bend, lugging a heavy cutting assembly. His face was red from exertion; I should have sent two men.

  I snapped, “Check the far ladder. Yell warning if they attack.” Not that it would do much good. And they could come at us by the elevator as well.

  Tobrok dropped the torch at my feet, leaned against the lock, chest heaving.

  “Quick, get it set up!” He and his mate scram
bled to put together the assembly. A click. Another, and we had flame.

  Around the corridor bend, voices. I shoved my billy club at Tobrok. “Take your men, hold them off.” I peered down the corridor. “Use those fire hoses!” Stanger could cut off the pressure, but it would gain us time. Especially if he first relayed his command through the engine room, where the ship’s water was controlled. I snatched up the torch.

  I pounded the airlock porthole. For Lord God’s sake, hurry. There were six in the lock. Then, strangely, seven. Derek kicked free the bar. The outer hatch slid shut. He secured it, slammed down the pressure lever.

  As the lock pressurized I began to cut. I needed to shear the bolts that held the hatch shut; the airlock control panel was disabled from the bridge. The bolts were at midlevel of the hatch. From my chair, I worked at a spot of the alumalloy, the torch assembly heavy on my lap. My canes were in the way; I tossed them to the deck.

  Shouts of rage from the east. Tobrok’s high pressure fire hose had found a target. A pity about the fine new carpet. I bent to my task. The alumalloy glowed, sagged. I jerked my feet away from the flow.

  “Hurry, Captain!”

  I grunted. To the west, Tobrok’s man had pocketed his stunner and wrestled with a second fire hose. Clever. He could down more joeys with the icy water than the stunner, which had to be close enough to touch.

  I had cut half through one of the two bolts. Stanger would have the water off any moment.

  A scream. I glanced up. The corridor bulkhead smoked from a distant laser bolt. Lord help us. Fire hoses were no match for lasers. Tobrok retreated farther around the bend, toward me.

  The first bolt was severed. I started the second. Was the bloody torch on full? Why hadn’t I brought a torch of my own? Lasers? Or a nuke?

  In excruciating slow motion, the second bolt glowed and began to separate.

  “Now, sir! Hurry!” Tobrok was almost upon me, retreating from the laser. The fire hose was stretched tight. Only the curve of the corridor protected him, and he could retreat no farther. One good shot, and he’d be a blistered corpse.

  Half the bolt cut. Two-thirds.

  I held the torch steady, risked a glance to each side. To the west, Tobrok’s man stood waiting with another hose. To the east, soggy carpet, a steady torrent of water slapping the bulkhead.

  At the corridor curve a middy appeared, uniform immaculate and dry. Coolly, he aimed his laser pistol. I flinched. With a cry of rage Tobrok bounded forward, hose in hand. A bolt sizzled the bulkhead to his right. He charged the middy, dragging his hose. The middy aimed anew. Tobrok’s burst caught him full in the chest, hurled him against the bulkhead. The laser went flying. The middy scrambled for it.