Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  “Easy, hon.”

  “Don’t ‘easy’ me.” She drew her pistol. “If you betrayed us ...”

  “Ma’am—Captain, sir, I didn’t!” He looked to me for succor. “I read the Log, and you’re the lawful ... You needed lasers, so I went to the bridge. Mr. Stanger—”

  “Don’t, Arlene!”

  “I told Stanger I’d lost mine in a firefight, that you were on Level 4, could I indent for another, and he said—” The boy blushed furiously. “If I lose another pistol he’ll have me caned. I’m supposed to lead CPO Fahren’s squad. They’re assembled on Level 5. I have lasers and billies and stunners.”

  “Where?”

  “Just inside the corridor hatch.” I peered into the dining hall, saw weapons piled on a powered cart.

  I glowered. “How many demerits have you?”

  “Eight, sir. Including your five.” He blushed furiously. “Midshipman Edwin Speke reporting for duty, sir.”

  “Very well.” His exploits deserved more. I cleared my throat. “Well done, Middy.” I forced my thoughts to the problems we faced. We had arms, but needed more men. How ... Ah. “Mr. Speke, find CPO Fahren’s squad. Bring them here.”

  “But ... aye aye, sir.”

  “If you run into opposition, I trust you can talk your way out of it?”

  He looked sheepish. “Probably.”

  He’d be in little danger. Our party was concealed in the mess hall, and to the enemy, Speke would appear to be carrying out Stanger’s orders.

  Ten minutes later, I surveyed my new command. Fahren’s squad consisted of twenty-two sailors under the chief petty officer. Speke had assured them with calm confidence that I was the lawful Captain, and seemed to be carrying the day. CPO Fahren nervously pledged his support.

  Time to sally forth. The only reason we hadn’t been discovered was that the dining hall was such an unlikely, useless place for us to hide.

  Galactic was larger than any other vessel I’d known, but its structure was like all the Navy’s starships: two stairwells crossed each level, east and west. If we held both ladders, we could defend Level 2. Oops, I’d forgotten the lift. Both stairs and the elevator.

  “No.”

  Derek and P.T. looked at me strangely; I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. We didn’t want to defend Level 2; we needed to seize Level 1. Officers’ quarters, the laser room, the bridge.

  “Mr. Speke, reconnoiter the east ladder.”

  In a few moments he was back. “Guards at the foot, sir. Probably also at Level 1, but I couldn’t get close enough to see.”

  “Try the west.” He did. It was the same.

  “Midshipman, assemble your squad in the corridor. I want to mount a charge to the east stairs. You’ve how many lasers, ten? Laser carriers in front. Pick men who know how—”

  “Nicky, let me lead.”

  “You’re a civilian, hon.” I frowned at Arlene. “They can’t follow your orders, even if they had a mind—”

  “Enlist me.”

  “What?” I wanted to say more, but I was speechless.

  “You heard me. Appoint me lieutenant.”

  P.T. watched, solemn.

  “Hon, this is no time to ...” I sought a valid argument. “Enlistment is for five years.” I added hurriedly, “Of course there’s always remission.” As Admiral, I could remit the enlistment of any officer. We’d done so for the passengers I’d impressed on Challenger.

  A ridiculous notion, hers. A wife a subordinate officer, subject to her husband’s commands, yet equal within their cabin? True, there were officers who had married, but none had been Captain.

  Yet, why had I consented to her joining my mission, if I wouldn’t use her skills? I temporized. “Hon, if you enlist, whatever orders I give—”

  “For Christ’s sake, Nicky. I know.”

  “Very well.” Twenty-five years after her discharge, she’d be a lieutenant once more. “Raise your right hand. I do—”

  “I, Arlene Sanders Seafort, do swear upon my immortal soul to preserve and protect the Charter of the General Assembly of the United Nations, to give loyalty and obedience for the term of my enlistment to the Naval Service of the United Nations and to obey all its lawful orders and regulations, so help me Lord God Almighty.” She spoke without hesitation.

  With a tug at my jacket, a quick smoothing of my tie, I snapped her a formal salute. Crisply, she replied.

  Lord God, I loved her. “Go to it, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “You joeys heard: she’s Navy now. Follow orders. Middy, detach three men from their squad, take my two cadets as well. Guard the rear of Fahren’s squad. Take position between the dining hall and the west stairs.”

  Not to be outdone, Speke snapped an Academy salute. “Aye aye, sir.” He strode off, Bevin and Anselm in tow.

  “What about us?” Jared.

  “You and P.T. will help me up the ladder, the moment it’s safe.” My tone was gruff. “Mikhael, the boys will need your help.”

  “Yes, sir.” His gratitude was pathetic.

  P.T. stirred. “Get in the chair, Fath.”

  “I don’t need it.” Now that we were in light gravity, I’d be able to walk. I hoisted myself on my canes. In fact, if I was careful, I could do with just one.

  P.T. said, “Jar, check the corridor near the stairs. We need to know when Mom attacks.”

  Jared gave him a quick hug, left on his errand.

  “Thanks, Fath.”

  “For what?”

  “Not sending him into danger.”

  “He’s very protective of you.”

  “Odd, isn’t it? It’s I who should be protecting him.”

  We waited.

  Derek was pensive. “Mr. Seafort, you might give me men to command.”

  “Not you too. The same objection applies.”

  “That I’m civilian? You know the remedy.”

  “You’re too old for midshipman.” He was graying.

  “But not for lieutenant.”

  I waved it away. “Next you’ll have me enlisting Mikhael. Or Jared.”

  “Very well, sir.” His tone was frosty. He turned to stare at the hatch.

  I muttered something.

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘Prima donnas.’”

  A long moment, in which the temperature hovered around that of interstellar space.

  I growled, “Raise your right hand.”

  19

  “MS. SEAFORT SAYS FIVE minutes.” Jared was breathless. “She wants a diversion at the west ladder.”

  I grimaced. “She needs more men.”

  “I suppose I just stand here, sir?” Derek’s tone was dry.

  “You’re my reserve.” I came to a sudden decision. “Did you see a caller in the exercise room?”

  “It was rather bloody in there. I didn’t notice.”

  “Go check. If you find one, call the comm room. Get an idea whose side they’re on.” If my war party had to retreat to the galley, no point in alerting Stanger to our location by calling from it. “Hurry.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He strode out. Amazing how easily one reverted to the formalities of Naval life. I wondered if I could do the same, were I truly to return as Captain. I dismissed the fancy.

  Jared returned to his post, behind the attackers.

  In a few moments Derek was back. “No answer, sir.”

  “Impossible. The comm room’s always manned.”

  “You heard me.” His tone was tart. “I rang, and they didn’t respond. Or wouldn’t.”

  “Find Arlene. Help her.”

  He left. I wished I hadn’t given all the lasers to our war party. We had nothing but a billy among us.

  P T. said, “Maybe the comm tech’s playing it safe. If he—”

  Jared burst in. “Now, Mr. Seafort!”

  I hobbled to the dining-hall exit. P.T. hesitated, ran back for the chair. “Will you for God’s sake get in?”

  “I don’t—” I gave it
up, handed him my canes, settled myself. Jared ran ahead to hold hatches; P.T. and Mikhael raced me to the corridor and the east ladder.

  Mikhael skidded to a stop. “Ukk.”

  The carpet was stained and sticky. Bodies lay where they had fallen. A horrid stench of charred meat pervaded the corridor.

  I lurched out of the wheelchair. P.T. and Jared each grabbed one of my arms, helped me up the ladder. Mikhael scrambled up with the chair.

  On Level 1, Arlene loped around the distant corridor bend. Her jumpsuit was splashed with blood. She cupped her hands to her mouth. “The laser room’s in section nine!” She spun, ran back the way she’d come.

  I tried to orient myself. This level was sparse, utilitarian, like the ships I knew. But so large ... The bridge was west, the laser room east. Of course, ultimately it didn’t matter; the circumference corridor was circular. But on a ship with disks so large, one didn’t want to go the wrong way.

  I hurried down the corridor on my canes. Where was the armory? We’d need that too.

  “Attention. This is Captain Stanger.”

  I froze.

  “There’s been some confusion.”

  “Hurry, Fath.”

  “Listen.” I limped on.

  “In an act of desperation, former SecGen Seafort forced his way onto Galactic with an armed party of attackers, violating his oath. He’s murdered some of our sailors, and is roaming Levels 1 and 2. He’s made a false claim to be Captain of Galactic. He is not, but even if he were so, I relieve him on the grounds that he is insane.”

  “The bastard.”

  “Quiet, I said.”

  “Crew to Battle Stations, flank. Corridor hatches will seal in one minute. If you encounter the invaders, contact the bridge immediately. Passengers, do not, repeat, do not venture into the corridors.”

  I dropped into the chair. “Move me!” Once the emergency corridor hatches sealed, only authorized codes or a signal from the bridge could open them. Piping Battle Stations was a move I’d expected Stanger to make, sooner or later. By dividing the ship into isolated segments, he denied us the freedom of movement we needed.

  We raced to the end of section seven. Through to eight. At a cabin, an officer emerged. He stopped dead in his tracks. We flashed by. He tugged at something black in his belt. The skin of my spine crawled as I waited for the shot.

  “PA, IT’S CLOSING! “Mikhael scampered ahead.

  P.T. thundered down the corridor, pushing my chair. Hatches flew past in a blur.

  Corridor hatches were designed for decompression. When they shut, they shut fast. Philip raced toward the hatch, but too late. Abruptly realizing we were trapped, he let go my chair, spun back the way we’d come. I rolled onward, helpless against the momentum he’d achieved. Mikhael grabbed the handles, braced himself to slow me. The speeding chair yanked him off his feet; he fell with a thump.

  Slowed, I crashed into the solid hatch. The impact almost threw me from my seat. Half-dazed, I wrenched the wheel.

  Philip galloped down the corridor. Jared followed, legs pumping madly. The officer we’d passed stood waiting, stunner aimed.

  With a shout Philip launched himself. He struck the officer full in the chest, fell slack to the deck, rolled over twice. Jared hurtled down the corridor. The officer aimed anew as Jared hit him. They went down, flailing.

  Jared sprang to his feet. He kicked the officer’s limp form once, twice, three times, ran to Philip, knelt.

  Slowly, aching, I wheeled myself toward them. Mikhael, shamefaced, came alongside and helped push.

  Jared cradled P.T.’s head.

  I patted his shoulder. “It’s just a stunner. He’ll be all right in an hour.”

  Jared’s eyes were sorrowful. “He didn’t warn me ...”

  “I know son.” I looked about. “We can’t stay here.” Any moment we’d be found.

  “Where—?”

  We were locked in our section, until I devised a way out. “There.” I picked a compartment at random. Anything was better than the middle of the corridor.

  “I’ll drag him.” Jared got his arms under P.T.’s shoulders.

  “Use the chair.” I struggled to my feet, balanced on my canes. Any second now, someone would come. My back prickled.

  Jared and Mikhael hauled my son into the chair. Insensate, he looked far younger than his twenty-four years. I swallowed, hobbled faster.

  At the unlabeled compartment I slapped open the hatch. “In here.” We hustled the chair inside, closed the hatch. I looked around.

  Six bunk beds, four abandoned in haste. Built-in dressers. An inner room, with more beds.

  The midshipmen’s wardroom.

  “Now what?” Jared.

  “You and Mikhael put on middies’ clothes.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re enlisting us?”

  “No, but you’re too conspicuous in civvies.” Was it possible Mikhael’s look was disappointment?

  “What about P.T.?”

  “Yourselves first. Deal with him when he wakes.”

  Mikhael pawed through a drawer, found middy blues and a shirt. With obvious relief he stripped off his damp pants.

  Jared would have more trouble; he’d filled out as an adult.

  “Mikhael, can you manage the tie?” Bloody anachronism; at times I wondered why the Navy bothered. On the other hand, tradition was everything.

  “No, sir.” He sounded subdued.

  “Come here.” I made a clumsy knot. Good for a demerit, but tonight it would do. “You look handsome.” Heartbreakingly like Alexi.

  “Thanks, Pa. Here, Jared, try these, they’re bigger.”

  We were fit to venture out, but to what purpose? “Where’s the caller? Ahh.” I hobbled to it. I’d try the comm room, or—

  “All armed sailors on Level 1, to the laser room! Call the bridge to have corridor hatches opened. Lieutenant Perez, take charge outside the laser room.”

  “There’s our chance.” They stared, so I elaborated. “We go to the section nine hatch, call the bridge. In the confusion we’ll get through. “Lord God willing. “Leave P.T. here. We’ll—”

  The hatch slid open. A middy ran in. “What are you joeys—hey, you’re not—”

  As one, without my prompting, Jared and Mikhael tackled him. They rolled on the deck; Mikhael swarmed onto his chest. I managed to skirt the fracas, reach the hatch control, slap it shut.

  The middy bucked and heaved. I prodded him with my cane. “That will do!”

  At the sight of my uniform, momentary confusion. “You’re ... SecGen Seafort.”

  “Yes. Mikhael, is he armed? No? Let him up.”

  “He’ll—”

  “This instant!” I was used to obedience from joeys in middy blues.

  Face flushed, Galactic’s middy scrambled to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “Come to attention.”

  He hesitated. “How should I know whom to obey? Captain Stanger says you’re relieved.”

  “By Admiralty directive, I relieved your Captain first. He’s been placed inactive and has no authority to relieve me. And in any event I’m still SecGen.”

  “He says—” Whatever it was, he thought better of it. After a moment he drew himself up. Watching from the bulkhead, where he thought I couldn’t see, Mikhael sucked in his chest, put his arms to his sides, tried to stiffen. A passable imitation, for a civilian.

  To the middy, “Why are you here?”

  “For a permalight. The Captain’s going to—” His lips tightened.

  “Go on.”

  “I won’t betray my shipmates.”

  “Betray? Have you any idea what he’s done?”

  “He’s saving the Navy.”

  My face grew red. “Galactic’s at Battle Stations, so insubordination is punishable by death. Summary proceedings. What’s Stanger up to?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you acknowledge my authority?”

  A long moment. “I guess so ... yes, sir. Midshipma
n Pyle reporting. I’ll work for you, but don’t ask me to tell you what they’re doing. It isn’t right.”

  I hesitated. It was as good as I’d get, and his position had merit. “Very well. Mikhael, who’s in the corridor?”

  He slid open the hatch. “A few sailors. No officers that I—oh, there’s one.” He ducked back inside. “They’ll know we’re not from the ship, right?”

  “The officers will.” Our fraudulent middies’ uniforms might pass muster with the crew—Galactic was a new ship, and a huge one—but lieutenants would know their own midshipmen.

  I had to use Pyle to pass through the corridor hatch, to reach the laser room in section nine. “Mr. Pyle, where were you expected to go?”

  “Below to Level 4.”

  “Which stairs?”

  “He didn’t say, but ...”

  The east ladder was far closer, and it was the wrong way; to get to it Pyle should pass through to section seven, not nine. On the other hand, Stanger had a lot on his mind, and might not notice. “We’ll try it.”

  Cautiously, I peered into the corridor. No officer in sight, “Lift Philip to that bunk. Let’s go.”

  “Let me stay with him.” Jared.

  “No. He’s as safe here as anywhere, and we need you.”

  He frowned, but gave a reluctant nod. “Your chair?”

  “It’s too obvious.” As if my Admiral’s uniform wasn’t, or my pair of canes. I tried standing without them; it was just possible. If we were seen, I’d thrust them aside, hope somehow to brazen it out. Not a great plan, but from the start my attempt to seize Galactic had been an act of desperation, with little chance of success.

  We went out to the corridor.

  Pyle’s eye searched for Mikhael’s length of service pins, found none. “What ship?”

  “Melbourne.” Mikhael blushed. It had been his father’s. Now Melbourne was off to Titan, on one of the tourist cruises that so annoyed interstellar Captains. Though this cruise, with the holo star Anton Bourse aboard, would be something special.

  I hobbled to the sealed section hatch. At the panel, a caller waited. “Pyle, tell him—”

  “Now hear this. Seafort, this is for you.”

  A voice tinged with fear. “Mr. Seafort? Cadet Bevin reporting. They say they’ll execute us for piracy unless you—” The speaker clicked off.