Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  “He had no such thing.”

  “May I come out? I saw the exchanges myself, sir. He was in touch with Admiralty in London.”

  Admiralty, or what was left of it, awaited my report at Farside Base. Stanger and his cohorts must have rounded up the members who refused my summons. Perhaps even a majority. “Send all sailors to their bunks. All officers to their cabins. Release my people.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Excuse me, I’ll just go ...” He backed toward the console, trod in blood. “Oh, Jesus Christ.” He leaped aside, wiped his feet. He glanced to the console. “Just the caller, sir. Not the laser.”

  “Very well.” Garrow snatched the caller, issued a disordered jumble of commands.

  Throughout Galactic, the rumble of corridor hatches sliding into their sockets.

  “Sir, may I help you up?”

  I shook my head. I might come apart.

  “You’d better know ...” He licked his lips. “I called Earthport, sir. After Mr. Stanger died. To tell them.”

  “That you’d take charge?”

  “Only for the moment. They said they’d send someone. And ...” He swallowed. “Before that, the Captain told them you blasted your way on board. Admiral Hoi offered to send Marines, but Stanger said they would only add to the confusion. That he could flush you out.” It was as if Garrow was under compulsion to confess.

  “Bring me the caller.”

  I keyed it to shipwide frequency. “Attention all crew and passengers.” My voice was a croak. “By order of the Board of Admiralty of the United Nations, I, Nicholas E. Seafort, hereby take command of UNS Galactic.” There, it was done. A few lives late. “All officers and crew are to approach the bridge, as directed by their superiors, to acknowledge my command.”

  Behind me, in the corridor, footsteps pounded. Arlene, with Derek not far behind.

  “Oh, Lord God. You there, get a stretcher. Get him to sickbay.”

  “No.” My voice was muffled.

  “Call the Ship’s Doctor. Hurry!” Gently, she lifted my head.

  “Take your hands off me!” My tone was glacial. “I am Captain!”

  “Nick—”

  “‘Sir!’” If I let her beseech me, I’d be unable to resist.

  Her eyes were wet. “Sir, let me help you.”

  “I’ve got work to do.” Admiral Hoi still controlled Earthport; Simovich held Lunapolis Base. Their banks of lasers targeted our planet. My mind wandered; I forced myself back. “Philip?”

  “Alive.”

  Thank Lord God.

  “Where?”

  “Sickbay. He’s ...”

  I nodded. He would be, with Jared dead. “Send someone to the laser room Mikhael’s hurt.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  An officer raced down the corridor. “Who’s injured? My God, the Captain!” Aghast, he brushed past me, stared down at the remains of Stanger.

  With a growl Arlene spun the Doctor around, forced him to his knees before me. “Help him!”

  “What do you need, sir?”

  “He’s had spinal surgery. He’s badly injured.”

  “Get me to a motorized chair.”

  The Doctor looked from one to the other of us.

  “I’m Captain. Do it!”

  They had to pry my fingers from Danil’s.

  Ten minutes later, I sat ashen in a wheelchair from sickbay, tight against the Captain’s console. “Pain blocker. Give me one. Now.” I specialized in short sentences. And desperate screams, if I opened my mouth farther.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  I caught my reflection in the screen. My eyes had a glassy sheen. My tie was undone, my shirt a filthy mess, my jacket gone. Meet Admiral Seafort, commanding the Galactic squadron.

  By twos and threes the ship’s officers presented themselves to the bridge, came to attention, acknowledged me as their commander. Then the crew, a squad at a time. I sat as one carved in stone, my knuckles white on the armrests. The pain blocker wasn’t working.

  Tad Anselm was brought to the bridge. Dully, he saluted. His face was slack.

  I bade him sit, in a watch officer’s chair. “You were with Danil?”

  “Yes, sir.” A voice from a distant galaxy.

  I looked to Arlene, to Derek. “Leave the bridge.” From the console, I slapped shut the hatch. I studied the boy a long while. “What happened?”

  “I want to resign. To go home.”

  “Tell me,” I said softly, “what you’re afraid I’ll hear.”

  Without warning, he began to weep. Then, after a time, “They brought us to the bridge. Me and Danil.” He wiped his nose on a grimy gray sleeve. “Stanger told Danil to call you, to make you surrender. He showed Danil his laser, said he’d shoot him if you didn’t give up.”

  I put my head in my hands.

  “Danil cried. Stanger slapped him, thrust the caller in his face. Danil made the call. You didn’t surrender.” His face was bleak. “Stanger waited, opened the hatch. He took Danil to the corridor. Stanger had to drag him. Danil was beside himself. He gibbered and begged. Stanger put the pistol to his chest and fired. He left him there. A warning, he said, if you reached the bridge.”

  I bent to the side, vomited bile.

  “And what I felt ...” Tears coursed down Anselm’s face. “In Washington, you told me to look after him. But I was so ... so ... so g-g-lad, sir. That it wasn’t me. I wanted it to be Danil.” He was alone with his anguish. “I’m going home. I’ve got to.”

  “Oh, son.” I tried to gather him into my arms, but he was a leaden weight.

  “Where is he? Where did they take him?”

  “The sickbay has coolers.”

  “That’s where I’ll be.” No salute, no wait for dismissal. He wandered to the hatch, slapped it open. He vanished into the corridor.

  I called Arlene in. “Is the laser room manned?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “See to it. Three consoles are down, but the rest ...” By redistributing the laser cannon among available consoles, we’d restore our firepower.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Get yourself a uniform. And Derek.” I keyed the engine room. “Mr. McAndrews. Have we power?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fusion drives?”

  “Unharmed.”

  “The gravitrons?”

  “You made a mess of them. We’ll work on it.”

  “Give me power to the thrusters.” I keyed the caller. “Comm Room.”

  Arlene watched impassively, standing at ease.

  “Tech Specialist Panner reporting, sir.”

  “You!” My lip curled. “Report to the brig; tell Tobrok you’re under arrest.” He had surrendered the comm room to Stanger, the moment we’d left.

  “Sir—aye aye, sir, but Mr. Tobrok’s dead. The Captain hanged him.”

  I flinched. “Report to whoever’s in charge. Put your replacement on the line.” I waited. Then, “Set up a transmission on all available frequencies, Naval and civilian. Half an hour.”

  Now, for what must be done. I could wait no longer. I closed the hatch, looked up at Lieutenant Sanders. “We’re off duty.”

  “Are we?”

  “Yes.” I waited, hoping against hope.

  Her hand brushed my shoulder.

  I seized it, pressed it to my lips. “Could you forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re Captain. I accepted that when I took the oath. No, Nick, I mean it. Don’t you know me at all?” She knelt. “I love you. Don’t cry, I can’t stand it.”

  Her lips were soft, and sweet.

  “Let me get you to sickbay.”

  “After.” There’d be plenty of time. “I’d like to see Philip.”

  “He won’t speak.”

  “Bring him. Hon, find me a shirt and jacket. Insignia. I have to make a broadcast from the bridge. Perhaps you’d help me dress.”

  “Are we on duty again?”

  “In a moment.”

  Quickly,
she bent and kissed me. “Don’t be too stubborn,” she said as she strode to the hatch. “Preserve yourself.”

  For what?

  “Attention, UNS Galactic. Admiral Johanson aboard Earthport local Shuttle Zebra 12. I’m come to take command by Admiralty authority. We’ll mate at your Level 2 bay.”

  “Shall I refuse him, sir?” Lieutenant Garrow. Another of his persistent efforts to be helpful.

  “By no means. He’s welcome.”

  “Galactic, confirm please. Be advised that we’ll enter armed and ready.”

  “Confirm, Lieutenant. Ask how many. Get IDs.”

  He did. Nine. Three lieutenants, a handful of Marine sergeants, Deputy SecGen Valera’s chief civilian aide.

  “Mr. Carr to the bridge, flank!” Waiting, I drummed the console. What I was about to do was vile.

  Derek Carr hurried in, distinguished in his crisp Naval uniform. A pity he’d let his enlistment run out, those many years ago. “Lieutenant Carr reporting, sir.”

  “These are the orders I ask you to volunteer to carry out. If you refuse, I won’t hold it against you.”

  Silent, he waited.

  “Have the master-at-arms’ men evacuate Level 2, section five. You’ll have to move fast, but be certain to miss none of the passengers. Don a thrustersuit. Put a spanner and a fully charged laser in the pouch. Understood?”

  “Aye aye, sir.” His face showed nothing.

  “In your suit, greet Admiral Johanson’s party at the section five lock on behalf of Captain Garrow. Treat him with courtesy and respect. Show him the suit lockers near the lock. Explain that you were on your way Outside to repair another faulty sensor. Galactic’s been plagued by them. When his party has desuited, call the bridge and ask Mr. Garrow where the middy is who was to escort them. Then enter the lock.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Cycle. When the outer hatch opens, block it with the spanner. Then take your laser from the pouch and burn through the inner lock porthole.”

  “Sir!”

  I waited, impassive.

  “Mr. Seafort, that will ...” He swallowed.

  “They’re guilty of treason, Derek. They’re armed. They’d kill or arrest me on sight.”

  “But ...” He held up a hand, to forestall any further explanation. He perused the deck for several moments. Then, “Orders acknowledged and understood, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  “As His representative aboard ship, I absolve you, now and after.” It was but one of many abominations I’d committed in His name.

  “Thank you, sir. That won’t be necessary.”

  In fresh clothes, braced with a double dose of pain blockers, I faced the simulscreen. Its holocam transmitted my haggard face, my grim visage around the world, and throughout home system. Offscreen, by the bulkhead, Arlene held Philip’s hand.

  Belowdecks, a machinist’s detail worked to replace the section five porthole. When they were done section five would be re-aired.

  “This is Admiral and Secretary-General Seafort, acting under authority of martial law. UNS Galactic is again in Government hands. All forces, U.N.A.F. and Naval, are to return to barracks and await instructions. The commandants of Earthport Naval Station and Lunapolis Base shall place themselves under arrest.”

  I glowered. “Cisno Valera is removed as Deputy Secretary-General of the United Nations. He is summarily tried in absentia, found guilty of treason, and sentenced to death. The sentence is commuted provided that he surrenders himself to Potomac Naval Station forthwith. Beginning in four hours”—I checked my watch—“Noon Eastern Standard Time, any Government officer, civil or military, who encounters Mr. Valera outside Potomac Naval Station is to carry out the sentence of death.”

  I looked sternly into the camera. “Those Senators who convened in defiance of authority are unseated from office, and are barred from elective office for the remainder of their lives. I shall tolerate no act of rebellion, no disregard of edicts while this crisis continues.

  “Other matters. Jerence Branstead is to be released forthwith, and to resume his duties as chief of staff.

  “The enviro package of bills, as submitted by my Administration, is deemed enacted as first submitted, the effective date one week from today. They will be known as the Jared Tenere Enviro Acts.” Jared was no enviro fanatic, but Philip would be pleased, when he was again among us. “That is all.” I keyed off the simulscreen.

  I leaned back, savoring an exquisite torment in my spine.

  “Nick. Captain.” Arlene’s voice was soft.

  I turned. P.T.’s hands scrabbled at his shirt, at each other. His fingers were red and raw. He stared unseeing past the console.

  I rolled my chair as far as I could. “Philip.”

  Nothing. His lips moved whispering silent numbers.

  “Son.” I held his hands in mine. “We love you. You’re all right. Try not to rev.”

  His hands jerked away. He made fists of them, thrust them beneath his arms. “Base twelve works. Leave me alone.”

  I cried, “I couldn’t pull the pistol loose. It wouldn’t budge.”

  Dully, he looked from me to his mother, and back.

  “I’m so sorry, Philip!” Stupidity. Incompetence. Worse. I’d held Jared’s life in my hands, and thrown it away.

  “He was terrified.” P.T.’s tone was conversational, as if discussing the weather. “We all die. He would too.”

  “Son, I—”

  “But no one should the like that. No one.” He hugged himself.

  “I could have rolled faster. I should have had the laser—”

  “I couldn’t save him. I was there, and couldn’t help. Couldn’t comfort him. Even at the end, he looked to me.”

  No more. God, take me now. NO MORE.

  “Sir.” Lieutenant Garrow. “An urgent call.”

  “Later.”

  His voice was awed. “It’s Bishop Saythor. The Patriarch.”

  “You understand, Fath? I couldn’t help!”

  I drew Philip to me.

  He thrust me away. “Take your call.”

  “It doesn’t—”

  “I’ll be here. Take it.”

  From my console, I stared into the simulscreen, with sunken eyes.

  The Elder’s pudgy face glowered. “This is Bishop Saythor, on behalf of the Patriarchy.”

  “Very well.”

  “Retract, this instant. Valera is not condemned. It wasn’t an insurrection; the Senate has authorized—”

  “No.” Francis Saythor headed my Church. Our Church. The only true Church.

  “The enviro legislation is madness. Cancel it before—”

  “No!” He spoke for Lord God, in all matters ecclesiastic.

  “Seafort, this isn’t your Washington study. This time I speak from the Cathedral, for the Patriarchs of His Reunification Church. Your Government is in error and mortal sin. I order you—”

  “NO!” My voice trembled. He was Lord God’s representative on Earth.

  “Else we’ll disavow you this very day. A public statement, on the steps of the Cathedral. A drastic step, one we’ve rarely taken. Be warned, unless—”

  I reared back in my seat, ignoring a blazing comet of pain. “Beware, lest I disavow you!”

  His eyes narrowed, as if perplexed.

  “Disavow you, Saythor!” My eyes were wild. “And your Patriarchy!” I felt something snap in my soul, as it had in my spine. My bond with Him was severed, utterly and irredeemably.

  “You’ll be burned. Heresy—”

  “And disavow Mother Church!” Tears streamed down my face. “The Church, do you hear, Saythor? Will it be treason, if I declare my doubt that you could possibly be His instrument? If I wonder how we surrendered our conscience, our moral certitude, to an intolerant Church concerned of its prosperity more than our survival?”

  “How dare you!”

  “Likewise must the deacons be grave, not double-tongued, not given to much wine, not greedy of filthy lucre. What are my po
lls, Elder? Which of us will joeys follow, when they read the zines? Think it’s worth the risk?”

  He and I sat appalled.

  I was excommunicate. I had threatened Lord God Himself, and spat upon His Church. Whether the Patriarch declared me so or not, I was barred forever from His community.

  “Shall I disavow you, Bishop?” My unsteady hand hovered over the caller. “Shall I tell the world my mind?”

  “You wouldn’t besmirch—”

  “By all that is holy, I swear that I will tell only truth. I’ll speak of our meeting at the Rotunda, of your visit to my home. Of this call, which will be your last. Lift a finger to interfere, and it will come to pass.” My voice could scratch glass. “As long as we live, Bishop, never speak to me again!” My fist slammed down on the keys, cutting the circuit.

  I sat shaking, in awe of my ultimate folly.

  Yet thou shalt be brought down to Hell, to the sides of the pit.

  I dared not pray. Not ever again, lest I be blasted from the Earth.

  Yet how could I live without prayer?

  How could I live?

  There were only Arlene and Philip. Mikhael. And duty.

  From her quiet corner, Arlene gazed at me with awe.

  P.T. picked ceaselessly at his shirt.

  “Son, come to me.” I held out my hands, pleading.

  His eyes met mine, alone, tormented, sealed.

  “I am bereft of Lord God, and have nothing save you!” My voice broke. “I beg you, as you have mercy!” I could say no more, from weeping.

  Slowly at first, as an automaton, he rose from his chair, padded across the deck. A gentle hug. He fell into my arms, onto my lap as a small child. Our tears merged, mine for myself, his for his forever-lost Jared.

  “U.N.A.F. Washington command to UNS Galactic.”

  I jerked awake. I’d been sleeping; I hoped the lieutenant sharing my watch hadn’t noticed.

  I took up the caller. Unusual, for the Captain to answer directly, but I still didn’t fully trust any of Stanger’s officers. I’d issued standing orders to the comm room that all communications be routed to the bridge. “Galactic, go ahead.”

  “General Donner reporting. I may not have much time. Sir, U.N.A.F. is going to sit it out.”

  “What?”

  “The ranking generals conferred over the net. They won’t respond to either side. They’ll wait for a winner. We’re supposed to be shut down for off-planet calls, but I know a colonel in communications.”