Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  The fools. Neither side would trust them, after. “It’s treason, Donner.”

  “Technically. More realistically, caution.”

  I grunted my disgust. “Valera?”

  “No sign of him, sir. I’d better make myself scarce after this call. Any orders?”

  “Fly to London. Find Thorne.” He knew Jeff; they’d worked together when Thorne had served as chief of staff. “Have him call Galactic by sat-relay from Devon Academy. Tell him Farside is reliable, if he finds the other nets locked out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And thank you.” Lord God knew what he risked by alerting me.

  I brought my ship to General Quarters, started the repair of the many damaged corridor hatch seals. I’d prefer going to Battle Stations, but if I put the crew at a high state of alert after a night of chaos, they’d soon be asleep on their feet.

  I dared not leave the bridge for long, and of my lieutenants, I trusted only Derek and Arlene. That meant I couldn’t share a watch with them, else they’d be too fatigued to stand their own. I shared instead with men and women of whom I knew nothing, except that they’d failed to relieve Stanger, when their oaths demanded it.

  Reeling with exhaustion, I had Midshipman Speke wheel me to the sickbay.

  Michael’s face was puffy. He lay listlessly in a bunk. The Ship’s Doctor recited his injuries. Among them, three broken ribs, a bruised spleen, swollen testicles. “The bone growth stimulator will reknit the ribs in a few days. But the lassitude ... the beating took something out of him.”

  I wheeled to his bed. “Mikhael ...” I was at a loss. His eyes went elsewhere. “I’m sorry, Pa.”

  “For what? You were magnificent.”

  “I thought I could stop her. Knock her down. But she—” His face contorted.

  “You’re fifteen. You can’t expect—”

  “Captain to the bridge!” Alarms shrieked. “Battle Stations!”

  “Lord Christ.” I wheeled. “Middy! Speke!” We raced to the bridge.

  Derek and Midshipman Pyle jumped to their feet. “Sir, incoming lasers. Target acquisition mode.”

  “The Station?” For the moment, Earth loomed between us and Lunapolis. Admiral Hoi would have done better to wait for his ally.

  “Yes, sir.” Derek looked grim.

  “What’s our heading?” I peered at the simulscreen. At Earthport, defense lasers bristled from every aperture, a legacy of our defense against the marauding fish. “Acquire targets! Aim only at their lasers.” The destruction of Earthport would be a catastrophe; we’d have no way to transship the vast quantities of cargo that filled her warehouses. Perhaps Admiral Hoi counted on that fact.

  What skill had Stanger drilled into his laser techs? No time to check his records.

  “Laser Room, stand by to fire. Pilot to the bridge, flank. Chief McAndrews!”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Stand by to Fuse. Coordinates follow. Full power to the thrusters.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Captain, we haven’t achieved Fusion safety.” If we Fused too close to a large mass, we’d destroy ourselves.

  “Not yet. Derek, calculate Fusion coordinates.”

  “To where, sir?”

  “Pilot Jasper Oren reporting.” He sounded breathless.

  “Anywhere nearby. Ceres. Pilot, how far to Fusion safety?”

  “Just a moment, sir.” He took in our coordinates. “Two and a half hours, more or le—”

  “Bloody hell.” I savored the language. Admiralty wouldn’t beach me, and the Patriarchs would be silent.

  We faced the Station almost head-on. Our vast cargo bays at the bow offered extra shielding against incoming fire, but few of our own lasers would bear.

  Fight, or flee?

  “Pilot, bring the ship about. Port side to the Station, broadside to the Naval wing. One-half kilometer distance.”

  “One-half?” Oren’s tone was unbelieving.

  At that range their powerful lasers would blast us to shreds, but our own fire would severely damage the Station.

  “Now!”

  “Aye aye, sir.” His fingers flew at the thruster console.

  Ponderously, we came about. It was a matter of inertia. Galactic had huge mass, many times that of a typical vessel. Our thrusters would move her, but we required an equal expenditure of propellant to halt our swing. Thank heaven we had a Pilot aboard. Turning a behemoth like Galactic was an exercise in nerve and patience.

  “Galactic to Earthport Naval Station. Put on Admiral Hoi.”

  It took barely a moment. Hoi must have been glued to his console, as was I. His pinched face loomed in my simulscreen. “Turn away, Seafort. If I have to wreck you, I will.”

  “Our lasers are trained on the Naval wing. You’ll die.”

  “I’m not in the Naval wing.”

  “Very well, we’ll retarget.” It would be mass murder, of civilians, and I couldn’t do it.

  He smiled. “We know you, Seafort. You’ll do no such thing.”

  Inwardly, I cursed. “You know me not at all.” I poised my finger on the console. “Activating fire controls. Laser Room, stand by.”

  “We have more firepower, Seafort! You’ll be destroyed.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really care.” That much was true.

  “Why not?”

  “My body is ravaged, my Government a shambles, my Navy disgraced.” My covenant with Lord God shattered beyond repair.

  “Put on Johanson!”

  “Why?”

  “He’ll negotiate us out of a standoff.”

  “Not from my ship.”

  “Send him here.”

  My tone was casual. “If you wish.”

  “You’ll speak to him after?”

  “If he calls.”

  “A truce until then?”

  “Six hours, no more.”

  “Very well.” He broke contact.

  “Derek, go to sickbay. Have them load Johanson and the rest onto their launch.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Carr?”

  “You heard me. Isn’t that a touch macabre?”

  “Do it.” I’d be damned if I’d give a traitor like Johanson a formal funeral. I keyed off, had Lieutenant Garrow assign a sailor to pilot the launch.

  Six hours of truce. More than enough to reach Fusion safety. I could escape Earthport’s lasers, but to where? I snorted; Galactic was set to cruise to Constantine. Her crew was functional, her stores nearly complete. We could repair our damage en route. It would serve them all right if I fled the madness into which we’d descended.

  With a sigh, I put aside my fantasies.

  How to retake Earthport? No troopship could run the gauntlet of the Station’s powerful lasers. And in any event, what troops would respond to my call? Perhaps some isolated U.N.A.F. base would ignore the perfidy of its leaders and stand by the Government, but how would they board a shuttle unnoticed? And what would persuade Earthport to let it dock?

  In the meantime, my hundreds of passengers had to be tended. Perhaps Hoi would allow me to off-load them; their presence foreclosed the option of battle. But he knew that; why would he let me?

  I pondered. The two middies, Speke and Pyle, fidgeted under my gaze.

  Lunapolis Base was also a factor. It had free access to the Station; their commanders were allied. And its lasers were a devastating threat, both to me and Earth.

  If I attacked Lunapolis from aloft, I might kill thousands. Certainly there was no way to subdue it by ground attack. Any troops I sent would have to be transshipped through Earthport, which was impossible until Admiral Hoi was ousted. Worse, Earthport guarded Lunapolis, and Lunapolis Earthport, unless I could somehow time an assault for the hours when they were out of each other’s sight.

  I knew of but one way, and the risk was enormous.

  Failure was death. Not so unwelcome.

  Midshipman Speke blurted out, “What did I do?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

&n
bsp; “You—I thought you were angry. You were glaring like—”

  “Two demerits.” How dare he interrupt a Captain’s thoughts?

  A look of dismay. “Sir, that makes ten.”

  I drummed the console. “Very well. One. Go work it off.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He made his escape.

  Anthony Pyle stared carefully at his console.

  A crackle, from the speaker. “Admiral Thorne to Galactic.”

  I snatched the caller. “Jeff!”

  A few seconds’ pause. “Hello, sir.”

  “I need you.”

  A hesitation. “How?”

  “You have doubts?” Better to face them now, though I was disappointed. I’d rallied Jeff from cynicism years past, and I’d hoped to count on his loyalty.

  A pause. “Sir, it’s the lag. I’m calling London to Devon to Farside to you.”

  “Ahh.”

  “The joey at Devon Academy didn’t want to put me through. I had to drop names.”

  “Whose?” I waited out the lag.

  “Every Admiral I could think of. You. The Commandant.”

  Midshipman Pyle smiled, until he saw my scowl.

  “Jeff, may I recall you to duty?” Under martial law I had the authority, even without his consent. But this was my mentor, my oldest living friend.

  “Of course. “He knew I wouldn’t ask, if the need weren’t desperate.

  I said, “There’s risk.”

  “There’s always risk. What are your orders?”

  I told him.

  Pyle’s eyes widened.

  21

  “U.N.A.F. SECURITY COMMAND TO Galactic. Mr. Seafort, if you’re there, for God’s sake answer!”

  I wheeled onto the bridge, breathing hard. General Donner’s saturnine face filled the simulscreen. “Go ahead.”

  “Valera’s marching on the Rotunda. He’s got the Thirteenth Armored, the Fifty-first Airbo—”

  “U.N.A.F. would sit it out, you said.”

  “I was wrong.” His voice had a touch of asperity. “Ibiera and Taubeck always were hotheads. It’s only a few units, sir, but we have hardly anything to stop them. I’ve rounded up what I could. A few guard units. There’s a store of old projectile rifles in storage; I outfitted the U.N. Military Band. They—”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “They were handy and they’re fully trained soldiers, sir. It’s just they don’t normally carry ...we’ve taken up position inside the retaining wall.”

  “Civil war is the last thing we—”

  “Sir, there’s more. Valera preempted Holoworld and Newsnet for a six o’clock announcement. The other nets will no doubt follow—”

  “No!”

  “I agree, but how will you stop him?”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Branstead’s office.” He flushed. “Don’t take offense. Valera’s people have him in custody, and his puter had links to everyone from—”

  “Get me McFrey from Holoworld.”

  “The president? I’ll try.” His stubby fingers stabbed at keys.

  We got a machine, then a stubborn puter, then a secretary. By the time we worked our way up to McCray’s chief aide, I was fuming. I leaned into the simulscreen, my voice shaking. “Put her on this very moment. This instant!”

  The aide’s face disappeared. A few seconds later, Belinda McFrey, the world’s most powerful netizen, looked down on me from the screen. She said coolly, “You rang, Mr. Sec—ah, Seafort?”

  “Valera gets no bandwidth.”

  “That’s not for you to say.”

  “But it is. Under martial law—”

  “Which the Senate has repealed.”

  “Valera is engaged in treason. I won’t allow him access—”

  “You don’t control the nets.” Her tone was smug. “Don’t even try.”

  “As Secretary-General—”

  “You may not still be SecGen. That’s debatable.”

  Perhaps it was only that she interrupted my every sentence. Perhaps it was her smug superiority. Whatever the cause, I snapped. “Donner, flash this call to Newsnet, live feed. In fact, transmit worldwide. Flank.”

  “Just a moment.” Clicks. A buzz, and silence. “Done.”

  “Belinda McFrey has insisted on giving aid and comfort to those who would overthrow the ordained Government of Lord God. Now do I—”

  “I did not.”

  “—Nicholas Seafort, sole executive of His Government and plenipotentiary of the Patriarchs of His Reunified Church while martial law remains in effect—”

  “You take on a lot, Seafort.”

  My eyes blazed, “—declare Belinda McFrey, former president of Holoworld, excommunicate of His Church and His people. We do, on behalf of Lord God Himself, turn from her aspect, reject her perfidy, and banish her from our midst!”

  Her face was pale. “Now, look. You can’t just—”

  “GET THEE GONE, CREATURE OF SATAN!” With a slash of the hand, I cut her off my screen. “I do warn and adjure every citizen that to consort or do business with a person excommunicate is a capital offense, and merits excommunication of the offender.”

  I glared at the screen and at the world. “Let all media take notice: Cisno Valera shall not be heard while he stands in opposition to Lord God. Trifle not with perdition!”

  I snapped off the screen, sat trembling. What I had done was arguably legal. The authority granted under martial law was breathtakingly broad. I represented His Government in its every aspect, including that normally exercised by the Patriarchs.

  Nonetheless, what I had done was a travesty. No, an obscenity. I had defied the Patriarchs outright, spurned and insulted them to their faces. Didn’t I deserve excommunication far more than the frightened woman whose soul now teetered on the edge of damnation? Was I not already excommunicate, in His eyes, if not in the view of the cowardly Patriarchs? If I were to declare any traitor excommunicate, why choose a mediaman whose sole offense was to allow Valera a voice? Why not villainous Admiral Hoi, or Simovich, down in Lunapolis? Was not their treason far more overt than hers?

  No time for disgust. “Comm Room, connect me with the chief of staff’s office in the Rotunda.” I waited. “Donner? Evacuate your troops. No, you heard me. Why? Because they’re not the enemy. I’ll fire on Lunapolis if I must. And on Earthport. But not on ground forces, however misguided. Oh? Perhaps you didn’t understand: that was an order.”

  I bore out his protests. He was a brave man, and stubborn.

  When at last he acquiesced I said, “You yourself may stay, if you care to give me a hand. Key into the outdoor public address system. Hurry, please. And aim your caller’s vidlens out the window. I want to see the troops I’m talking to. Feed picture and sound live, to whatever nets will run it.”

  We had more time than I’d supposed; it was a full half hour before the first patrols of the Thirteenth Armored Cavalry moved through the undefended gate. They held their laser rifles at the ready, moved cautiously, eyes searching the many windows above.

  I took a deep breath. These moments might be my last chance to brace my falling Government.

  “Soldiers of the Thirteenth!” Far below, my voice boomed over the Rotunda speakers. “I am the Secretary-General. Go no farther. By entering the U.N. compound, you war on God!”

  Three or four joeys exchanged nervous glances.

  “General Ibiera and General Taubeck are relieved of command. Go no farther, I say. You there! Sergeant, with your hand on the gate!” The man stopped as if struck. “As you value your soul, fall back! Through the gate, this instant!”

  Uneasy, he took a few steps back.

  “I have ordered General Donner’s troops to stand down. We will not shoot you this day. We will not defend the Rotunda with bullets or beams. We will defend it with the righteous wrath of Lord God.”

  For a moment, all was still.

  “The world watches your every move. Let the vengeance of humankind strike dead the first man to befoul t
hese precincts. Shoot any officer who orders you through those gates. It is treason, and abominable in His eyes. Shoot any officer who bids you fire on your fellow troops within the compound.

  “Soldiers of the United Nations, go to your homes. This revolt, this treason, is not of your making. It will collapse of its own weight. You need not die, or kill, for traitors’ greed.

  “This is Secretary-General Nicholas Seafort, wishing you the blessing of Lord God.”

  I keyed off my caller, held my breath.

  At the gates, no one moved.

  “You vile son of a bitch!” Admiral Hoi was livid. “Lieutenant Tse was my nephew. You goddamn murderer!”

  “They were armed rebels boarding a U.N. warship.”

  Arlene had summoned me to the bridge for Hoi’s call. I was tired, disheveled, and cross.

  “You’re the—” He bit it off. “How can I send the boy home to my sister? He looks like ... in two hours I open fire!” Our truce would be done.

  I said, “We’ve passengers aboard.”

  “That didn’t bother you before.”

  “Let me off-load them.”

  “No. I won’t let you anywhere near the Station.”

  I glanced at Arlene. “Why not?”

  “You’re too devious, and besides ...” He grimaced. “Too many of my officers know only your public image. They trust you. I won’t risk subversion.”

  Impasse.

  “Mr. Hoi, surrender now and I’ll spare your life.

  “Goofjuice. I have the upper hand. Two hours.” The screen went dark.

  I keyed the caller. “Engine Room, flank speed. Pilot, all power to the thrusters. Get us to Fusion safety. Lieutenant Sanders!”

  Arlene jumped. “Yes, sir? I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Sorry. Fusion coordinates for Titan. Have Mr. Pyle run calculations as well.” On my ships, Fusion coordinates were checked and rechecked. “Baron, you too.”

  Two hours, before we’d need their coordinates. I yearned to pace, but even in light gravity, I dared not move. When Dr. Ghenili saw me again, he would not be pleased.

  I’d told Jeff Thorne to make a very special call. I rolled my chair from one bulkhead to another, waiting for the response to come through. If I didn’t hear back within two hours, my plan would be stillborn.