Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)
Page 47
I was, frankly, glad to have him share my huge and luxurious cabin. He was a promise unkept, a debt unpaid, and, to boot, he was becoming a rather likable joey. A touch too casual about bathing, too quick with his temper, but ... each day, Alexi’s likeness was more pronounced. Several evenings, I’d made him sit and memorize a verse of the Old Testament, while I sipped at steaming tea. I wasn’t sure why. Did we all become our fathers, in the end?
In any event, Mikhael didn’t seem to mind. And his constant questions to Tad Anselm about a cadet’s life ... Well, if it came to that, ship’s stores included a set of grays.
And Anselm could use a companion, in the months I’d make him wait before I restored him to middy. Whatever Derek had said to him, in the intimacy of their private talk, his soul seemed refreshed. He went about his duties with renewed determination, yet, despite all, I caught an occasional wistful look, a silent plea for acknowledgment and praise that for once in my life I wasn’t loath to give.
Perhaps I had mellowed.
Perhaps age had made me softheaded.
The next passenger entered, escorted as always by a middy. “Hello, sir.”
“Edgar?” I shot up from my seat.
“Interesting place.” He looked about, made a show of examining the consoles. “They call it a bridge?”
“Tolliver, what in hell—what in the dev—” I gave up. “What are you doing here?”
“You ruined one vacation.” His tone was acerbic. “I’m not entitled to another?”
“Vacation? Nineteen months of—”
“I’m retired. My children are grown. What else should I—”
“Nonsense! Goofjuice!”
“All right, I knew you were aboard. I admit I rather enjoyed your brief summons to duty, at Lunapolis. And I thought in a quiet watch we could talk over old times.”
“Passengers aren’t allowed to visit the bridge.”
“Odd, then, that I’m standing on it. And surely even Captain Seafort is occasionally off watch.”
I glowered. “Who put you up to this?”
“Up to?” His eyes widened in innocent protest. “You suppose I’m not capable of—”
“Edgar ...” A warning in my tone.
“I gather I’m supposed to quake. I remind you I’m a civilian. Only Naval officers quiver in their boots.”
I rolled my eyes. His goading knew no bounds; it would be a hellish voyage. “Who did this to me? Donner? Jeff Thorne?”
“For you. Both of them.”
“You gave up a normal life to—”
“Why, Captain, isn’t your company tantamount to normal life?”
I glared.
Imperturbable, he met my gaze.
“Only as lieutenant,” I finally growled, quelling a contentment I would never admit. “A ship has but one Captain.”
“Hmm. You assume I’ll jump to reenlist. Now, if you add my seniority as Captain to my years as lieutenant—”
“You’ll be senior lieutenant. I know, I can read length of service pins.” I’d make it up to Lieutenant Cather, one way or another.
“At least I’d have charge of the barrel. I’ll be able to shield the middies from the worst of your tantrums.”
“Tolliver!”
“Yes, sir?” He raised his eyebrows. After a moment, “I suppose, if you insist, you’d better swear me in.”
A few moments later he left, accompanying Lieutenant Cather to orchestrate a hasty rearrangement of Level 1 cabins. I sat bemused, while we thrust toward Fusion safety.
All was well belowdecks; I’d insisted on Chief McAndrews in the engine room, and no other. Perhaps, somewhere, I’d find a tobaccoing apparatus such as his father had ignited in my distant past, and teach him the odd habit.
The ship’s many passengers would, from time to time, have to abide an abrupt reduction of gravity, as I made my inspections. And those who preferred full Terran gees could dine on Level 5. I’d had the forward gravitron set to one-third Terran. At my orders, Chief McAndrews would raise it an imperceptible fraction each day. Nineteen months to Constantine, nineteen months back. Eleven hundred fifty days; I had time for patience. Perhaps, just perhaps, Dr. Ghenili’s prognosis might be thwarted.
So. I stirred in my luxurious leather chair.
Does life come full circle? No, not really. But once in a while, if one is truly blessed ...
My smile faded. I was hardly that. Lord, I meant every word I said about hating You. I still do. You took Arlene and Derek, in a manner most contemptible. Don’t tell me You couldn’t have prevented it; I know better. I can’t forgive that, and never will.
I know, having renounced You and Your Church, I’m not supposed to talk to You. Do I even believe in You? Perhaps not. I promised I’d never speak to You again. I certainly don’t expect You to answer. I don’t even expect You to listen; I know I’m utterly damned. But as You no doubt know, I’m too old to change my ways. So, I find myself talking to You, now and then, with wary, reluctant respect. It’s all right. You don’t have to listen. I’ll just talk.
“We’re approaching Fusion safety, sir.” The Pilot.
“Kristen, Fusion coordinates for Constantine, please.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The puter’s response was prompt. She flashed the figures onto the simulscreen.
“Mr. Van Peer? You too, Rafael.” Obediently, the Pilot and the duty midshipman ran their duplicate calculations.
“Figures agree, sir, to six decimals.”
“Very well. Feed them to the puter.”
“Coordinates received and understood, Captain.” Kristen’s tone was cheerful.
“Thank you.” I thumbed the caller. “Engine Room, prepare to Fuse.”
“Prepare to Fuse, aye aye.”
I gazed with longing at Earth, receding in the screens.
Philip had visited, three days before launch.
He was more somber now, but with a hint of undiminished pain in his eyes. I’d embraced him, kissed him gently on both cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” I told him for the tenth time. “I could have saved her.”
“No. You forget I attended every session of the Board of Inquiry. I have their report on download.”
“If I’d only—”
“Fath, Mom wasn’t yours to save. She died doing what she thought right.”
“And Jared—”
“Don’t. Please!” He waved off my unspoken thought. “I’m not over that. I can’t—” A deep breath. “Sorry. I get emotional. But don’t imagine for a minute I think it was your fault.” He took a few breaths for calm. “You got the package?”
“It’s in cold storage.” A most carefully packed, sealed container from the Fairfield Fertility Clinic, containing what remained of Arlene on this earth. Dr. Janson would soon perform the implant into the young, healthy, extremely well paid woman in a cabin on Level 5, who’d contracted to be host mother.
I’d made a vow, one I’d keep. We would make a child, Arlene and I. I hadn’t yet chosen the sex, but I suspected we’d have a girl. She’d carry on for her mother. And in some small foolish way, I might atone. When she matured I might be past seventy, but, so what? I examined my newly unwrinkled face in the mirror. Damned if enzyme treatments didn’t actually work. And for the first time in years, my knee didn’t ache.
Still, hon, I’ll miss you so. Now and forever.
“We’re ready for Fuse, sir.”
“In a moment.”
In my cabin, Philip had smiled. “I have another gift. Open it when I’ve gone groundside.” He handed me a small box, rather heavy.
“Thank you, son. You’re sure you won’t come along?”
“I’ve work to do.” His eyes turned serious. “Andrus Bevin has been distracted, since Danil ...” He made a face. “And with your new legislation, we’re overwhelmed. You have no idea. Fath, what started out as your edict ... enviro restoration’s well and truly caught public imagination. New ideas keep popping up ... Bernili has a plan for reseeding the ozone, one that will
actually work. And the solar shield—even ski-lift stocks are rising! You did it, Fath. You remade the Earth.”
“You’ll do it. I only ordered it.”
His tone was sad. “The man who saved the oceans, the air, the fields ...” He stood, thrust hands in pockets, and said with anguish, “I’ll show you holos, but it won’t be the same. Why can’t you be allowed to see it?”
“I don’t deserve to.”
“Thou shalt see the land before thee; but thou shalt not go thither unto the land which I give the children of Israel.” His eyes glistened.
“Oh, son, I’m not Moses.”
“Aren’t you?” He pulled me into a fierce hug. “Good-bye, Fath. Come home safely.”
Now, three days later, on the bridge, I unwrapped Philip’s present.
“Oh, no.” I turned anguished eyes to Midshipman Speke. “Not this.”
“What, sir?”
Father’s old, worn Bible. The one from which I’d learned my lessons, at our rickety Cardiff table. In the corner, the teapot hissed gently. Father watched with dour approval.
Where on Earth did P.T. find it? I’d given it, with all Father’s things, to Annie, when I left her in Cardiff. She’d since died. Philip must have traced Eddie Boss, her husband, and retrieved it from him. I wondered if Eddie had known it would go to me.
I slipped open the Book, glanced at a passage.
Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
Hah. We’ll have to talk about that, You and I.
In the meantime, there was my ship. My boy Mikhael, and Tad. My daughter to be. My long exile, in a city in space.
And duty.
“Engine Room, are you ready?”
“Engine Room standing by.”
A last, long, wistful look at Earth. I slid my finger down the screen.
“Fuse!”
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1999 by David Feintuch
cover design by Michel Vrana
978-1-4532-9566-3
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