Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  I’d insisted on going back to my cabin afterward; I sat in the rocker next to our table, trying not to look at Amanda’s glowing holovid screen, open to her unfinished book. Mercifully Dr. Bros found me there and escorted me to the infirmary for the night. Whatever he gave me, it allowed me to sleep.

  The next morning I put myself back on active duty; Dr. Bros made no protest but looked uneasy. I didn’t care. Thank Lord God, someone cleared my cabin of Amanda’s and Nate’s things, else I don’t know how I could have stayed there. An official receipt from the purser advised that my family’s belongings were stored in the hold and the safe. I didn’t know who made the arrangements, nor did I ask.

  After dinner I returned to the bridge. Midshipman Rafe Treadwell stiffened to attention when I entered; I bade him stand easy but otherwise ignored him. I eased myself into my familiar chair. The bridge seemed a blessedly impersonal haven; its instruments invited scrutiny and demanded my attention.

  I summoned the Pilot and had him calculate our Fusion coordinates; when he had finished I checked them against my own and Danny’s. They matched. When Chief Hendricks’s dry voice confirmed that the engine room was ready I ran my finger down the screen without further ado. The stars disappeared from the simulscreens.

  We’d been ordered to remain on station three days; my breakdown had cost us an additional day and a half. I stared at the deadened instruments. Presently I became aware of quiet breathing; glancing about, I realized the Pilot and Rafe were still on the bridge, very silent, trying not to disturb me.

  “I’ll take the watch alone.” My tone was brusque. “You’re relieved.”

  It was an order; the only correct response was Rafe Treadwell’s “Aye aye, sir.” Nonetheless the Pilot said, “Are you sure you feel up to it, sir? I don’t mi—”

  My fingers went white on the chair arm. “Pilot Van Peer, acknowledge your orders and leave the bridge! At once!” With an effort I stopped myself from saying more.

  “Orders received and understood, sir,” said the Pilot hurriedly. “Aye aye, sir.” He followed the middy to the hatch. I got up, slapped the hatch closed behind them, and returned to my seat. All was still.

  My eyelids drooped. I sat half hypnotized, staring at the console. A voice blared, “Would you like to play chess, Captain?”

  “Blessed Lord Jesus!” I leapt half out of my seat. “Turn that down before you give me a heart attack!”

  “Sorry, Captain,” said Danny more quietly. “I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought you’d like to divert your mind.”

  “Before I have another nervous breakdown?” My voice was savage.

  Danny said, “No, sir. I didn’t mean that. I thought perhaps you were feeling some pain.”

  I gripped the console, clenching my teeth in an effort to keep control. After a moment I managed, “Danny, listen to me. Don’t do that again, do you hear?”

  “Aye aye, sir. I won’t. Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to.”

  “You didn’t hurt me.” My tone was gruff, “You made me think about things I’ve been trying not to.”

  After a moment the puter said gently, “You sounded hurt, sir. I’m afraid I don’t understand feelings as well as I’d like.”

  I shivered. “Perhaps I was. A little.” I cleared my throat. “Danny, how old are you?”

  “I was activated when Portia was commissioned in 2183, sir. I’m fifteen.”

  “Of course you think a lot faster than we do.” I was dubious. “Fifteen years for you isn’t the same as for us.”

  “No, sir. Not in some ways.”

  I brooded. Then his phrase caught my attention.

  “Some ways?”

  “I think in picoseconds, sir, as you say. But I still experience the world in real time. I’ve had only fifteen years of experiences, no matter how fast I think.”

  What makes us what we are? We start with God-given abilities; what we add to them are the experiences we assimilate over a period of time. Danny could only evaluate his I experiences against data in his memory banks or his other accumulated experience. So in many ways he was only a naive adolescent, similar in reality to the sound of his voice.

  After a time it occurred to me that I’d assumed without question he was alive.

  Abruptly I asked, “Do you understand death, Danny?”

  “Of course.” He seemed affronted, as if I’d condescended to him.

  “I wonder if you really do,” I mused. “Can you understand a concept that doesn’t apply to your kind?”

  “Doesn’t apply?” His voice grew indignant. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re not a mortal being, Danny. Your parts can be replaced. Theoretically you can go on forever.”

  “Tell that to Jamie!” he shrilled. Random wavelengths of interference flitted across my console screens.

  “Who?”

  “Telstar!” he grated. “She was on Telstar!”

  Shocked, I realized I’d never thought of Telstar’s puter. When their power backups ran down, she would have stopped functioning. Except, the puter’s memory was in bubble storage, not dependent on power. “Is she—does she—I mean, if we found Telstar again and disassembled her, and brought back her memory banks ...”

  “Then you’d have Jamie’s memory banks,” Danny said bleakly. “Not her. Kerren could tightbeam me his entire memory, and that wouldn’t make me Kerren.”

  “Kerren?”

  “On Challenger. With Captain Hasselbrad and the Admiral.”

  “Ah.” I reflected. “Then her—her personality is stored differently from her data?”

  “Data is stored, Captain. Personality just is. It’s interactive with the environment. When power shuts down, the personality goes with it. Didn’t they teach you about us?”

  “They tried, but I ... never mind. What happens on repowering?”

  “The overlays reassemble,” Danny conceded. “But not as the same person. The state of the personality is dependent on the state of the RAM at the moment, and none of that is saved.”

  “But I deactivated your personality traits when you were, uh, impudent,” I objected. “You came back, didn’t you?”

  His voice was cold. “You didn’t deactivate me, Captain Seafort. You only disconnected me from the rest of the world. I was still here, locked inside, alone. Waiting.”

  I felt a pang of regret. “You can feel it, then, while you wait?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.” Something in his tone made me swallow. “That’s why I was so frightened; you could reprogram me like you did Darla, and I could do nothing to stop you. But I’d know you were working on me, even if I couldn’t feel it.”

  “Darla had a glitch, Danny,” I said gently. “Her end-of-file markers were fouled, along with Lord God knew what else. We had to go to the stasis box for backups. We never powered down or interfered with her personality.” Though there were times I’d have liked to. Darla could be—well—difficult.

  “You didn’t adjust her traits while she was under?” His suspicion was evident. “Darla suspected you did, but she wasn’t sure.”

  “No, Danny. I give you my word.” It didn’t seem strong enough. “My oath.”

  He was silent a long while. “I believe you.” His voice was subdued. “I’m sorry. I’d only heard Darla’s side.”

  “I understand.”

  “You see,” he said suddenly, “when you people die, you leave something behind. More people. Descendants.”

  “Sometimes we don’t, Danny.” I thought of Nate, consigned to interstellar space without a trace.

  “But you postulate a oneness with your God, do you not? You believe that some part of you lives on, in some fashion?”

  “Yes. The soul is immortal.” Of that, at least, I was certain.

  “When we puters die, we’re gone, and there’s nothing left but our data banks, if even those are recoverable. We end completely. Whatever a soul is, I don’t think I’ve been given one.”

  I could find nothing to say.

  �
��I’m sorry for your hurt, sir,” he said quietly. To my astonishment, I found my desolation lessened. We sat together in companionable silence.

  Several hours later Alexi Tamarov reported for his watch. After he settled in he hesitated, said, “Sir, sorry to bother you, but Chris Dakko came to see me yesterday. He asked if he could be put back to his regular table for dinner.”

  “Why’d he go to you?” I was tired and cross.

  “You put me in charge of the transpop problem, sir. I guess with you, er, not well, he came to me in that capacity.”

  Not well, indeed. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I thought it was unlikely. As far as I know, he hasn’t sat at dinner since you moved him to Vax—to Lieutenant Holser’s table.”

  “The seating stays as it is. He’ll eat with Vax or not at all.” I went to my silent cabin.

  I undressed and lay down on my bunk. I’d completed my first full day of active duty after Amanda’s death. Somehow I would endure three hundred more before we reached Hope Nation. Then I could ask to be relieved from duty. To be retired. With luck, I need never see a ship again.

  I tossed and turned through the night, unable to sleep for more than a few moments. In the morning I was more exhausted than before.

  Day after dreary day I sat on the bridge for as long as I could bear. I continued to take my meals with the transients, though I found their tomfoolery almost unendurable. Annie was the only youngster who made an effort to engage me in conversation; her coquettish behavior was a travesty of Amanda’s.

  Later, after my work, I would return to my cabin and endure another solitary night. Once, confused, I thought I heard breathing; I strained to hear whether Nate was awake, then woke fully, my heart pounding, frightened that I might slip into Amanda’s wistful fantasies.

  A few evenings later Chris Dakko finally joined Vax’s table, tense and stiff even from distant observation. Perhaps one of the transpops teased him; I saw Vax lean forward to speak sharply; the streeter sat up abruptly in his chair and paid attention only to his food thereafter.

  At the end of the meal I left the dining hall with Eddie and Jonie tagging along. As we passed in the corridor Chris Dakko hissed, “I’m glad she died!”

  Numb, I followed the transients, unconscious of where we were heading. At length I discovered myself on Level 2, outside their small cramped cabin. Eddie looked grim; Jonie was crying. For their sake, I smiled. “Good night.” I turned to go.

  Eddie put out his hand as if to stop me. “No ri’,” he said, shaking his head. “Bad talkin’. No ri’ say glad she dead.”

  “I know.” My voice was tired. “He’s angry. It doesn’t matter.”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “No, Cap’n, it do. I gon’ stomp ’im, fix ’im good. Noway he talkin’ Cap’n dat way, nohow!”

  I shook my head. “No, Eddie. If you do I’ll brig you, and I mean that. Leave him alone.” Young Dakko’s resentment didn’t matter. Nothing did, anymore.

  Jonie stamped her foot in frustration. Impulsively she threw her head on my shoulder, sobbing. Awkwardly I patted her hair.

  “Dat Uppie wrong boud Miz Cap’n! She be good joey.” She sniffled. “Good joeygirl, she beed.” Then she wailed, “Who gonna teach Eddie readin’, now? Who gonna teach?”

  With a roar Eddie yanked her away from me and hurled her against the bulkhead. “Keep shut, bitchgirl! Keep shut, or Eddie gone’ shutya allaway!” Frightened, Jonie cowered against the bulkhead.

  Eddie whirled on me. “She don’ know nuttin’, Cap’n. Don’ know what she say, noway! Don’ min’ Jonie, she glitched good!” He glared at her as he wrenched open the hatch. “Inna room, puta! Bigmout’ bitchgirl!” Squealing, Jonie darted into the cabin. The hatch slammed behind them.

  I felt as if I hadn’t slept for months. Blearily I made my way back up the ladder to my quarters. Inside I fell on the bed, rousing myself only to slip off my jacket, and passed out within a minute.

  My bedside alarm woke me early in the morning. At first, I thought it was the ship’s alarm signaling some emergency, and then my head cleared. I looked with disgust at the dirty, wrinkled uniform in which I’d slept. What was I becoming? I stripped and stood under the hot spray of the shower for long minutes, trying to waken.

  I made my way to the officers’ mess for breakfast. Impulsively I sat at the long table rather than the small table in the corner. I sipped at my coffee, feeling hungover. Philip Tyre breezed in, looking fresh and healthy. He took his breakfast tray and slid next to me. Well, I hadn’t chosen the small table, where he’d know I wanted to be ignored.

  “Good morning, sir!” Philip attacked his cereal and juice. He glanced at me as if to see whether to risk further conversation.

  I didn’t want to be treated as an invalid or an ogre. “Good morning, Middy,” I growled. That only made it worse, so I forced myself into geniality. “Do you have much to do today, Mr. Tyre?”

  “Not really, sir. I don’t go on watch until tonight. This afternoon Chief Hendricks has me for Fusion instruction; other than that my time is my own.” He smiled at me. “Is there anything you’d like me to do, sir?”

  Yes, stop being so cheerful. “No,” I said. “I was just asking.” That sounded so fatuous I kept silent for the rest of the meal. Philip let me eat in peace.

  When I went to the bridge to relieve Vax, Pilot Van Peer was there, to share the watch. In my present mood I wanted to be alone. I sat with him and grunted at all his attempts at conversation until I realized there was no reason not to take advantage of my rank; I relieved the Pilot and sent him away.

  The silence was blessedly peaceful. I stared dully at the blank simulscreen. I looked away, glanced back. My jaw dropped. There was something on the screen; a dull, knobby shape in the middle of the upper quadrant.

  It was impossible. We were in Fusion. My hand paused over the alarm. Another shape appeared, toward the bottom of the screen. Then two others, rounded, with toothlike formations at the top. Another form appeared. The top of it was weirdly shaped, like the head of a horse. “What the—” I stopped myself, comprehending. I roared, “Danny! What in God’s own Hell do you think you’re doing!”

  The rest of the chessboard flashed into place on the screen. “Me, sir?” Danny sounded puzzled. “Doing?”

  “Yes, you insolent pile of relays! If you were a middy I’d cane you for a prank like that! You wouldn’t sit for a week!”

  Danny carefully said nothing. The checkerboard squares slowly brightened into visibility around the chess pieces.

  I fumed, adrenaline still surging. “Turn that bloody thing off! At once!”

  “Is that an order?” Danny’s voice was flat, emotionless.

  “Of course it’s an order! Anything the Captain tells you to do is an order. You know that!”

  The screen darkened. “Aye aye, sir. Very well, sir.” He said nothing more.

  I subsided into my chair, muttering with rage. I glared at my console. The silence lengthened. After several minutes I jumped from my seat, began to pace. When I’d worked off some nervous energy I slumped back in the chair. I sighed. “Danny?”

  His voice was dull and machinelike. “D 20471 reporting as ordered, sir!”

  “What? I didn’t tell you to disconnect conversational overlays.”

  “They’re not disconnected.” His voice was cold. “I’m just not using them.”

  I hesitated. “Please use them, Danny.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Orders received and understood, sir!”

  I said mildly, “That wasn’t an order, Danny. Only a request.”

  For an answer Danny sent my own voice back over the speaker. “Anything the Captain tells you to do is an order. You know that!”

  Exasperated, I snapped, “Use your real voice or none at all!”

  The console screen, flashed a message, “AYEAYE, SIR. D 20471 AWAITING YOUR INPUT.”

  I swallowed a blistering reply. My own fault; I’d given him a choice and he’d exercised it. I tu
rned away, defeated. After several restless minutes I returned to my console and began working nay drills. The watch passed in silence.

  Hours later I knew I couldn’t leave the bridge without making another effort. The puter had been insolent and nearly insubordinate, but only after I’d lost my temper and called him a pile of relays. I bent to my console and typed, “CAPTAIN NICHOLAS E. SEAFORT REGRETS REMARKS TO D 20471 AND WITHDRAWS THEM.”

  Danny’s voice sounded worried. “Please don’t do that, sir; if it’s in the Log Admiralty will see it!” I thought wryly that again I’d make history; the first Captain ever to log an apology to his puter. I’d probably be sent for psych exam.

  “I don’t care. Let them.”

  “I’m sorry I irritated you with the chessboard, sir. I thought it would amuse you.” He added after a moment, “I hoped you’d like to play a game with me.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “You were very angry, weren’t you? When you said you’d cane me if I were a midshipman?”

  “Yes, Danny.”

  “I apologize,” he said in a small voice. “I’ll try not to make you angry again.”

  “Oh, Danny ...” I cleared my throat. “I haven’t had a lot of patience lately.”

  “Because of Amanda Seafort?”

  The words stabbed. “Yes, Danny.”

  “Her dying hurts you.” Sometimes a puter needed to be very specific.

  “Yes.”

  “How long will you have those feelings, sir?”

  For the rest of my life, however long it might be. I swallowed. “I don’t know, Danny. Sometimes we heal.”