“How long, Kerren?” I spoke from the right side of my mouth.
His voice came from the speaker. “At least a minute for each six centimeters of skin area.”
“Please don’t talk, Captain; I’m trying to hold this steady.” Dakko’s voice was polite but firm. At the edge of my field of vision Philip indignantly opened his mouth to object, but I waved him silent. Our new seaman was correct, even if no sailor bred to the Navy would have dared suggest that his Captain keep his mouth shut.
When he was done, Walter anxiously inspected my face.
“Well?” I raised one eyebrow.
“You won’t be winning any beauty contests. Badly blistered. How does it feel?”
“Better.” I cleared my throat. “Much better.”
Outside the engine room, when the rush of adrenaline had subsided and I’d slumped against the corridor bulkhead, I’d become all too aware of the mounting pain that pulsed with every heartbeat. A few moments later Philip faded into a red haze while speaking. When I clawed my way out of my fog the middy and Walter Dakko were staring with unease. I managed, “You’d better help me to the sickbay,” each word a wave of agony in face and neck. On the ladder I held off the blackness by sheer act of will.
Tottering into the infirmary I rummaged through the medical supplies until I found the medipulse I’d seen Dr. Bros apply to a sailor whose hand was crushed. I didn’t know how to use it. “Ask Kerren,” I grated, part of me marveling how mundane my voice sounded. My legs didn’t seem to work properly; I’d had trouble getting onto the examining table.
Now, annoyed at my weakness, I put a tentative hand to my cheek. The skin felt blistered and raw. I could sense the light pressure of my fingers, but no lance of agony. “How long does it last, Kerren?”
The puter responded instantly, calm and polite as always. “Your nerves are deadened, Captain, and will remain so for some hours. Treatment indicated would be Compound Twelve burn salve applied gently to the affected area, and no bandage.”
“Very well.” I pointed to the stores cabinet. “It’s probably there.” Dakko searched through the drawer, emerged with the tube. I held still while he applied it. When he was finished I got tentatively to my feet, relieved that my legs supported me.
I crossed to the minor, peered at my visage. “Good God.” I’d have an ugly scar. Very nasty. I shrugged. A doctor could regrow the skin later, if I chose. If ever again I saw a doctor.
Now, what had I been doing when I broke off to go to sickbay? For a moment I was muddled. I’d guarded the armory, then rushed to the bridge. I recalled running down the ladder to the engine room to get Dray. No, it was after that; I’d gone back down with Philip and Dakko. I tried to focus. “Who’s watching the rebels in the engine room?”
“No one, sir,” Philip said uneasily. “We all came back with you.”
I snarled, “Must I tell you everything?” With an effort I restrained myself from losing control altogether.
Philip looked to the deck.
“The rebels have the engine room, but we don’t know they’ll stay there. If we let them out they could roam the ship!”
“Yes, sir. There’s the engine room hatch onto the corridor, and the engine room stores compartment, with its own hatch. One man couldn’t watch them both. Besides,” Philip added reasonably, “we didn’t reach the engine room in time to see if all of them got inside. If they had already split up ...”
The fact that he was right didn’t improve my temper. “Where the hell is Dray?”
Philip was startled. “In the corridor, sir. He was working on the armory hatch.”
“You left him alone? What if the rebels try again?” A spell of weakness slowed me as I made my way out to the corridor. I was near the end of my tether. I forced my pace to slow as I headed for the armory, though I felt an alarm akin to panic.
I’d brutalized Dray without mercy just a day ago, and left him thinking me quite insane. If he’d managed to cut through to the arms locker, no telling what he’d do. Take the arms and give them, to the rebels, perhaps. Or gun me down on sight.
My mouth tightened. So be it. I could do only so much. My pace lengthened; I strode around the bend in the corridor.
Dray had breached the hatch. He’d cut a hole big enough to crawl through, to the arms compartment. He’d squeezed in, taken a rifle and a handful of recharge packs. He waited stolidly until I approached, and saluted. “I thought it best to arm myself,” he said. “What with the armory open and all.”
I cleared my throat. “Very good, er, Chief,” My legs were weak with relief. “All right. Philip, you and Mr. Dakko go back to guarding the east and west ladders. I’ll send Mr. Attani to help you after a bit. Dray, you and Gregor carry all the arms and ammunition to the bridge. If we can’t hold that, we’re done for.”
An hour later I slumped in my accustomed chair watching the last of a surprising inventory of rifles, pistols, stunners, and ammunition being piled along the bridge bulkhead. The armory was empty.
What next? I now had a force of four I could trust: Philip, Dray, Attani, and Dakko. One man to hold the bridge, three to attack the engine room. How to get in, against armed resistance? I stared blearily at the deck. How late was it? Well past midnight. Again I perused the deck plates, jerked myself awake as my head dropped.
There was no more I could do tonight.
Wearily I got to my feet. I slung my arm through the rifle strap. “Dray, you’d best not go back below to Level 3. Sleep in a lieutenant’s cabin along the bridge corridor. Mr. Dakko, you should be below in crew berth one, but I need you and your rifle nearby, so you’ll sleep on Level 1 too. Use the second lieutenant’s cabin.
“Philip, take a rifle and a couple of charge packs. Go with Mr. Attani to an empty cabin and drag a couple of mattresses back while I hold the bridge. Gregor and I will bunk here tonight.”
“Aye aye, sir.” In the corridor, Philip pointed. “The third looey’s cabin and the Pilot’s, I think, Gregor. They’ll be the closest. Give you a glimpse of officer’s life,” he told the young sailor. They rounded the corridor bend. “This is what we—Oh, Lord Christ!”
“Philip?” No answer. I unslung my rifle, glanced to make sure it held a charge, and ran along the corridor. “Mr. Tyre!”
The middy sagged against the bulkhead, mouth working, eyes fastened on the grisly body of the deckhand I’d put to death.
Simmons lay in the corridor where he’d fallen, his shoulder and chest charred, blistered hand outstretched, fist clenched in lifeless agony. The eyes—I would remember them a long while. Dulled in death, still they held something that didn’t bear imagining. I stepped between Philip and the corpse, turned the boy’s shoulders to face the bulkhead.
“Chief! Mr. Dakko!” They came running at my call. “Find a blanket. Roll this—thing in it and put it out the forward airlock. Now!”
Dray grimaced, ducked into an empty cabin.
I handed Gregor my rifle. “You know how to use this? Cover them. Report back the moment you’re—”
“Aye aye, sir!” Attani strayed toward the ladder, caught himself, blushed.
“Steady, Mr. Attani.”
Dray emerged with a blanket. He and Walter Dakko knelt by the remains.
I led Philip from the ghastly scene. “You’re all right, Mr. Tyre. Take deep breaths. That’s right. Again.” I guided him to the wardroom, slapped open the hatch.
The tiny chamber was impersonally bare but for Philip’s duffel stowed neatly under a bunk. His few clothes hung in the minuscule closet. Normally four middies shared cramped bunks in such a compartment.
Philip Tyre stood docile like a small child. I felt awkward, unsure. I was his Captain, not a fellow middy; there was an unbridgeable gulf between us. Yet he was in need, and I knew not what to give.
“Get ready for bed, Philip.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Mechanically he began to strip off his clothes. Instead of tossing them carelessly on the chair as I’d done all too often, he hu
ng his jacket and pants with care, and creased them neatly on hangers before setting them in the closet.
As he fumbled at his shirt buttons, his eyes changed, his fingers became still. I could guess what image had returned, unbidden. I was ready to snap something harsh, recall him to reality, but instead I shut my mouth, stern words unspoken, and went to him, knowing there was wrong in any contact that diminished the distance between us. All the same, I felt compassion rather than guilt as I gently undid the buttons of his shirt. “Go to bed,” I said quietly.
Startled, he glanced up, young and trusting. “Aye aye, sir.” Turning, he steadied himself against the end table to remove his socks; past the seams of his undershorts I saw the red, angry welt I had put across his buttocks. I closed my eyes.
In his bunk he lay on his back, eyes rigid. Not knowing what else to do, I took the cover and tossed it across his still form. “Good night, Philip. You’ll feel better in the morning.” At the hatch, I switched off the light.
“Thank you, sir.” His tone was unsteady.
I flicked the light on.
Philip lay on his back, clutching the blanket. When my gaze met his he snapped his eyes shut, too late to hide the tear that trickled down his cheek. Reluctantly I approached his bunk. He blinked, tried several times to speak. Finally he whispered, “I’m afraid!” After, he couldn’t meet my eye.
I sat on the edge of the bed. “I know.”
“That man ... his face ...”
I tried not to recall the nightmares I’d suffered from other sightless eyes, long in the past. “It’s all right.”
“He looked at me, just before I—I shot him. He was raising his gun. For a split second he knew. That he was too late. What was going to happen.”
“It’s all right,” I said again, wishing I had words of comfort.
“And then he—sizzled! Oh, Jesus God!” He flung himself to the bulkhead.
My hand, as if on its own volition, stole to his shoulder. After a long moment he whispered, “I’m so frightened.”
Philip had done his duty. He’d have been killed if he hadn’t shot first; surely he knew that. I intended to say as much, but someone blurted in my voice, “So am I.”
He turned in wonder. “You?”
“Of course,” I snapped. “Don’t I have the right?”
“It’s ... I never thought you felt—sorry, it’s none of my business. Of course you have the right.”
“Then why don’t you?”
He lay still, thinking it over. After a time he offered a shy, tentative smile. “I’m sorry. I was foolish. I just tried to live up to what you expect.”
I said gruffly, “I don’t expect you to be more than human. It was horrible, what you had to do to that man. I don’t know how you could carry on. I might not have.” That was laying it on a bit thick, but he needed it. And deserved it, after what I’d done to him.
He looked puzzled. “I just put it in the back of my mind. There was work to do. I couldn’t afford to dwell on it.”
I could see him expand with pride. It took so little, I thought with sadness. I, the Captain, was as a god to a lowly midshipman. One word of anger could be devastating. And a word of praise ...
“You’ve done well, Middy. I’ll remember it.” Meaningless words. What could I give him? A decoration? A promotion that no one beyond the ship would ever see? “You’ll be able to sleep now,” I said, as if I knew. “In the morning I’ll need your help organizing the recruits. Good night.”
“Good night, sir.” This time his smile was less tentative. For some reason I didn’t understand I reached down, ruffled his hair. Abruptly I strode to the hatch, snapped off the light. I left without looking back.
Dray, Dakko and Gregor had rounded up the mattresses I’d ordered, and waited patiently outside the sealed bridge. I unsealed the hatch and we lugged in the bedding. Someone had found clean sheets and pillows as well. I thanked them, sent Dray and Dakko on their way, and sealed Gregor and myself onto the bridge. “Kerren, monitor the cameras and sound the alarms the moment anyone approaches. And wake me at eight.”
“Very well, Captain.”
I dimmed the lights and dropped onto my mattress with a sigh. Young Attani sat warily on the other bed, eyes carefully turned away. It was several long minutes before he lay down, facing away from me.
I lay on my back, arm over my eyes, waiting for sleep. My body felt drained, lethargic. While Gregor tossed and turned I marveled that I’d made it through the day, and wondered what horrors were still to come. I drowsed.
“Excuse me?”
My eyes opened. “Yes?”
“Could I ... I mean, would you let ... maybe ... oh, Christ!”
“Don’t blaspheme,” I said automatically. He didn’t answer. “What, Mr. Attani?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing, sir.”
I snapped, “You woke me for that?”
“I’m sorry.”
The silence hung between us.
“Tell me.”
A moment passed before his reluctant answer. “I know it’s stupid. I was going to ask if I could sleep downstairs. Below.”
“Why?”
No response.
I recalled another recruit, eons ago: Derek. I said gently, “You’ve never slept sharing a room?”
“I know it’s silly.” His voice was muffled. “But I thought, if I could go back downstairs ... Then I remembered I wouldn’t be in my own cabin. I’d be in the crew berth, with all the others.”
I lay back, finding it hard to sympathize. He was seventeen. No, eighteen; I’d been at his birthday party, strolling through the haughty crowd with Amanda. Those damned aristocrats; what kind of lives did they lead, sequestered in luxurious towers, isolated from ordinary human contact? I hadn’t known privacy after the age of thirteen, when Father brought me to Academy. I’d learned to tolerate the teeming dormitories at Farside, then the crowded midshipmen’s wardroom ...
Had it really been three years since I’d bunked in a wardroom? Abruptly I’d been catapulted to the splendid isolation of the Captain’s cabin. What loneliness I’d felt! Now, of course, I was used to it, and I could barely imagine myself coping with a wardroom’s enforced intimacy.
I cleared my throat. “I understand what you’re going through.” It wasn’t much.
“Thank you. Thank you, sir. I have to remember to say ‘sir.’ ”
“Yes, that’s expected. You’ll get used to it.” I sought some words of reassurance. “As you’ll get accustomed to the crew berth. It’s not as bad as you imagine.”
“Right.” We lay in silence. Then, to my astonishment, he began to cry. My surprise was tinged with exasperation. Had I triggered his response? And would I ever be allowed to sleep? I glanced at my watch; we weren’t far from morning.
“What now, Mr. Attani?” I chose his last name, to put distance between us and to remind him of his status.
He drew in a ragged breath. “I’m feeling sorry for myself.” His honesty was painful. “And I’m ashamed.”
“Why?”
“Do you know why I’m on Challenger?” I was silent. “I hated you and leaped at the chance to escape. And then they told us the fusion drive was wrecked ... so I’d just made my situation worse. I was stuck with you, perhaps for the rest of my life. And I’ve watched you trying so hard to be fair, and being so kind ...”
“Kind?” I echoed, incredulous.
“To Mr. Tyre. The way you put yourself between him and the sailor’s body. Your voice. And to the others. Even to me. I’ve misjudged you so badly.”
“You’re overwrought,” I muttered. “It’s been a frightful day. I’m not as kind as you think.”
“I’ll shut up, if that’s what you want. But I know when I’ve made a fool of myself.”
His dogged integrity brought a sting to my eyes. I groped for a way to reassure him. I was failing with him, as I’d failed with Philip. A thought flashed: Philip and Gregor ...
I cleared my throat. “Very well,
perhaps you misjudged me. And I’ve misjudged you. I was wrong to enlist you as a sailor.”
“Sir?” His voice was unsteady.
“Regardless of what you think, you’re fit for the wardroom. I’m making you a midshipman cadet. Don’t worry much about hazing. We don’t have time for that.”
“But I—”
“It’s not your decision, Mr. Attani, it’s mine. I’m impressing you as an officer rather than as a seaman.”
There was a long silence. “But why, sir?”
“You’ll be more help to me that way. That’s all you need to know.”
A contemplative pause. “Yes, sir.”
I rolled over to sleep. Then I relented. “Because you deserve it. You’ll make a good officer. Once we knock the haughty insolence out of you, that is.”
“I will?”
“Yes.” I don’t know if I said the word aloud as I tumbled into black, dreamless sleep.
13
“ARE YOU SURE, SIR?” Philip bit his lip and looked at me doubtfully. “I mean—before when I—had the wardroom ... I didn’t do very well.” He reddened.
“You’ve changed. I’m certain I can trust you.” I spoke with assurance I was almost sure I felt.
“He’s rather old to start as a cadet.” Realizing it sounded like criticism he rushed on, “I’ll be very careful, sir. Not to hurt him. I’ll get him settled this afternoon. And it’ll ...” He blushed. “It will be nice to have company.”
“Yes.” I knew the closeness the experience would engender, and wistfully wished I could share it. Then I brushed away the foolishness.
It was midmorning and I felt somewhat refreshed despite my pitifully few hours of sleep. Nonetheless, my inflamed cheek ached miserably. I’d have to stop at the infirmary when I had a moment.
I’d sent Philip and Chief Dray below, heavily armed, to release the crew from their berth and escort them back to Level 1. They’d encountered no rebels. The engine room hatch was still blocked.
Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 25