Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

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  Midshipman’s Hope

  The Seafort Saga, Book One

  David Feintuch

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF DAVID FEINTUCH

  THE SEAFORT SAGA

  “A delightful book, intelligent and carefully written. Discerning SF readers will devour it and wait impatiently for its other volumes to appear. Feintuch’s book, depicting a stellar navy of exacting brutality and devotion to duty, possesses much the same flavor as C. S. Forester’s Hornblower novels. Hornblower fans will probably toast Feintuch in their wardrooms.”—The Washington Post Book World on Midshipman’s Hope

  “Science fiction fans who love exciting action and adventure shouldn’t miss [it].”—Lansing State Journal

  “An excellent entertainment.”—Analog Science Fiction and Fact

  “Wonderful reading and nonstop enjoyment.”—Raymond E. Feist, author of the Riftwar Cycle

  “An excellent job of transferring Hornblower to interstellar space. Plot, characters, and action make this a thoroughly enjoyable read.”—David Drake, author of the Hammer’s Slammers series

  THE RODRIGO OF CALEDON SERIES

  “This complex, unconventional fantasy is a strong recommendation for Feintuch’s skill as a novelist. Readers who may have let a distaste for military SF prevent them from checking out Feintuch’s work should reconsider; this is an interesting writer who isn’t afraid to take risks.”—Asimov’s Science Fiction

  “Popular SF author Feintuch (The Seafort Saga) makes his fantasy debut with this adept tale of sword and sorcery . . . Compelling and charged with plenty of action.”—Publishers Weekly

  To Ragtime Rick of Toledo, and Ardath Mayhar, who made it possible, and to Jettie, who makes it worthwhile.

  Contents

  Part I

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  Part II

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  Epilogue

  Midshipman’s Hope

  Being the first voyage of Nicholas Seafort, U.N.N.S., in the year of our Lord 2194

  PART I

  October 12, in the year of our Lord 2194

  1

  “STAND TO!” I ROARED, but I was too late; even as Alexi and Sandy snapped to attention, Hibernia’s two senior lieutenants strolled around the corridor bend.

  We froze in stunned tableau: I, the senior midshipman, red with rage; a portly passenger, Mrs. Donhauser, jaw agape at the blob of shaving cream on her tunic; my two middies stiffened against the bulkhead, eyes locked front, towels and canisters still clutched in their hands; Lieutenants Cousins and Dagalow, dumbfounded that middies could be caught cavorting in the corridors of a U.N.N.S. starship, even one still moored at Ganymede Orbiting Station.

  If only I’d come down from the bridge a few seconds sooner I’d have been in time, but I’d been helping Ms. Dagalow enter the last of our new stores into the puter’s manifests.

  Lieutenant Cousins was curt. “You too, Mr. Seafort. Against the bulkhead.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” I stiffened to attention, eyes front, furious at my betrayal by a friend whose sense I’d thought I could trust.

  Alexi Tamarov, the sweating middy at my side, was sixteen and third in seniority. When I’d first reported aboard, he’d considered challenging me but hadn’t, and we’d since become comrades. Now his antics with Sandy had gotten us all in hot water.

  Across the gleaming corridor Ms. Dagalow’s eye betrayed a glint of humor as she pried the canister of shaving cream from Sandy Wilsky’s reluctant fingers. She passed it to Lieutenant Cousins. Once again, I wished she were the senior lieutenant; Mr. Cousins seemed to take undue pleasure in the ship’s discipline he dispensed.

  Lieutenant Cousins snapped, “Yours, middy? Are you old enough to use it?” From close observation during the five weeks since I’d joined Hibernia at Earthport Station, I knew that at fourteen Sandy had not yet made the acquaintance of a razor. That meant he had, um, borrowed it. From me, perhaps. At seventeen, I was known to shave, if rarely.

  “No, sir.” Sandy had no choice but to answer. “It’s Mr. Holser’s.” I bit my lip. Lord God, that was all this fiasco needed: trouble with Midshipman Vax Holser.

  Vax, almost nineteen, resented me and didn’t care if it showed, for he’d missed being first middy by only a few weeks. He was full-grown, shaved daily, and worked out with weights. His surly manner and ominous strength encouraged us all to give him a wide berth.

  Lieutenant Cousins nodded to Mrs. Donhauser, whose outrage had subsided into wry amusement. “Madam, my sincere apologies. I assure you these children”—he spat out the word with venom—“will not trouble you again.” His look of suppressed fury did not bode well.

  “No harm done,” Mrs. Donhauser said peaceably. “They were just playing—”

  “Is that what you call it?” Mr. Cousins’s grip tightened on the canister. “Officers in a Naval starship, chasing each other with shaving soap!”

  Mrs. Donhauser was unfazed. “I won’t tell you your duty, Lieutenant. But I will make it clear that I was not harmed and have no grievance. Good day.” With that she turned on her heel toward the passenger cabins, presumably to change her tunic.

  For a moment Lieutenant Cousins was speechless. Then he rounded on us. “You’re the sorriest joeys I’ve ever seen! A seventeen-month cruise to Hope Nation, and I have to sail with you!”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s my responsibility.”

  “At least you know that much.” Cousins’s tone was acid. “Is this how you run your wardroom, Mr. Seafort?”

  “No, sir.” I wasn’t sure it was the right response. Perhaps my amiable manner encouraged Sandy and Alexi to step out of line. Certainly they would never have done so under Vax Holser’s tutelage.

  “I expect stupidity from these young dolts, but it’s your job to control them! What if the Captain had come along?”

  Lord God forbid. If they’d squirted Captain Haag rather than Mrs. Donhauser, Alexi and Sandy would see the barrel, if not the brig. For good measure, the Captain might break me all the way down to ship’s boy. Mr. Cousins was right. I could think of no way to placate him, so I said nothing.

  It was a mistake. “Answer me, you insolent pup!”

  To my surprise, Lieutenant Dagalow intervened. “Mr. Cousins, Nick was on watch. He couldn’t have known—”

  “It’s his job to keep his juniors in line!”

  I did, when I was present. What more could I do?

  For some reason Ms. Dagalow persisted. “But they’re young, we’re moored to Ganymede Station, they were just letting off steam ...”

  “Lisa, take your nose out of the puter long enough to remember the rest of your job. We have to teach them to act like adults!” From another officer it might have been a blistering rebuke, but Mr. Cousins’s acid manner was well known to all, and she took no notice.

  “They’ll learn.”

  “When our shaving cream runs out?” Cousins glared at us with withering contempt before tu
rning back to Ms. Dagalow. “Consider that by the end of the cruise at least some of them should be fit to be officers. I grant you, it’s unlikely any of these fools will ever make lieutenant. But what if one of us is transferred out at Hope Nation? Do you want silly boys standing watch, fresh from shaving cream fights?”

  “We’ve time to teach them. Nick will issue ample demerits.” I certainly would. Each demerit would have to be worked off by two hours of hard calisthenics. They’d keep Alexi and Sandy out of trouble for a while.

  Lieutenant Cousins’s voice grew cold. “Will he?” A chill of foreboding crept down my rigid spine. “Nicky should never have been senior, we all know that,” Even Lieutenant Dagalow frowned at the blatant undercutting of my authority, but Mr. Cousins was oblivious. “He’ll wag his finger at them, as always.” That wasn’t fair; I’d kept wardroom matters from the attention of the other officers, as was expected. Except this once.

  “Will you cane the two of them, then? After all, it’s a wardroom affair.”

  “No, I’ll let Nicky handle them.” From the corner of my eye I saw Alexi’s shoulders slump with relief. Then Mr. Cousins added sweetly, “But perhaps I can teach Mr. Seafort more diligence.” He sauntered toward his cabin. “Come along, middy.”

  A half hour later I stood outside our wardroom, jaw aching from my failed effort not to cry out, eyes burning from the stinging pain and mortifying humiliation Mr. Cousins had inflicted across the hated barrel.

  I slapped open the hatch. Inside the cramped compartment Sandy and Alexi, on their beds, dared say nothing. I crossed slowly to my bunk, stripped off my jacket and laid it on the chair. With care, I eased myself onto my bed.

  After a time Alexi said quietly, “Mr. Seafort, I’m sorry. Truly.” As was the custom, Alexi called me by my surname even within our wardroom. After all, I was senior middy. Only Vax Holser had the resources to ignore that tradition and get away with it.

  I fought down a smoldering rage; it should have been Alexi who was caned, not I. “Thank you.” My thighs smarted with exquisite agony. “You should have known better, both of you.”

  “I know, Mr. Seafort.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to will away the pain. At Academy, sometimes, it worked. “Who started it?”

  “I did,” they said in unison.

  My fingers throttled the pillow. “Sandy, you first.”

  “We were in the head, washing up. Alexi splashed me. I splashed back.” He glanced up, saw my face, gulped.

  Skylarking, like cadets at Academy. “Go on.”

  “After he flicked me with a towel I grabbed the shaving cream. He chased me so I ran outside, and I was squirting him when Mrs. Donhauser came out of the lounge.” I said nothing. After a moment he blurted, “Mr. Seafort, I’m sorry I got you into troub—”

  “I’ll make you sorrier!” I sat up, thought better of it, eased myself back on my bunk. “No officer would look into the middy’s head to see how you behave. But running out into the corridor ... Mr. Cousins is right; you are dolts.”

  Alexi flushed; Sandy studied his fingernails.

  Angry as I was, I wasn’t surprised that they’d frolicked like the boys they were. What else could be expected, even on a starship? One had to go to space young to spend life as a sailor, else the risk of melanoma T was too great. Unfortunately, aboard such an immense and valuable vessel as Hibernia, there was no room for youngsters’ folly.

  I growled, “Four demerits apiece, for letting your foolishness get out of hand.” Severe, but Mr. Cousins would have given much worse, and my buttocks stung like fire. “I’ll write it as improper hygiene. Alexi, two extra for you.”

  “But I started it!” Sandy’s protest was from the heart.

  “You ran into the corridor, which should have ended it. Mr. Tamarov chose to follow. Alexi, how many does that give you?”

  “Nine, Mr. Seafort.” He was pale.

  I growled, “Work them off fast, because I’m in no mood to overlook any offense.” Ten would earn him a caning, like I’d just been given; Alexi would have to be vigilant while he worked down his demerits. “Start now; you have two hours before lunch.”

  “Aye aye, Mr. Seafort.” They scrambled out of their bunks. In a moment they’d slipped on shoes and jackets and departed for the exercise room, leaving me the solitude I’d sought. I rolled onto my stomach and surrendered to my misery.

  “It’s time, Mr. Seafort.” Alexi Tamarov jolted me from my fretful dream, from Father’s bleak kitchen, the creaky chair, the physics text I’d struggled to master under Father’s watchful eye.

  I shoved away Alexi’s persistent hand. “We don’t cast off ’til midwatch.” Groggy, I blinked myself awake.

  From the hatchway, Vax Holser watched with a sardonic grin. “Let him sleep, Tamarov. Lieutenant Malstrom won’t mind if he’s late.”

  I surged out of my bunk in dizzy confusion. Reporting late to duty station would be a matter for Mr. Cousins, and after the incident two days prior, Lord God help me if I called his attention anew. I glanced at my watch. I’d slept six hours!

  In frantic haste I snatched my blue jacket from the chair, thrust my arms into my sleeves as I polished the tip of a shoe against the back of my trouser leg.

  “Why do we bother waking you?” Vax sounded disgusted. I didn’t answer; he left for his duty station in the comm room, Sandy Wilsky tagging behind him.

  “Thanks, Alexi,” I muttered, and nearly collided with him in the hatchway. I scrambled into the circumference corridor and ran past the east ladder, smoothing my hair and tugging at my tie as I rounded the bend to the airlock. I’d barely reached my station when Captain Haag’s voice echoed through the speaker.

  “Uncouple mooring lines!”

  Lieutenant Malstrom returned my salute in offhand fashion, his eye on the suited sailor untying our forward safety line from the shoreside stanchion.

  “Line secured, sir,” the seaman said, and by the book I repeated it to Mr. Malstrom as if he hadn’t heard. The lieutenant waved me permission to proceed.

  “Close inner lock, Mr. Howard. Prepare for breakaway.” I tried for the tone of authority that came so naturally to Hibernia’s lieutenants.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Seaman Howard keyed the control; the thick transplex hatches slid shut smoothly, joining in the center to form a tight seal.

  Lieutenant Malstrom opened a compartment, slid a lever downward. From within the airlock, a brief hum, and a click. He signaled the bridge. “Forward inner lock sealed, sir. Capture latches disengaged.”

  “Very well, Mr. Malstrom.” Captain Haag’s normally gruff voice sounded detached through the caller. The ship’s whistle blew three short blasts. After a moment the Captain’s remote voice sounded again. “Cast off!”

  Our duties performed, Lieutenant Malstrom and I had little to do but watch while our side thrusters alternately released tiny jets of propellant in quick spurts, rocking us gently. Our airlock suckers parted reluctantly from their counterparts on the station lock. U.N.S. Hibernia slowly drifted free of Ganymede Station. When we were clear by about ten meters I glanced up at Lieutenant Malstrom. “Shall we secure, sir?” He nodded.

  I gave the order. The alumalloy outer hatches slid shut, barring our view of the receding station. Lieutenant Malstrom keyed our caller. “Forward hatch secured, sir.”

  “Secured; very well.” The Captain seemed preoccupied, as well he might. On the bridge he and the Pilot would be readying Hibernia for Fusion. I felt a bit queasy as our weight diminished. We were slowly losing the benefits of the station’s gravitrons, and the Captain hadn’t yet brought our own on-line.

  We waited in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. “Say good-bye, Nicky.” Lieutenant Malstrom’s tone was soft.

  “I already did, sir, back in Lunapolis.” I would miss Cardiff, of course, and aloft, the familiar warrens of Lunapolis. I would even miss Farside Academy, where I’d trained as a cadet three years ago. But Ganymede Station was another matter. It had been over a month since I
’d cried out my regrets in an unnoticed corner of a service bar in down-under Lunapolis, and by now I was long ready.

  The fusion drive kicked in. In the rounded porthole the stars shifted red, then blue. As the drive reached full strength they slowly faded to black.

  We were Fused.

  External sensors blind, Hibernia hurtled out of the Solar System on the crest of the N-wave generated by our drive.

  “All hands, stand down from launch stations.” The Captain’s voice seemed husky.

  I locked Seaman Howard’s transmitter in the airlock safe.

  “Chess, Nick?” Lieutenant Malstrom asked when the sailor had departed.

  “Sure, sir.” We headed up-corridor to officers’ country. In the lieutenant’s bleak cabin, a windowless gray cubicle four meters square and two and a half meters high, Mr. Malstrom tossed the chessboard onto his bunk. I sat on the gray navy blanket at the foot of the bed; he settled by the starched white pillow at the head.

  “I’m going to learn to beat you,” he said, setting up the pieces. “Something I can concentrate on besides ship’s routine.” I smiled politely. I had no intention of letting him win; chess was one of my few accomplishments. At home in Cardiff I had been semifinalist in my age group, before Father brought me to Academy at thirteen.

  We played the half-minute rule, loosely enforced. In the weeks since Hibernia had left Earthport Station I’d won twenty-three times, he had won twice. This time it took me twenty-five moves. As was our habit we shook hands gravely after the game.

  “When we get back from Hope Nation I’ll be thirty-five.” He sighed, perhaps a trifle morosely. “You’ll be twenty.”

  “Yes, sir.” I waited.

  “What do you regret more?” he asked abruptly. “The years you’ll lose, or being cooped in the ship so long?”

  “I don’t see them as lost years, sir. When I get back I’ll have enough ship’s time to make lieutenant, if I pass the boards. I wouldn’t even be close if I stayed home.” I didn’t dare tell him how strongly the ambition burned within me.