Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

“But it’s not fair. Chiefie has more experience than Mr. Malstrom.”

  I wondered when she had begun calling Chief McAndrews “Chiefie”. I considered calling him that someday, but quickly decided against it. “Life isn’t fair, Amanda. Chiefie doesn’t get to run the ship.” She bent over and kissed me. She had veered off onto yet another topic.

  That evening the Captain convened a Board of Inquiry. Alexi and I might possibly have been appointed—a middy, no matter how young, is by Act of the General Assembly an officer and gentleman, and has his majority—and the Captain had few enough officers left to sit in judgment. But Alexi and I had been in the suiting room with Sandy; we were witnesses. If there were a plot, we might even have been involved, so on both counts we were disqualified.

  Doc Uburu, Pilot Haynes, and Chief McAndrews sat as the Board. They met in the now unused lieutenants’ common room, as if to underscore the purpose of the inquiry.

  For two days they sifted through Darla’s records, replaying over and again the last transmission from the launch, compiling a list of every sailor who’d entered the launch berth since Hibernia had left Earthport Station, reviewing the meager information the launch’s primitive puter had passed to Darla during its shuttles back and forth to Celestina.

  Hibernia’s launch berth was normally sealed. Darla had record of each occasion our crewmen were admitted for maintenance since we’d left Earthport. Counting the various work details assigned to shepherd the passengers across, seventeen crewmen had been in the launch berth at one time or another. All four of us middies had gone across to Celestina, and each of the officers save the members of the board.

  One by one each sailor who’d been in the berth was questioned. Alexi, Vax, and I sat stiffly in the chairs placed in the corridor, knees tight, caps in hand, waiting our turns.

  They brought Sandy from the brig for his interrogation; he marched past us with barely a glance. Two hours later he emerged, pale, shaken. It appeared he’d been crying.

  I was next. I smoothed my jacket, tugged at my tie, marched into the crowded mess. My salute was as close to Academy perfection as I could manage.

  Chief Engineer McAndrews was in the chair. “Be seated, Mr. Seafort.” He glanced to his holovid, on which he’d been tapping notes. “Tell us what you saw—everything—in the launch berth before the launch’s final trip.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” I furrowed my brow, lurched into my recollection. I’d seen nothing suspicious, so all I could do was describe in detail Sandy’s horseplay with Alexi, his torn trousers, Mr. Cousins’s wrath.

  “Then what?”

  “Lieutenant Cousins ordered Alex—Midshipman Tamarov to take Mr. Wilsky’s place. Ms. Dagalow asked if she could go instead.”

  “You’re sure Mr. Cousins didn’t order Dagalow aboard?”

  “Quite sure, sir.”

  Pilot Haynes cleared his throat. “Did Mr. Tamarov suggest that he and Lieutenant Dagalow switch places?”

  “Lord God, of course not!” I gulped, realizing what I’d blurted. Still, the question was preposterous. Were a middy to make such a suggestion to a lieutenant—any lieutenant—he wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. And that’s if he were lucky. Such a remark was as out of place as—as the one I’d just made. I was in deep trouble. “I’m very sorry, sir!”

  Chief McAndrews’s tone was frosty, but he otherwise ignored my impertinence. Instead, he led me through a series of probing questions about my previous visits to the launch berth, about the watch rotation according to which I was supposed to be on the bridge.

  “But I was on the bridge, sir. The horseplay occurred before my watch. I was helping suit the passengers.”

  The Pilot set his fingers together, as if in prayer. “Who told you to do that?”

  “No one, sir.”

  “Why did you meddle?”

  I flushed, knowing my response sounded inane even to myself. “I wanted to be helpful, sir.”

  “By being a busybody, instead of going to your post?”

  “No, sir, I—yes, sir.” There was no right answer, and I fell silent.

  I could understand their frustration. A hydrozine engine doesn’t overheat without cause. And if it did, the launch crew should have been able to shut it down within seconds, before it reached critical temperature. Accidents happen, but unexplained accidents made everyone uneasy. A glance out the porthole to the gaping wound in Celestina’s hull was reason enough for that.

  The Chief Engineer glanced at Doc Uburu, offered the Pilot another question. Both shook their heads. The Chief pursed his lips. “Mr. Seafort, did you dislike Mr. Cousins?”

  My uniform was drenched, my throat impossibly dry. My answer could ruin me, but I had little choice when asked a direct question. I squared my shoulders, gritted my teeth. “Yes, sir.”

  Remorseless, he made me give my reasons. When I was done my ears were red from shame.

  At last, dazed and exhausted, I was allowed to make my way out to the corridor. Shakily, I sat.

  The master-at-arms appeared in the hatchway. “Mr. Holser.” Stolidly, Vax strode to his inquisition.

  The inquiry went on.

  Though we’d not yet Fused, despite the turmoil Hibernia still had to be crewed and managed. Even with Sandy released from the brig, we were shorthanded. Four hours after my grilling, needing far more sleep than I’d had, nerves frazzled, I reported to the bridge for my watch.

  At my knock Captain Malstrom swiveled the camera, opened the hatch, waved me to my seat. We passed half the watch before he broke the stiff silence.

  “Have they found anything yet?”

  It was obvious whom he meant. “Not that I know of, sir.”

  “It couldn’t just happen. We have to find the cause.”

  “Yes, sir.” It wasn’t my place to say more. My friend Harv had vanished forever; this was the Captain, in all his eminence. I was but a middy.

  6

  IN A SHIP EVEN AS large as Hibernia, rumors true and false traveled faster than light. Within minutes, everyone knew that at the Chief’s insistence, the Board would review the case of every sailor sent to Captain’s Mast since we’d left port. That couldn’t be much of a task; on the whole, Hibernia had been a happy ship, and had few problems the petty officers couldn’t settle belowdecks.

  Vax went on watch. While I lounged in my bunk, grateful that Alexi hadn’t chosen to blare his usual slap music, Sandy Wilsky burst in, quivering with indignation. “Malstrom’s going to P and D the lot of us!”

  “What?” Alexi jerked to a sitting position.

  “All us middies, and the sailors who’ve been in the launch berth!”

  “Why?”

  “To rule out any possibility of sabotage, he told Doc.”

  Alexi slammed a fist into his mattress. “That’s not fair.”

  I growled, “You’ll get over it.” Poly and drug interrogation wasn’t pleasant, but the aftereffects didn’t last all that long.

  Alexi said, “But we’ve none of us been charged!”

  Sandy’s tone was sullen. “The grode hasn’t the right—”

  I swarmed out of my bunk blurting the first thing that came into my head. “Wilsky, look at the scuff on those boots! One demerit! And that blanket!” My hand slapped his bed, found a tiny crease. “Another!”

  Alexi gaped. “Why are you suddenly down on—”

  I whirled. “And you! How many demerits now?” I knew Alexi was slow at working them off.

  “Nine, Mr. Seaf—”

  “Two more for your insolence!” Knowing it would send him to the barrel, I added after an ominous pause, “I won’t log them ’til morning. Get started.”

  “But, I—”

  “NOW!”

  They scrambled for the hatch.

  “No talking while you exercise! One word and the demerits are doubled!”

  “Aye aye, Mr. Seafort!” The hatch slammed. I sat on the side of my bed, head in hands, trembling.

  Their hero worship was a thing of the past; from
this moment, they’d hate me. But I’d had no choice.

  It had been close.

  Their resentment at P and D testing was no surprise. Polygraph and drug interrogation was allowed aboard ship, as at any trial. Since the Truth in Testimony Act of 2026, a defendant had no right to silence. If there were other evidence against him, he could be sent for P and D, and usually was. If the tests proved he’d told the truth, charges were dismissed. If he admitted the charges, as the sophisticated mix of drugs forced him to do, his confession was of course introduced as evidence.

  However, two safeguards applied. The subject had to have been charged with a crime, and he had to have denied the charge.

  Without those limitations, poly and drugs could become tools of a despot or, worse, of torture. The law didn’t allow the court a fishing expedition into a man’s mind to discover what crimes he might have committed.

  I kept an eye on the time, not at all concerned that I’d left Alexi and Sandy alone. I’d given a direct order that they’d acknowledged. They would have no conversation while they toiled in the exercise room.

  I dozed.

  As the fourth hour neared its end I got wearily to my feet, trudged down to Level 2.

  When I went in, Alexi was working the bars while Sandy jogged in place. Their undershirts were soaked through, their hair matted. Sandy’s breath came in a rasp. It took hard labor to cancel a demerit, as I well knew. “At ease, both of you.”

  Alexi dismounted. Slowly Sandy came to a stop.

  “Against the bulkhead.” For a moment I paced, then faced them with a glare. “Anything to say?”

  “No, Mr. Seafort.” Sandy sounded every bit as young as he was, and scared.

  “And you?”

  Despite his physical weariness, Alexi smoldered. “Why did you turn on us?”

  Inwardly, I groaned. With typical clumsiness, I’d allowed Alexi to open a conversation I couldn’t allow us to have. “Mr. Wilsky, outside.” I followed Sandy into the corridor. As casually as I could, I told him, “Griping is beneath you, Sandy. You’re an officer now, not a cadet. If you have complaints about how the ship is run, you’re expected to keep them to yourself.”

  He colored. “Yes, Mr. Seafort.”

  “Promise me you’ll do so in future.”

  “Aye aye, Mr. Seafort. I’m sorry.” Despite my brutality, he seemed pathetically eager to please.

  “It annoyed me enough to give you the demerits. Go take your shower.” I touched his damp shoulder. “Good lad.”

  Hoping I’d struck the right note I went back to the exercise room and Alexi. My tone was harsh. “Idiot.”

  “I—what?”

  I leaned close, spoke barely above a whisper. “I’m trying to save your life!”

  He said nothing, but his eyes showed his puzzlement.

  “Captain Malstrom is free to investigate the death of his officers as he sees fit.”

  “But the law says—”

  “Alexi!” Even in shutting him up, I risked our safety; couldn’t he understand? “It’s the Captain!”

  I’d said all that was necessary. The indiscriminate testing Captain Malstrom ordered was in clear violation of the Truth in Testimony Act. When he brought Hibernia home, Admiralty could beach him for it, or worse.

  But aboard ship, none of that mattered. The Captain’s word was law. My duty was to carry out his orders, and to report seditious talk. To do else was to conspire in mutiny.

  I said no more, and waited. At last, Alexi’s face showed he understood. Still standing at ease, he gave a faint nod.

  I sighed with relief. “Sandy should be all right now. But if you hear him even thinking aloud about the subject, sit on him hard. Don’t hesitate.”

  “Right.”

  “Dismissed.”

  As he left, he whispered, “Thank you.” I pretended I hadn’t heard.

  The next day we went to our P and D, the middies first, then the sailors. I came out of Doc Uburu’s cubicle dizzy and nauseous, not quite sure what I’d babbled under the drugs’ irresistible influence. I crawled under my covers, trying not to be sick to my stomach.

  The next day I still felt the effects, though they were much diminished.

  Word was that all of us had tested innocent, middies down through the lowest rating. Sandy lay in his bunk, sicker than the rest of us. P and D affected some more than others.

  The Board of Inquiry met one last time, issued its report. They found no evidence of sabotage; they concluded the accident was probably caused by a deteriorating fuel valve unnoticed by a sensor that had malfunctioned.

  For two more days, while we recovered, the ship floated dead in space.

  Captain Malstrom conferred off and on with the Chief, Pilot Haynes, and Dr. Uburu, determining whether to return to Earthport Station. When I next had the watch he was as gruff as he’d been before, then unbent.

  “I’m sorry, Nicky. I’m frantic with worry. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “I’ve pretty well decided to go on. If there’s been no sabotage we’re not at undue risk, and Miningcamp and Hope Nation desperately need our cargo. If we turned back, it would be almost a year before a replacement ship got this far.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nicky, I want to be honest with you. We have no lieutenants, and you’re senior. But I can’t appoint you, yet. You aren’t qualified.”

  “I know, sir. What about Vax?” The words were bitter on my tongue, but I had to say them. Vax was far more ready than I.

  “No, not yet. He doesn’t have the temperament. I’m still looking to you. By the time we get to Hope Nation you’ll qualify, I promise. I’ll help you. For now, you’ll both remain middies. If I can, I’ll see that you make the grade before the others.” If so, I’d have seniority over them for the rest of our days in the Navy, unless one of us finally made Captain.

  “That’s not necessary, sir.” I forced down the foul taste of ambition.

  “Maybe not, but it’s what I intend.” He took a deep breath. “We’ll Fuse tomorrow, right after the memorial service.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The service was a sad and formal affair. We officers wore our dress whites, our white slacks gleaming against black shoes, the red stripe down each leg sharp and bright. Our white shirts and black ties were covered by immaculate white dress jackets, a black mourning sash thrown over the right shoulder. Our length of service medals gleamed.

  On a distant cruise, burial was in space, in a sealed coffin ejected from the airlock. Celestina’s dead had been so entombed, and drifted to this day on their endless way through the cosmos.

  Ours wasn’t a burial service, because there was nothing to bury. A memorial service, held in the ship’s dining hall.

  Every person aboard Hibernia crowded into the mess, the crew awkward in unfamiliar officers’ country. Relatives of two passengers who had died, Mr. Rajiv Etra and Derek Carr, were mourners and stood with the officers who mourned their Captain on behalf of the ship. The other four passengers had been traveling alone. Mr. Etra stood in forlorn dignity. Derek Carr, his eyes red, spoke to no one and held himself stiffly.

  Captain Malstrom led us in the traditional ritual of the Yahwehist Reunification. “We commend the spirits of our dead to your keeping, O Lord God,” he said. “As we commit their bodies to your void, until your day of judgment when you call them forth again ...”

  We stood a few moments in silence, and it was ended.

  After the service Alexi went on watch, with Pilot Haynes. Normally the Pilot was called only when we docked at a station or navigated a trafficked area. Now, though, he would have to stand watches with the rest of us.

  Back in the wardroom Vax Holser was sullen. When Sandy got in his way, he shoved the boy aside. I ignored it, not ready to face another problem. An hour or so later we Fused.

  Pilot Haynes was a dour, balding man who said hardly a word, if I didn’t count routine orders when on watch. We middies wondered
why he stayed bald, when most people would have undergone simple follicle touchup. Of course, none of us dared ask.

  A watch shared with the Pilot was a very quiet time. Now that we were back in Fusion I found it hard to stay awake in the lengthy silences. Not that the Pilot was offended by remarks from a middy; he just squelched them by monosyllabic answers until one tired of trying.

  “Energy variations seem up a trifle, sir.” I was reading from my screen.

  “Um.”

  I made another attempt. “What’s the widest normal variation, sir?”

  “Ask Darla.” It was little more than a grunt.

  I turned to the puter. “Darla, what’s our greatest normal energy variation?”

  “For the fusion drive?” Sometimes she needed us to be very specific.

  “Yes, Darla.”

  “Two percent above and below mark, Mr. Seafort.” A long pause. “Are you trying to make conversation?” I don’t know how they programmed that.

  After watch when I returned to my bunk, tired and irritable, Vax was ragging Alexi. I told him to stop. He did, but stared at me, a contemptuous smile on his face, until I got up and stalked out of the wardroom.

  “The discovery by Cheel and Vorhees in 2046 that N-waves travel faster than light, and their accompanying revision of the laws of physics, led to the fusion drive and superluminous travel.” Mr. Ibn Saud paused, surveying the audience of passengers, officers, and crew in Hibernia’s dining hall.

  “Riding the crest of the N-wave, powered by wave emissions rather than particle emissions, our great ships glide through the galaxy, exploring, colonizing.” Absorbed, I sat, wishing Sandy wouldn’t fidget. The Passengers’ Lecture Series was a welcome diversion from ship’s routine, and he should have the sense to appreciate it.

  “Fusion brought us desperately needed resources, such as metals from Miningcamp. But the real benefit of the fusion drive was as a safety hatch—it allowed those educated, intelligent, restless folk who chose to settle the distant colonies a means to flee Earth’s dwindling resources, pollution, and soaring population.”

  Ibn Saud sipped from his glass of water.

  “But the fusion drive embodies the dilemma of maintaining our ever more complex technology. The colonies need our best and brightest, and at the same time, the new industries spawned by Fusion demand great numbers of highly skilled workers.