Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

  It took about twenty minutes to find what I was looking for.

  “Section 121.2. The Captain of a vessel may relieve himself of command when disabled and unfit for duty by reason of mental illness or physical sickness or injury. Upon his certification of such action in the Log, his rank of Captain shall be suspended and command shall devolve on the next-ranking line officer.”

  I thumbed through the regs looking for other half-remembered sections. I flipped back and forth, carefully reading definitions and terms.

  The hatch opened cautiously. Vax looked in, then entered. We faced each other.

  “He died before he signed it.” It was half statement, half question.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know.” I saw no reason to hide it.

  “Nicky—Mr. Seafort—”

  “You can call me Nicky.”

  “—you can’t captain the ship.”

  I was silent.

  “You can’t maneuver her. You can’t plot a course. You don’t understand the drives.”

  “I know.”

  “Step aside, Nicky. It’s just until we get back home. They’ll send us out with new officers.”

  “I’ve been thinking about doing that,” I said.

  “For the ship’s safety. Please.”

  “You’d run her?”

  “Me, or the officers’ committee. Doc and the Chief and the Pilot. It doesn’t matter. They’re meeting right now, to figure what to do.”

  “I understand.” I flipped off the holovid.

  “You agree?”

  “No. I understand.” I got up. “Vax, I wanted you to command. I begged him to sign your commission the first night he was ill.”

  “I know. After how I treated you I can hardly look you in the eye.” He hesitated. “It’s just a fluke I wasn’t senior,” he said bitterly. “Four months difference.”

  “Yes.” I put the holovid in my pocket and went to the hatch. “I wish I’d gone with Captain Haag on the launch, Vax. If I could choose now, that’s where I’d be.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Nick.”

  “I’m desperate.” I went out.

  No one but the med tech was at the infirmary. The Captain’s body was already in a cold locker. I tried the Doctor’s cabin, but no one answered. I went below along the circumference passage to the Chief’s quarters, and met the Pilot just coming out the hatch.

  “I was on my way to get you.” He gestured me inside. The Chief’s cabin was the same size as the one in which Lieutenant Malstrom and I had played chess. Dr. Uburu and the Chief were seated around a small table. I found a chair and joined them.

  “Nick.” The Doctor’s tone was gentle. “Someone has to decide what to do.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “The crew needs to know who’s in charge. We have to get the ship back home. We have to reassure the passengers. The Passengers’ Council voted unanimously to return to Earthport, and wants the officers’ committee to take control.”

  Chief McAndrews hesitated, glanced at the others. “There’s ambiguity in the regs as to whether a midshipman can assume the Captaincy. We think he can’t. And even if he can, we want you to remove yourself. And if you don’t, we’ll remove you for disability.”

  “Good,” I said. “Get me out of this, please. Let’s start with your first point. What regs are you looking at?” They all relaxed visibly at my response.

  The Chief glanced at his notes. “‘Section 357.4. Every watch not commanded by the Captain shall be commanded by a commissioned officer under his direction.’” He cleared his throat. “A midshipman is not a commissioned officer. 357.4 says you have to be commissioned to command a watch.”

  “As a midshipman I can’t command a watch. I agree with you.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Dr. Uburu.

  “No. I’m no longer a midshipman.”

  “Why not?”

  I reached for a holovid and inserted my chip. “‘Section 232.8. In case of death or disability of the Captain, his duties, authority, and title shall devolve on the next-ranking line officer.’”

  “So?”

  “‘Section 98.3. The following persons are not line officers within the meaning of these regulations: a Ship’s Doctor, a chaplain, a Pilot, and an Engineer. All other officers are line officers within the meaning of these regulations.’”

  “‘Section 101.9,’” countered the Chief. “‘The Captain of a vessel may from time to time appoint a midshipman, who shall serve in such capacity as the Captain and his officers may from time to time direct.’ 101.9 suggests a middy may not even be an officer.”

  I scrolled my holovid to Section 92.5. “‘Command of any work detail may be delegated by the Captain or the officer of the watch to any lieutenant, midshipman, or other officer in his command.’” I looked around the table, repeating the deadly phrase. “Lieutenant, midshipman, or other officer.” I said into the silence, “A midshipman is mentioned as an officer. A line officer.”

  The Pilot stirred. “It’s still ambiguous. A midshipman isn’t commissioned. The regs don’t say a middy can become Captain.”

  “Nobody thought of it happening. I agree.” I flipped back to the definitions section. “‘12. Officer. An officer is a person commissioned or appointed by authority of the Government of the United Nations to its Naval Service, authorized thereby to direct all persons of subordinate rank in the commission of their duties.’”

  I raised my eyes. “An officer doesn’t have to be commissioned. Look, I want to reach the same conclusion you do. But the regs are clear. They don’t say the Captaincy shall devolve on the next commissioned officer. They say line officer. I’m an officer. I’m not one of the officers excluded from line of command. I’m the senior line officer aboard.”

  “It’s still not explicit,” said the Chief. “We have to guess how to interpret the various passages put together. We can conclude a midshipman never succeeds to command.”

  “There’s two problems in doing that. One, when we get home you’d be hanged.”

  There was a long silence. “And the other problem?” Dr. Uburu finally asked.

  “I will construe it as mutiny.”

  They exchanged glances. I realized the possibility had occurred to them before I arrived.

  “It hasn’t come to that,” the Chief said. “Let’s say we all conclude that you’re next in line. Step down. You’re not ready to command.”

  “I’ll be glad to. Just show me where it’s allowed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Dr. Uburu. “Quit. Resign the Captaincy. Relieve yourself.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Incompetence.”

  “Do you mean my lack of skill and other qualifications, or are you suggesting I’m mentally ill?”

  “Nobody’s saying you’re mentally ill,” she protested.

  “‘Section 121.2. The Captain of a vessel may relieve himself of command when disabled and unfit for duty by reason of mental illness or physical sickness or injury.’” I laid down my holovid. “I am not physically sick or injured. I don’t believe I’m mentally ill any more than you do.”

  “Isn’t it an inherent authority?” she asked. “The Captain can relieve others. Surely he has inherent authority to relieve himself.”

  I said, “I thought of that. So I looked it up. ‘Section 204.1. The Captain of a vessel shall assume and exert authority and control of the government of the vessel until relieved by order of superior authority, until his death, or until certification of his disability as otherwise provided herein.’ I don’t think they wanted Captains going around relieving themselves from duty.”

  “This is ridiculous,” said the Pilot. “Everyone agrees, even you, that you shouldn’t be Captain. Yet you’re telling us we’re stuck with you, that you can’t quit, even though it’s best for the ship.”

  “There’s a reason for that,” I told him. “You all know the Captain isn’t
a mere officer. He’s the United Nations Government in transit. The Government cannot abdicate.”

  “Do it anyway, Nicky,” Dr. Uburu said gently. “Just do it.”

  “No.” I looked at each of them. “It is dereliction of duty. I swore an oath. ‘I shall uphold the Charter of the United Nations, and the laws and regulations promulgated thereunder, to the best of my ability, by the Grace of Lord God Almighty.’ I no longer have a choice.”

  “You’re seventeen years old,” said Chief McAndrews. “There are a hundred and ninety-nine people aboard whose lives depend on the safe operation of this vessel. We have to relieve you.”

  “You may relieve me only on the same grounds I can relieve myself,” I said. “Look it up. I will consent to being relieved when a legal basis exists. Otherwise, I must resist.” The Chief thumbed through the holovid to the section on disability. After a few moments, he reluctantly pushed it aside.

  We had reached an impasse. We sat around the little table, hoping a solution would occur.

  “And Vax?” the Doctor asked.

  “Vax is better qualified. But Vax is not Captain. He’s a midshipman. I am senior to him.”

  “Even though he is far better able to handle the ship,” she said.

  “Even though. You know how I tried to get the Captain to sign his commission.” I closed my eyes. I was desperately tired. “There is one solution.” She looked up at me, waiting. “Sign the Log, witnessing that Captain Malstrom commissioned Vax lieutenant before he died. I will acquiesce.”

  All eyes turned to the Ship’s Doctor. She studied the tabletop for a long time. The tension in the room was palpable. After several minutes she raised her eyes and said, “I will not sign the Log in witness. Captain Malstrom did not grant Vax Holser a commission before he died.” The Pilot let his breath out all at once.

  She went on, “I realize now we are here in error. The Captain had ample opportunity, not just on his sickbed, but during the weeks after he took command, to commission Vax. He chose not to, knowing Mr. Seafort was senior midshipman. I know, just as you all know, that Captain Malstrom would acknowledge Mr. Seafort is next in line of command. Captain Malstrom had authority to leave Nick as senior remaining officer and did. We had no say in the matter while he lived. We have no say in the matter now.”

  I had one more hope. “Chief, you were in the infirmary with Captain Malstrom. If you can say you heard him commission Vax ...”

  The Chief didn’t hesitate, not for a second. “The day I sign a lie into the Log, Mr. Seafort, is the day I walk unsuited out the airlock. No. I heard no such thing.” He fingered the holovid. “We are all sworn officers. We all uphold the Government. It appears that the Government, in its unfathomable wisdom, has put you in charge. You know I wish it were not so. But my wishes don’t count. Sir, I am a loyal officer and you may count on my service.”

  I swallowed. “I wanted you to argue me out of it, not the other way around. For the moment, I am Captain-designate. I will be Captain when I declare I have taken command of the ship, as did Captain Malstrom. First, I’m going back to my bunk to try to find a way out of this. Let’s leave everything as it is. We’ll meet at evening mess.” I stood to go.

  Automatically, all three of them stood with me.

  9

  VAX AND ALEXI SNAPPED to attention when I crossed the wardroom threshold. They, at least, no longer considered me just the senior middy.

  “I don’t have command yet,” I told them. “This is still my bunk and I want to be alone. Go pester the passengers or polish the fusion drive shaft. Beat it.”

  Alexi grinned with relief at my sally; he was as unsettled as the rest of us. He and Vax hurried out.

  I lay on my bunk fiddling with my holovid until eventually I tossed it aside in disgust. I was trapped. I grieved for my friend Harv, but I was furious he hadn’t had sense enough to commission Vax the day he took command. Vax could pilot, could navigate, understood the fusion drives, and had the forceful personality of a Captain.

  I must have dozed. As afternoon watch ended I woke, ravenous. I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten. I washed and hurried to the dining hall for the evening meal. Master-at-arms Vishinsky and four of his seamen stood outside the hatch, with their billies. He saluted.

  “What’s this about?” I gestured to his sailors.

  “Chief McAndrews ordered us up as a precaution, sir. There was some kind of demand from the passengers and an, uh, inquiry from the crew.”

  I spotted the Chief at his usual table. He stood when I approached. I flicked a thumb toward the master-at-arms and raised an eyebrow. “A written demand was delivered to the bridge, sir.” His voice was quiet. “By that Vincente woman. Signed by almost all the passengers.”

  “What do they want?”

  “To go home. That part’s easy; we can Fuse any time. They demand that responsible and competent officers control the ship, forthwith. Commissioned officers who have reached their majority.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes, sir.” He paused. “And inquiries have come up from the crew,” he said with delicacy. “Wondering where authority now rests.”

  “Oh, brother.”

  “Yes. The sooner you declare you’ve taken command, the better.”

  “Very well. After dinner. The officers will join me on the bridge.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He looked around the rapidly filling hall. “The evening prayer, sir. Will you give it?”

  “And sit at the Captain’s table, in the Captain’s place?” I was repelled by the thought.

  “That’s where the Captain usually sits.” His tone had a touch of acid.

  “Not tonight. I’ll say the prayer as senior officer, but from my usual place.”

  I went to my accustomed seat. Several passengers sharing my table looked upon me with hostility. None spoke. I decided I could ignore it.

  When the hall had filled I stood, and tapped my glass for quiet. “I am senior officer present,” I stated. Then, for the first time, I gave the Ship’s Prayer I had heard so often. “Lord God, today is March 12, 2195, on the U.N.S. Hibernia. We ask you to bless us, to bless our voyage, and to bring health and well-being to all aboard.” I sat, my heart pounding.

  “Amen,” said Chief Engineer McAndrews into the silence. A few passengers murmured it after him.

  I wouldn’t call dinner a cheerful affair; hardly anyone acknowledged my presence. But I was so hungry I hardly cared. I avidly consumed salad, meat, bread, then coffee and dessert. The passengers at my table watched in amazement. I suppose they had reason; the day after the Captain’s death his successor sat at a midshipman’s place, eagerly devouring everything but the silverware.

  After the meal I went back to the wardroom. I took out fresh clothes, showered thoroughly, dressed with extra care. I even shaved, though it wasn’t really necessary.

  Reluctantly, I went to the bridge. Sandy, who had been holding nominal watch alone—the ship was not under power—leaped to attention on my arrival.

  “Carry on.” My tone was gruff, to cover my uncertainty. Then, “Mr. Wilsky, summon all officers.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” The young midshipman keyed the ship’s caller. “Now hear this.” His voice cracked; he blushed. “All officers report to the bridge.”

  Awash with physical energy I paced the bridge, examining the instruments, seeing none of them. Doc Uburu arrived, requested permission to enter. The Pilot followed shortly. A few moments later the Chief appeared. The middies were last; Vax and Alexi came hurrying—clean uniforms, hair freshly combed, like my own—and I smiled despite myself. We all stood, as if grouped for a formal portrait.

  I picked up the caller, took a deep breath. I exhaled, and took another. “Ladies and gentlemen, by the Grace of God, Captain Harvey Malstrom, commanding officer of U.N.S. Hibernia, is dead of illness. I, Midshipman Nicholas Ewing Seafort, senior officer aboard, do hereby take command of this ship.”

  It was done.

  “Congratulations, Captain!”
Alexi was first, then they all crowded around me with reassurance and support, even the Chief and the Pilot. It was not a jolly occasion; the death of Captain Malstrom precluded that. What they offered was more condolence than celebration.

  After a moment I went to sit. I stopped myself: I had headed for the first officer’s chair. Trying to look casual, I sat in the Captain’s seat on the left. No laser bolt struck me. I addressed my officers.

  “Pilot, we’ll need new watch rotations. Take care of it, please. The middies will have to stand watch alone now; it can’t be helped. Dr. Uburu, attend to passenger morale before the situation worsens. Chief, I need your attention on the crew. If there’s serious discontent, you’re to know about it. Pass the word that we have matters under control. Vax, you’ll help me get settled. Get a work party to move my gear to the Captain’s cabin. Sew bars on my uniforms. Reprogram Darla to recognize me as Captain.”

  When I stopped they chorused, “Aye aye, sir.” It was a heady feeling. No arguments, no objections. I began to appreciate ship’s discipline.

  “Anything else, anyone?”

  “We can make Earthport Station in two jumps.” The Pilot. “I’ll run the calculations tonight.”

  The Chief said, “Don’t worry about the crew; they’ll settle down as soon as I remind them they get early shore leave. They’ll be so happy to head for Lunapolis they won’t even think about who’s Captain.”

  Alexi asked, “When do we Fuse for home, sir?”

  I said, “I never told you we were going home.”

  The shock of silence. Then a babble of voices.

  I snapped, “Be quiet!” There was instant compliance. It didn’t surprise me; I wouldn’t have dared breathe had Captain Malstrom given such an order, friend or no friend. “Chief, do you have something to say?”

  “With the Captain’s permission, yes, sir.” He waited for my nod. “Surely you can’t mean to go on. We’ve lost our four most experienced officers. The crew is frightened. I can’t answer for their behavior if we head for Hope Nation. The ship’s launch is gone; six passengers are dead. Sir, we never thought ... Please. The only sensible thing is to go back.”