Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

  “Pilot?”

  “I can get us back in two jumps, Captain. Six months. It’s eleven months to Hope Nation.”

  “I already knew that. Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. The danger is obvious. It’s irresponsible of you to sail on.”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Pilot, you’re placed on report for insolence. I will enter a reprimand in the Log. You are reduced two grades in pay and confined to quarters for one week, except when on watch.”

  Pilot Haynes, his face red with rage, grated, “Understood, sir.” His fists were clenched at his side.

  “Who else?” Of course, after that no one cared to speak.

  “I’ll take your suggestions under advisement. In the morning I’ll let you know. You’re all dismissed. Mr. Holser, you will remain.”

  After the bridge hatch shut behind the last of them I turned to Vax, who waited in the “at ease” position. I wasn’t looking forward to our interview. “You’re senior middy now, Vax.”

  “Yes, sir.” He looked straight ahead.

  “You recall the unpleasantness we had last month?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s nothing compared to the unpleasantness I’m going to make now, Mr. Holser.” Vax had settled in well as second midshipman, but now I had to leave the wardroom, and given his temperament he’d have the other middies climbing the bulkheads in a week. That is, if I didn’t put the brakes on.

  My voice was savage. “You will do hard calisthenics—I repeat, HARD calisthenics, for two hours every day until further notice. You will report to the watch officer in a fresh uniform for personal inspection every four hours, day and night.” He looked stricken. “You will submit a five-thousand-word report on the duties of the senior midshipman under Naval regulations and by ship’s custom. Acknowledge!”

  “Orders received and understood, sir!” His expression bordered on panic.

  I stood nose to nose with him, my voice growing louder. “You may think that in the privacy of the wardroom you can revert to your old bullying ways, and I won’t know because the other middies won’t tell me. They don’t have to tell me, Mr. Holser. I was a middy yesterday. I know what to look for!” I waited for a response.

  “Yes, sir!”

  I shouted, “Mr. Holser, if you exercise brutality in the wardroom, I’ll cut your balls off! Do I make myself clear?”

  “Aye aye, sir!” A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. I knew he didn’t take the last threat literally, but we’d both served aboard ship long enough to know the Captain’s enmity was the worst disaster that could befall a crewman. I was giving him a reminder of that.

  “Very well. Dismissed. See that I have bars on my uniforms by morning.”

  “Aye aye, sir!” He practically ran from the bridge. I made a mental note to ease up in a few days. The exercise wouldn’t harm him—Vax liked working out—but reporting for inspection every four hours grew brutal, as one’s sleep deficit accumulated. Once, in Academy, Sergeant Trammel had made me ...” I sighed, thrusting away the memory.

  I roamed the bridge, unnerved by the grim silence. Never before had I stood watch entirely alone, and certainly not when I had no superior to call in case of emergency. I toyed with the sensors, examined the silent simulscreen, stared at pinpoints of starlight until my eyes ached. My legs were weary, but I was reluctant to sit just yet.

  I examined the bridge safe, found it unlocked. The Captain’s laser pistol was within, as well as the keys to the munitions locker. As a precaution, I changed the combination.

  Returning at last to my chair, I turned on the Log and thumbed it idly, back to the start of our voyage. I screened the orders from Admiralty, entered by Captain Haag ages ago. “You shall, with due regard for the safety of the ship, proceed on a course from Earthport Station to Ganymede Station ... You shall sail in an expeditious manner by means of Fusion to Miningcamp, from there to Hope Nation, and thence to Detour ... you shall take on such cargo as the Government there may ... revictualing and refueling as you may find necessary ...” I keyed off the Log.

  Idly I thumbed through our cargo manifest. Machinery for the manufacture of medicines, tools and dies, freeze-stored vegetable seeds, catalogs and samples of the latest fashions from Earth, bottled air for Miningcamp ...” I closed my eyes, rocking gently in the Captain’s chair, its soft upholstery inviting.

  “Permission to enter bridge, sir.” I woke abruptly. Alexi waited respectfully in the corridor. Had he seen? Lord God, I hoped not; sleeping on watch was a cardinal sin.

  “Come in.” I got him settled. He’d have little to do other than watch the quiescent instruments, but like me, Alexi had never served a watch alone and was eager to begin. I myself was already glad to escape the tedium.

  I headed east along the circumference corridor to the Captain’s cabin. No one was posted outside; Captain Haag had dispensed with the marine guard the first week of the voyage.

  I quelled an urge to knock respectfully, and went in.

  The cabin was breathtaking. It was over four times as large as our wardroom, at least eight meters by five. It held only one bunk, which made it seem even more grand. So much space, for only one person. And I was the person!

  Subtle dividers made areas of the cabin seem like separate rooms. In one corner was a hatch; I tried it. A head; the Captain actually had his own head and shower. I was stunned. I felt guilty even thinking of living in such luxury, while midshipmen constantly rubbed shoulders in their tiny quarters.

  My gear, what little there was of it, was already laid out in a dresser built into the bulkhead. Vax had been busy: my uniforms, new patches freshly sewn on the shoulders, were hung neatly in a closet area in the corner. A ship’s caller sat on the table by the bunk. Across from the bed were easy chairs, a desk chair, even a small conference table. Or dining table. I wasn’t sure which.

  I sat uneasily, feeling an intruder though Captain Malstrom’s gear was nowhere to be seen. Captain Haag’s must long since be gone to storage. I wondered gloomily how soon my own would follow. My eyes roved the bulkheads. Pictures; someone had made an effort to decorate. A safe was built into the bulkhead. It was locked. I made a note to find the combination.

  I undressed and got into bed; the mattress was amazingly soft. I switched off the light. The room was very still. I twisted from one position to another, unable to sleep despite my exhaustion. My thoughts turned to what I had accomplished. In the course of my first day, I’d managed to alienate everyone whose goodwill I needed. The Chief. The Pilot. The senior middy. A bad start, but I couldn’t figure out what I could have done better.

  As I tossed restlessly in the soft bunk I realized what was troubling me. It was too quiet. I was lonely.

  10

  IN THE MORNING I felt ill at ease using the head alone, so accustomed had I become to the wardroom’s lack of privacy. I was a bit apprehensive when a knock came on the hatch; custom approaching the force of law forbade anyone to disturb the Captain in his cabin. In an emergency, or if he’d left standing orders to be notified, the Captain was summoned by ship’s caller; if there was no emergency, he was not bothered. All the crew knew that, and passengers were not allowed in the section of Level 1 that contained the bridge and the Captain’s quarters.

  Cautiously, I opened the hatch. Ricardo Fuentes, the ship’s boy, waited in the corridor with a cloth-covered tray. He stepped around me to set it on my dining table. Then his shoulders came up and he stood rigidly at attention, arms stiffly at his sides, stomach sucked in tight.

  I was grateful for the familiar face. “Hi, Ricky.”

  “Good morning, Captain, sir!” His voice was high-pitched and shrill.

  I peered beneath the cloth. Coffee, scrambled eggs, toast, juice. It appeared his visit was a regular morning routine. “Thanks.”

  Twelve-year-old Ricky stood stiff. “You’re welcome, sir!” Clearly, he wasn’t about to unbend.

  “Dismissed, sailor.”

  “Aye aye, sir!” The boy about-f
aced and marched out. I sighed. Had I begun to resemble an ogre? Did it come with the job?

  Pilot Haynes and Vax Holser were on the forenoon watch list. As I reached the bridge I opened my mouth to ask permission to enter. Old habits die hard. Feeling foolish, I walked in. Vax jumped to attention; the Pilot did so more slowly.

  “Carry on.” They eased back in their chairs as I crossed to my new seat. Vax’s uniform, I noticed, was crisply ironed. I glanced at the console. The readouts seemed in order; I knew Vax or the Pilot would tell me if they weren’t.

  “Chief Engineer, report to the bridge.” I put down the caller. When Chief McAndrews arrived I said, “Chief, Pilot, I’ve decided we will continue to Miningcamp and Hope Nation.” The Chief pursed his lips but said nothing.

  “I don’t have to give you reasons, but I will. Simply: going on involves Fusing and docking maneuvers; so does going home. The risks are equal.

  “Now, once we’re at Hope Nation we know the Admiral Commanding will assign us a new Captain and lieutenants. It will mean sailing eleven months with inexperienced officers, instead of the six it would take to go home, but Hibernia carries too many supplies that our colonies need, to abandon our trip lightly. Their supply ships arrive only twice a year.”

  The Chief said only, “Aye aye, sir.” The Pilot was silent.

  “Gentlemen, we’ll bury Captain Malstrom this forenoon, and we’ll Fuse this afternoon after the burial service.”

  The bridge and engine room were unmanned and sealed. We gathered around the forward airlock, seven deep in the crowded corridor. All the remaining officers, resplendent in dress uniform with black mourning sash across the shoulder; nearly all the crew, dressed as if for inspection. Lieutenant Malstrom had been as popular among the enlisted men as among the middies.

  The rest of the corridor was filled with passengers: Yorinda Vincente, representing the Passengers’ Council, in the front row; behind her, Mr. Barstow, Amanda Frowel, the Treadwell twins, many others I knew, all waiting for the service to begin. Derek Carr, whose father had been lost earlier with the launch, his finely chiseled, aquiline face marred by sunken eyes and an expression of grief remembered. He nodded, but said nothing.

  The flag-draped alumalloy coffin waited behind me in the airless lock, visible through the transplex inner hatch. I turned on the holovid and began to read from the Christian Reunification service for the dead, as promulgated by the Naval Service of the Government of the United Nations.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ...” Lieutenant Malstrom and I had cast off together at this very airlock. Now I was to continue, and he must disembark. “Trusting in the goodness and mercy of Lord God eternal, we commit his body to the deep ... to await the day of judgment when the souls of man shall be called forth before Almighty Lord God ... Amen.”

  I snapped off the holovid. “Petty Officer Terrill, open the outer lock.”

  Chief Petty Officer Robert Terrill stepped forward. “Aye aye, sir.” Taking the airlock control from my hand he spun on his heel, marched to the airlock panel, pressed the transmitter to the outer lock control. The alarm bell chimed; Hibernia’s outer hatch slid open. I shivered involuntarily; the emptiness of interstellar space beckoned to my mentor, my friend. I breathed a silent prayer of my own, that Lord God might welcome him to his reward.

  “Eject the casket, Mr. Terrill.”

  He pressed a button on a small transmitter clipped to his belt. The folded metal arm mounted in the airlock bulkhead slowly unfolded, pushing gently on the side of the casket. Captain Malstrom’s coffin slid smoothly to the outer lock. As the arm extended, the casket drifted past the end of the chamber and floated slowly into the void.

  Mesmerized, we watched it recede. It disappeared into the dark long before it would have been too distant to see. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Mr. Terrill, secure the outer hatch.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” The petty officer pressed his transmitter to the outer airlock control. The hatch closed quietly. The service was complete. My friend Harv was forever gone.

  The crowd dispersed. I started back toward my cabin. I felt a hand on my arm, abruptly lifted. I turned. Amanda Frowel looked angry; Alexi Tamarov had a firm grip on her arm, his shoulder thrust sharply between us. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, barring her way. She tried to shrug loose; the midshipman held tight.

  “It’s all right, Alexi.” He released her and backed away.

  “What was that about?” she demanded.

  “Ship’s custom. One doesn’t touch the Captain. For crewmen it is a capital offense.” I took her hand, oblivious to the civilians milling around us, trying to pass. “What is it, Amanda?”

  “Are you all right, Nicky?”

  “I think so.” I studied her face. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you. I’ve been rather busy.”

  She glanced at my new uniform. “You certainly have. Are you sure it’s wise?”

  “No. I’m just sure it’s mandatory.” I hesitated. “May I visit tonight?”

  “If you’d like.” To my dismay, there was a coolness to her voice. She seemed almost indifferent.

  “I’d like. If you would.” Reluctantly she nodded. We parted.

  “We’ll Fuse as soon as we’re ready, gentlemen.”

  Vax and Pilot Haynes were in their places. I keyed the caller. “Bridge to engine room, prepare to Fuse.”

  “Prepare to Fuse, aye aye, sir.” The Chief. My lips twitched in a smile; according to the rotation, the engine room petty officer had the watch this hour, but clearly the Chief didn’t trust us to Fuse except under his vigilant eye.

  After a moment the caller came to life once more. “Engine room ready for Fuse, sir.”

  “Very well, stand by.” I looked up to the screen. “Darla, Fusion coordinates, please?”

  “Aye aye, Captain Seafort.” The coordinates flashed on the screen.

  “Manual coordinates, Pilot?” My request was but a formality. If his own figures hadn’t agreed with Darla’s he’d have immediately recalculated; the wrong Fusion coordinates could send us to oblivion. Pilot Haynes brought up his coordinates. They matched Darla’s.

  “Vax, did you also run a plot?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s see.” From the corner of my eye I noticed the Pilot shake his head with ill-disguised impatience. I examined Vax’s figures; they were identical to the others.

  I was ready to give the order. While normally the ship was Defused from the bridge by running a finger down the Fusion control console, ignition was trickier. The Captain usually passed the Fusion order to the engine room, and the ship was Fused from there.

  “Does everything check, Captain?” There wasn’t a hint of insolence in the Pilot’s voice. None was needed; the question itself conveyed his contempt for my overcaution.

  “So far. I’ll run my own calculations, just to be sure.” Childish, but it would be a windy day in space before I ignored that sort of remark. I entered the variables.

  I wasn’t very good at the exercise, as Lieutenant Cousins had continually reminded me during our last drill. But I shut my mind to distractions and plowed through the formulas, step by step. At last, I emerged with my final figure and compared it to the Pilot’s. I was off by nearly seven percent.

  The Pilot’s amusement was almost unnoticeable, but not quite. Coolly I erased my calculations and began again. A half hour later, my shirt soggy with perspiration, I found my figures off by the same amount. I was aware how much face I’d already lost. Even if I finally got it right I would look a fool.

  The Pilot waited in the duty officer’s chair, motionless except for an occasional long breath akin to a subvocal sigh. Ignoring the distraction, I stored each figure as I calculated it, then ran the results through the usual formula.

  I was still six point seven nine percent off, and couldn’t find the error. “Pilot, please watch while I try again.” My tone was brusque. He came over to stand behind my chair, like a long-suffering lieutenant overseeing a middy
’s drill. “Stop me when you see the mistake,” I said.

  I went through the steps, plugging in the parameters I’d generated by previous calculations. When I finished I had the same answer I had before, and he hadn’t intervened. “Well?”

  “I didn’t see an error. Sir,” he added begrudgingly. “You manipulated the numbers correctly.”

  Interesting. “Go through your own calculation again.”

  I watched him enter the base figures, run his compensations with a practiced skill I longed to match, factor our present location, mass, and target, and calculate drive power and coordinates. His result matched his previous figures.

  Vax sat staring at the screen. I suspected his mind was on automatic; thanks to my cruelty he was exhausted. He wouldn’t be the only one; the crew had been on standby for nearly two hours.

  No matter. I bent to my console. “We’ll do our calculations step by step, all three of us. No, make that four; Darla, calculate along with us. We’ll do a step at a time, until we all agree.” I entered the initial figures. We bent over our screens. Darla put her results on the simulscreen above our heads.

  Slowly we worked our way through the base calculations. No problem. Then we matched stellars, compensating by the book. We all still agreed. We all used the same plot for our present location. Our target location was right out of the charts. We entered ship’s mass.

  “Hey!” Vax spoke involuntarily. Three of the figures on the screen agreed. The fourth, mine, was different.

  “There’s your error, Captain.” The Pilot’s voice wasn’t a sneer but it didn’t miss by much. “You picked up a funny number for the ship’s mass. 213.5 units.”

  “I thought I figured it right.” I felt a blast of Lieutenant Cousins’s withering scorn from wherever he was watching. “I calculated it the way we always do, base weight minus—”

  “You figured ship’s mass fresh each time?” The Pilot seemed astonished. Probably he meant no disrespect; he was so startled he simply forgot his manners. “We take mass from Darla’s automatic Log entry. Vax, isn’t that how you did it?”