Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

  “Yes, sir.” Vax was trying not to be noticed.

  “Darla?”

  “Mass is a programmed parameter,” Darla answered. “You know the ship recycles everything. I can’t vary the adjusted mass except when you log an order for general re-calc.”

  I stared at my figures, trying to puzzle out how I could have gone so wrong. Obviously the three of them knew something I didn’t. I racked my brain trying to remember fusion theory from Academy. “I was starting with base mass, and subtracting the mass of the ship’s launch and the estimated weight of the passengers lost with it from—”

  The Pilot chortled. “That’s all in the programming parameter Darla gives you.”

  “At Academy they made us run everything fresh each time, and Lieutenant Cousins never said to ...”

  Mr. Haynes was magnanimous. “Sir, that was just for practice. We’d be a week refiguring, each time we stopped for nav check. Remember your drill with Captain Haag? He had you use programmed parameters.”

  “I assumed it was just to save time. He was fidgeting, and I couldn’t seem ...” I chopped off the memory. While my ears reddened, I thumbed through the Log searching for the programmed parameters. “So, we start with Darla’s base mass—”

  “No, sir, the puter runs adjusted mass too. That’s base mass minus passengers or cargo off-loaded since the last general recalc.”

  I’d made fool enough of myself for one day. “Very well, no wonder I was off. I’ll do it your way. Darla, confirm adjusted ma—”

  The speaker crackled. “Bridge, engine room here.” The Chief. “Do we continue standing by to Fuse?”

  How long had I kept them waiting? I bit my lip; over three hours. No wonder I was exhausted, and wringing wet. “We’ll be ready in a moment, Chief.” Where was I?

  We had three matched sets of calculations, and we’d found my error. Time to get on with it. I started to wipe my figures, saw the Pilot’s complacent smirk. I gritted my teeth, determined not to lash out at him. Instead, I decided to backtrack and correct my calculations. I obviously needed the practice, and with that attitude he could bloody well wait as long as it took.

  “Here, where I subtracted the launch weight ... I enter Darla’s adjusted mass, right?”

  Vax hid a yawn.

  “Now, I can scrub my subtraction ... by the way, what was the base mass when Hibernia left Earthport?”

  The puter’s tone was a touch cross. “Are you asking me? If so, I need a pronoun as referent.”

  “Just give me the parameter, Darla.”

  “215.6 standard units.”

  “I meant base mass.”

  “215.6 standard units is base mass, Captain. How many times do we need to go through this?”

  Vax dozed. I wiped my calculation back to the point of error. The Pilot shifted impatiently. My head was spinning, and I’d kept them all waiting long enough. Still ...

  “Well, sir?”

  My tone was curt. “Pilot, read from the Log our adjusted mass and our base mass.”

  “For heaven’s—aye aye, sir.” His fingers played the keys. “Adjusted mass is 215.6 units. Base mass is two hun—” The Pilot made an awful sound. His face went gray.

  I said, “It doesn’t seem quite right, does it? I mean, the two figures should differ.”

  “You caught an error,” Pilot Haynes whispered. “The numbers we used were wrong!”

  Vax jerked upright, dismayed. If the Pilot was in error, so was he.

  I was dumbfounded. “But Darla figured it your way! Puters don’t forget parameters.”

  The Pilot spoke first. “We must not be asking her the right question. Darla, what is ship’s mass adjusted for the loss of the launch and passengers?”

  “Adjusted mass is 215.6,” she repeated.

  I said, “Adjust your programmed base mass by the mass of the ship’s launch. It’s no longer on board.”

  “Mass has been adjusted as per standing calculation instructions,” she said primly. “That’s automatic.”

  “Holy Mother!” breathed Vax. “Darla has a glitch!”

  “I do not!” Darla was indignant. “Watch your mouth, middy!”

  “He meant it the old-fashioned way, Darla,” I said quickly. “A gigo error.” Darla had taken offense at being called brain damaged.

  “But she—”

  “Shut up, Vax.” Like everyone, I’d heard dark rumors about ships that sailed interstellar with angry puters and were never heard of again.

  We lapsed into silence. Darla threw random wavelengths of interference across the simulscreen, her equivalent of muttering under her breath. Something caught Vax’s attention on the opposite side of the room. I realized he was reluctant to meet my eye.

  I said, “But how could we have Defused so near Celestina, if Darla’s figures are”—I dropped my voice—“glitched?”

  “Maybe they weren’t, at the time.” The Pilot tapped into his console, peered at the figures he summoned. “These are the coordinates we used to find Celestina. Adjusted mass was the same as base. But remember, before we lost the launch, they would be expected to match.”

  “Didn’t Captain Malstrom order a recalc before he Fused?”

  “I would think so.” He shrugged. “Check the Log.”

  “Check it yourself!” I clamped down, before I flew into a tirade. Now was no time to provoke another officer.

  “Aye aye, sir.” A hint of sullenness. His keys clicked. “Yes, it would appear so. The day of the memorial service.” A frown. “For some reason, they didn’t fully enter the new figures, or Darla would have them now.”

  “Darla, can you recalculate parameters?”

  “Of course I can.” I waited for more, but nothing was forthcoming.

  “Do so.”

  “Order received and acknowledged, Captain. I’ll need your special authorization code.”

  “Where is it?”

  Her voice was sweet. “If they told me that, you wouldn’t need one.”

  “Pilot, where do I find my codes?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.” His tone was placating. “Sir, why don’t we override the puter’s solution with your own manual plot in order to Fuse, and recalc afterward.”

  “Is that safe?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It would get us moving. “Very well, then.”

  A silence. The Pilot blurted, “Sir, the figures I gave you were worthless. Yours was the only correct solution. I apologize most sincerely for my mistake.”

  I snarled, “Belay that. Let’s get under weigh.” It did little good to assure the crew all was well, then sit for hours unable to Fuse.

  “Captain, may I be relieved from watch and be allowed to leave the bridge?”

  “No, Pilot.” I didn’t feel charitable, after enduring his smirk. “After we Fuse, search the Log and the databanks until you find my authorization code for a recalc.”

  I turned to Vax. “Run your coordinates one more time, and recalculate starting from base mass.” He, Darla, and the Pilot might have been wrong, but I still had to be sure my own coordinates were right.

  “Aye aye, sir!” Vax’s fingers flew over the keys. In a few minutes he came up with a solution. My solution. I punched in the new figures. “Darla, I override your coordinates. Log.”

  “Manual override coordinates received and acknowledged, Mr. Seafort.” Darla. “I’m logging it.”

  I picked up the caller, keyed the engine room. “Chief?”

  “Yes, sir?” His answer was immediate. He must have been standing with caller in hand.

  I tried to make my voice casual. “What if, say, one of Darla’s preprogrammed parameters were glitched? Once we give you Fusion coordinates, would faulty input from Darla throw us off?”

  “Only if you ordered us to rely on wave monitoring from the bridge, and I’ve never heard such an order since first I sailed. The engine room always monitors and adjusts energy output.” A pause. “Is there a problem, sir?”

  Yes. We were dee
p interstellar, with a Captain who had no idea what he was doing, and a stubborn puter. “Of course not.” My tone was hearty. “Engine room, Fuse, please.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Fusion drive is ... on.” The screens abruptly faded.

  I swallowed, watching the instruments closely. I knew Chief McAndrews was doing likewise, ready to pounce on the slightest variation from the norm. Our readouts remained steady. I let out a long breath.

  “Permission to enter bridge, sir.” Sandy, ready to begin his watch.

  “Granted. Vax, you’re relieved.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Vax stood and saluted, giving me a look I had never seen before. Respect, and something else. Awe, perhaps. I realized my bullying him, added to my apparent wizardry with the computations, had transformed me in his eyes from an irksome youth wrongfully his senior to a Captain who could do no wrong. Both images were faulty, but I couldn’t do anything about them.

  As Sandy settled into his seat. I realized with a sinking feeling that if the Pilot, a middy, and the puter could all be wrong, I could trust no one. Every time I went off watch I risked the entire ship. Now I knew why Captain Haag virtually lived on his bridge. I wasn’t smarter than all the others, nor was I more alert. But Hibernia was my responsibility, and no one else’s.

  I also knew why the Pilot had gone pale; a seven percent error built into our coordinates would magnify to a stupendous variation after a lengthy Fuse. We could have sailed into the middle of Hope Sun. And it was just dumb luck that I had caught it.

  11

  DINNER WAS CALLED. AT the Captain’s table there were only three places set. I caught the purser’s attention and raised my eyebrow at the empty chairs.

  Mr. Browning bent discreetly by my ear. “Requests from several passengers, sir, for new seat assignments. Under the circumstances I thought ...”

  “Quite right.” Dining with the Captain was an honor. It would never, by Lord God, be a duty. Not while I held the office. I made conversation with the three passengers who remained. One of them was Mrs. Donhauser, who as usual didn’t hesitate to speak her mind.

  “You’ve become rather unpopular, young man.” She eyed me with apparent disapproval.

  “It would seem to be the case.” I pretended unconcern as I buttered a roll.

  “The Passengers’ Council feels you should turn back. And they don’t forgive your youth.”

  “Tell them it will pass.” I had enough worries about the crew and officers without vexing myself with passengers. That seemed to offend her, and we finished our meal in silence.

  I stopped to talk to the Chief on the way out. “By the way, there’s a safe in my cabin. I don’t suppose you know how I can get it open?”

  His tone was flat. “I believe Captain Haag kept the combination in the bridge safe. If not, I can have a machinist drill it out.”

  “I’ll look. Thanks.” He was still staring when I turned away.

  I climbed to Level 1, looked in on the bridge. Vax and Alexi seemed to have everything under control. Pilot Haynes had left word that he was unable, so far, to locate the recalc authorization codes, but would search again on his next watch.

  I went to Amanda’s stateroom. We met awkwardly at the hatch. I moved to kiss her; she accepted passively, unresponsive. We both took chairs instead of the bunk or deck. It was to be a more formal meeting. I told her I’d missed her.

  She brushed aside my small talk. “What are you up to, Nicky?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “That uniform. Why are you playing at Captain? You know you’re no Captain.”

  I tried a smile. “We all take turns, Amanda. Next one on is Vax.”

  She didn’t smile back. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m frightened of what you’re doing.”

  “What am I doing that’s frightening?”

  “Going on to Hope Nation. People think we may not get there. They’re worried and scared, and saying ugly things. Not just us, the crew too.”

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “The mess stewards.” I made a note to look into it. “Nicky, something could happen. Someone could get hurt.”

  I stopped trying to smile. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing in particular. You’re trying to take on everyone, and you can’t. Not with the crew and passengers all spooked as they are. They say even the officers wanted to get rid of you.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I’m not telling.” That was bad. I wanted her on my side, and she was widening the gap between us. “I know what you think,” she added. “The law is the law, and if it says you should be Captain you’ve got to do it. But consider the good of the ship. If you step down, the other officers won’t get into trouble for taking over. Get out of their way, Nicky.”

  “Is that how most of the passengers feel?”

  “I hear it everywhere. And believe it, too.”

  “I need you, Amanda,” I said simply, meaning it. “If you turn against me I’ll be completely alone.”

  That brought her to my chair. She knelt at my side. “I’m not against you, Nicky. I want to be safe. I want you to be safe too.”

  I stroked her hair. “I’m Captain of Hibernia. That much is settled. If I don’t have you to talk with, I won’t have anyone. If I don’t have you to touch and hold, I won’t have anyone. Please.” I held my breath, completely at her mercy.

  She leaned over and kissed me. “I’m here, Nicky. I’ll be with you.”

  I stayed with her most of the night. We didn’t make love; instead, we caressed and kissed, we hugged. Early in the morning I left her stateroom and quietly went back to my own. Ricky found me there when he came with my breakfast tray. Again he saluted and stood rigidly at attention until I dismissed him.

  I went to the bridge. Sandy and the Chief had the watch. I sat and checked the Log. Twice Vax had reported for personal inspection, then left to go back to bed.

  I glanced at the blank simulscreen, wondering how familiar it would become before I reached Hope Nation. Seeing the Chief reminded me; I went to the safe and found in it the combination to my cabin strongbox. Bored, I sat again. Half in jest I asked, “Do you play chess, Darla?”

  For answer the simulscreen lighted up with a chessboard. My jaw dropped. “I’ll be dam—yes. Well.” I glanced at the Chief. His eye held an amused glint. I said, “You’d better put it away. I can’t while I’m on duty.”

  “Make up your mind,” she said petulantly, snapping off the screen.

  After a while I said, “Chief, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I don’t see why we should sail all the way to Hope Nation without officers. Vax will make lieutenant soon, you know that. Why couldn’t we recruit more midshipmen?”

  Sandy examined his console, his ears growing larger by the minute. Well, I wasn’t telling any secrets. He polished dust from his screen with his sleeve.

  “Recruit them from where, sir?” asked the Chief. A good question. Most of the crew was too old to begin officer training.

  “We have teens among the passengers. Several of them. And what about Ricky?”

  “Are you asking my opinion, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, no. We’ve gone too much against custom as it is. It’s legal to recruit from the passengers, but highly irregular. Admiralty might view it as, ah, presumptuous.” He was right. On the other hand, Admiralty wasn’t shorthanded, nine light-years from nowhere, trying to sail a starship.

  “Well, just a thought. Mr. Wilsky, isn’t that screen clean enough?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean, aye aye, sir!” Sandy jumped back quickly, blushing deep red. Sandy was too nice a joey to enjoy teasing for long. But still ...

  “When you’re done with it, would you kindly polish mine?”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He looked up cautiously, beginning to suspect he was being twitted. Slowly he relaxed.

  “Permission to enter bridge, sir?”

  I looked
around. Vax waited at attention in the corridor.

  “Granted.”

  He marched in. “Midshipman Holser reporting for personal inspection, sir!” Well, if I was to do it at all, better do it right. I got up, made a show of inspecting his clean, freshly ironed uniform, his belt buckles, his shine. Naturally I passed him. Vax was ready, and even if not I wasn’t about to notice anything wrong.

  “Satisfactory, Mr. Holser. Bring me your written report no later than tomorrow. Dismissed.” He saluted and left the bridge. Chief McAndrews said nothing, his face a mask. I understood; it wasn’t up to him to comment on how the Captain treated his middies. But I wondered about his thoughts.

  I leaned back in my chair. I should have played chess with Darla. Instead, I dozed, which was worse. Lieutenant Cousins would have had me over the barrel.

  I entered the safe combination, reading from the paper in my hand. A click, and the door released. I looked inside. A class ring: Academy, class of 2162. It must be Captain Haag’s. Apparently Captain Malstrom hadn’t bothered to clean out the cabin safe after Mr. Haag’s death. A leather folder. It held pictures of a younger Captain Haag, a pretty woman at his side. Hastily I put them away, ashamed at invading his privacy. The mere fact of his death didn’t allow me to do that. A chipcase, with three chips. I set them aside to read later.

  I took out an object about the length of my hand. A tube of wood, bored hollow down the middle. It had a wooden cup on one end. The cup was charred. Puzzled, I peered at it from all angles. A primitive piece from Africa? New Zealand folk art? Tourist junk from Caltech Planet? I couldn’t imagine Captain Haag treasuring such an object. I put it aside. The only other item in the safe was an unlabeled canister. I opened it. It was filled with flakes of dull brown substance. Some kind of vegetable matter.

  I lay the articles on my bunkside table and sat to contemplate them. I finally gave up and let my mind drift. I recalled an evening we middies spent with the Chief in a cheap Lunapolis bar, one of the rare occasions we socialized with our officers. We were speculating about how the colonies might develop, over time. I mentioned some ancient history I’d seen on a holodrama. It started the Chief on unusual primitive customs.