Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

  I sat bolt upright. Now I knew. The thing on the table was a device for burning the vegetable matter. Toccabo. How had the Chief put it? “Before the Reforms of 2024, boy, they were in common use. People filled them up and set them on fire.”

  “Then what, Chief?” I asked, knowing I was being played for a fool. “Did they call fire control?”

  “No, they sucked until the smoke came through the other end. It was a stimulant.”

  We laughed. The liquor had obviously gotten to him. “And then they ate the smoke?” I jeered. I must have been drunk; after all, he was the Chief Engineer and could send me to the barrel.

  “No, they breathed it.” He glared, offended by my mockery.

  “Chief, you’re making it up,” Alexi said. “Nobody could actually do that.”

  “Don’t be sure if you haven’t tried.” The Chief stared him down.

  “Have you—I mean, is it legal? Could you still do it?”

  “Oh, it’s legal. You can’t advertise the stuff, or sell it for profit. But I hear there are places to obtain it. Of course you couldn’t bring it on ship. It’s contraband, like other drugs.”

  I demanded, “If it’s legal, how come I never heard of it?”

  The Chief took my question seriously. “With the reforms of 2024, a lot of vices sort of disappeared. For example, women offering publicly to fornicate for money; you ever hear about that one? And cancer was a big problem back then, before the anticars. So they just stopped the smoking. It took a while, because people used it to relax. But after it was outlawed in public places, it more or less died out. People could grow the plant, but nobody bothered anymore.”

  “Hey, Chief, have you tried the stuff?” Sandy Wilsky.

  The Chief looked at his watch. “Time, to go. Early start tomorrow.” He flipped bills on the table.

  Now, in thy cabin, I sniffed the cup of the artifact. It smelled of charcoal, and another aroma. The toccabo, perhaps. I was scandalized. Captain Haag, sitting in his cabin secretly breathing contraband out of that fuming menace. Breaking ship’s regs. How little we knew him. To us he was Lord God, walking the bridge.

  Before taking command I’d never seen the inside of his cabin; none of us middies had. Few if any officers were invited into the Captain’s quarters. He must have been a lonely man, with only Chief McAndrews to keep him company. Scuttlebutt had it that on quiet evenings the Chief, an old friend of Mr. Haag, would join him in his cabin. Together they would sit and reminisce, or do whatever old friends did.

  I undressed for the night. My pants half off, I stopped short, swearing aloud at my stupidity. The tube in the safe wasn’t for the Captain. Of course not. He’d kept the contraband for his old friend. The Chief faced court-martial if it were found aboard ship, so Captain Haag put it in the only secure place on Hibernia: his own safe. And in the evenings the Chief must have ... I tried to imagine him with smoke pouring out his nose and mouth, like a dragon.

  I slipped off the rest of my clothes and lay on my bunk. Back in Lunapolis, the Chief had said, “People used it to relax.” Poor Chief McAndrews. Since the Captain’s death he’d been deprived not only of his friend’s companionship but his favorite relaxation as well. And all the while he didn’t know if the contraband would be discovered and his career endangered.

  On the spur of the moment I picked up the caller, dialed the engine room. “Chief Engineer to the Captain’s cabin.” I didn’t wait for an answer. If he wasn’t there, they’d find him. I threw on my clothes and made my bunk. I put the tube and the canister on the conference table.

  The knock came shortly. “Chief McAndrews reporting, sir.”

  “Come in, Chief. Sit down.” I wanted to show him it wasn’t a formal occasion.

  He sat in the proffered chair next to my table. His eyes flickered to the objects that lay on it. His expression showed nothing.

  “I was cleaning out the safe, Chief, and found some odd items. Captain Haag’s album, his ring. And these things, whatever they are.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I had to be careful not to force him to admit the artifacts were his. “I’ve been trying to guess what they are, Chief. I think ... do they have anything to do with that smoke stimulant you told me about? Toccabo?”

  “Tobacco, sir. It looks like they might.”

  “I’m fascinated. Why Captain Haag brought them aboard, I can’t imagine.” He made no reply. “To think the Captain used such a thing,” I went on. “I never would have guessed. Do you think I should try it?”

  “It’s forbidden, sir. Aboard ship.” He remained impassive.

  “Could you show me how it works? Please?”

  “I’d be breaking regs, Captain.”

  “Never mind that.” My tone was magnanimous. “I waive the regs, for this occasion.” I handed him the tube. “Chief, I want to see how it works. Can you figure out how to set it off?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sure I could.”

  Good answer. He still hadn’t committed himself. Perhaps he still suspected a trap. I could deal with that easily enough. “Make it work. That’s an order.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He was not only off the hook, he had no choice. He could suck the thing with impunity, protected from retribution by my direct order.

  The Chief opened the canister. Digging out a small metal spoon he filled the cup with the flaked vegetables. Tobaccos. He used the end of the spoon to tamp it down into the cup. “I need fire, sir.”

  “How much? A blowtorch?” I was prepared to order one up.

  “No, sir. A candlelighter will do. I carry one.” I waited while he put the flame to the cup. He brought the other end of the tube to his mouth and sucked, exactly as he had described. After a while he exhaled. Gray smoke came out his mouth. Wordlessly, he handed me the tube.

  “No, I want to watch. Keep going.”

  “That’s all there is, sir. You just keep doing it until it’s gone.”

  “Oh. Does it feel good?”

  “Some people say so.” His tone was cautious.

  “Finish it and tell me,” I said. “We can chat while we wait.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He studied me out of the corner of his eye. After a while he produced more smoke. I watched it curl toward the ventilators. The scrubbers would remove it from the air before recycling it.

  “How is morale on Level 3, Chief?”

  “Better than it was. It will be better yet, when the convicts are dealt with.”

  “Oh, Lord. I forgot.” How many days had passed? I still had to make up my mind about the three men waiting in the brig for execution.

  “Yes, sir. If you don’t mind my saying, the sooner it’s decided, the better.” The smoke seemed to have a relaxing effect on him.

  “You’re right. I’ll make a decision soon. Does that tube thing get hot in your hand?”

  “Pipe, sir. They call it a pipe.” It was automatic for the Chief to correct a youngster; I didn’t mind. “The bowl gets hot but not the stem.” He knew all the jargon about tobaccoing.

  I made conversation. After a while I grew used to the aroma of the smoke. Finally reassured that I wasn’t looking to trap him, the Chief relaxed more fully. He stretched out his legs, his elbow on the table.

  “How long did you know Captain Haag?” I asked.

  “Twenty-one years.” He knew the number by heart. “When he was first lieutenant we sailed together on the old Prince of Wales. We were in the same ship ever after.” He puffed on the tube. The pipe. “He would sit right where you are, sir.” His gaze was on the deck, or on something more distant. Mechanically he puffed until smoke appeared.

  “I’m sorry, Chief,” I said gently. “We all miss him. You most of all.”

  “Yes, sir. We didn’t talk a lot, you know. Often we just sat together.”

  Perhaps the smoke had relaxed me too. Spontaneously I reached for his arm. “Chief, I know I’ll never be as good as he was. I’m just trying to get through each day. I know it wouldn’t be the same for you, but if you
could come up sometimes, just to sit together ...”

  “You don’t need to apologize for yourself, sir.” He looked away, spoke to the bulkhead. “You’re doing all right.”

  “Not really. You can’t say so, but I know I’ve made a mess of things. With the Pilot, with Vax. Probably with everybody.”

  “I hear you’re a pretty sharp navigator, Captain.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

  “You heard about that?”

  “It’s all over the ship. Your stock is up considerably.”

  I wasn’t very surprised. Scuttlebutt went from the bridge to the fusion drive faster than a ship’s boy could run. Maybe Darla did it. “It was an accident.”

  “You were being Captain. It’s what you’re for.” He puffed again, trying to maintain the blaze. “I’d be glad to sit with you, sir,” he said gruffly. “If it would be of service.”

  “Thank you, Chief.” We sat peaceably until the fire was out.

  12

  I TAPPED MY GLASS. The room quieted. “Lord God, today is March 14, 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 remained standing after the “amen”. “Before we begin, I have a few remarks.” Some of the passengers exchanged glances. “As you know, we have resumed Fusion and are sailing for Hope Nation.” They knew, but they didn’t like it. I heard a brief murmur of discontent.

  “My officers and I—” I liked that. It sounded confident. “My officers and I expect to arrive in Hope Nation on schedule. But we are shorthanded by four officers, which means extra watches for all those who remain. I have therefore decided to allow enlistment of one or more cadets from among the passengers.”

  I raised my voice to override the sudden angry babble. “A cadet trains to be a midshipman, an officer in the Naval Service. He or she enlists for a five-year term. Promotion to lieutenant or Captain may eventually occur. Service as an officer in the Naval Service is an honorable profession. If any of you want more information you may contact the purser, who will arrange for an officer to see you.”

  I sat in the resulting silence. Tonight only two were at my table: Mrs. Donhauser and Mr. Kaa Loa, a Micronesian who spoke infrequently. I hadn’t gotten to know him.

  “Good evening, Madam.”

  “Hello, Captain.” She regarded me thoughtfully. “Aren’t midshipmen recruited as children?”

  “Cadets are, yes. Midshipmen are adults, by act of the General Assembly.”

  “Do you really expect parents to consent to your taking their children, Captain Seafort?” I realized how seldom my name and title had been used together. I liked the sound of it.

  “Probably not.”

  “Isn’t it a useless gesture, then?” She never dodged an issue. Blunt and honest. I approved of her.

  “Not really,” I said. “I don’t need their consent.”

  She leaned close and grabbed my arm. “Nicky, don’t shanghai joeykids into the service!” She spoke forcefully, quietly. “You may not know it yet, but protecting our children is one of the basic human urges. Don’t get it working against you. You’d be asking for real trouble!” She wasn’t threatening me; it was a warning, and I appreciated it.

  “I’ll take it into consideration, Mrs. Donhauser.” I changed the subject as quickly as I could.

  I shared the evening watch with Alexi. His mood was brighter than my own. I just wanted to sit and think; he had it in mind to ask all sorts of questions. He was respectful enough, but he wouldn’t shut up. That was one drawback to our having been bunkmates; once past his initial shyness Alexi erred the other direction and was overly familiar. But I needed to decide what to do about my prisoners.

  In addition to Mr. Tuak, ordinary seaman Rogoff and Machinist’s Mate Herney were also under sentence of death, Rogoff for clubbing Chief Petty Officer Terrill, and Herney for fighting Mr. Vishinsky. The last case bothered me the most. I had seen the fracas myself, and I didn’t think Mr. Herney had any idea whom he was hitting. I reread the regs on striking an officer.

  “Do you think Darla’s problem is correctable, sir?” Alexi. His fourth attempt to start a conversation.

  “I don’t know.” Did the crime of striking an officer require knowledge that the victim was an officer? Perhaps not; fighting was itself a crime, and hitting an officer could just be an unlucky consequence. On the other hand—

  “We could take her down for reprogramming while we’re Fused, sir.”

  I thought my response mild, under the circumstances. “Be quiet for a while, Alexi.” Presently I noticed he wore the reproachful expression of a chastened puppy. He didn’t speak, but his silence was louder than words.

  I sighed inwardly, knowing what Captain Haag would have done. But I liked Alexi. I groped for a way to divert him. “Calculate drive corrections for load imbalance, assuming we don’t take on any cargo in Detour. It’ll be good practice.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” It kept him quiet awhile, anyway.

  On his next watch, Pilot Haynes reported he was unable to find my authorization codes in any of our files. I nodded, saying nothing, hoping he hadn’t seen my sudden blush. As soon as I could manage it casually, I left the bridge, hurried to my cabin. I took the forgotten chipcase from my safe, slipped a chip into my holovid.

  The first chip held Captain Haag’s personal pay vouchers, and statements of his savings account at Bank of Nova Scotia and Luna. The second, a text borrowed from the ship’s library.

  The third was a series of authorization codes for special access to the puter.

  Not quite at ease handling the matter on my own, I called the Chief to the bridge, had him sit with me while I ordered Darla to recalculate.

  It was really quite simple. After I entered the codes she went silent for almost a minute, while the screen flashed. Finally, she chimed a bell, as if clearing her throat. “Recalculation complete, Captain.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief. “Very well. What’s the ship’s base mass, Darla?”

  “215.6 standard units.”

  “And adjusted mass?”

  Her voice was assured. “215.6 standard units. Are we plotting another Fuse?”

  “Oh, Lord God.” I glanced to the Chief. He swallowed.

  Darla was still glitched.

  Two days passed, while we debated what to do. I swore the Chief and the Pilot to secrecy; nerves on board were taut enough without rumors that a crazed puter might send us to another galaxy.

  I cursed my stupidity in not having, turned back for home when I had the chance. Lieutenant Dagalow was no Dosman, but she had her advanced puter rating, and could have told us how to correct the parameter problem. Knowing the task was beyond me, I sent the Pilot delving into our puter manuals in the hope he’d learn enough to guide us through whatever programming might be necessary.

  As Hibernia was already in Fusion, I saw no point in Defusing until Mr. Haynes felt himself ready. Though a proper Captain would have decided alone, I asked the Chief’s opinion. He agreed.

  In the meantime, Purser Browning reported no inquiries about enlistment. I had copies of my announcement posted in the passenger mess and lounges. Some were torn down.

  The death sentences also preyed on my mind. I went to Amanda’s cabin and shared with her my dread at having to consider executions. If I’d been Captain when the riot took place the affair wouldn’t have gotten past Captain’s Mast. But the court-martial was an established fact; now what was I to do?

  She studied my face strangely. “Pardon them, of course. How can you do anything else?”

  “What am I telling the crew by condoning mutiny?” I asked.

  “Nicky, that wasn’t a mutiny, it was a brawl. You know that.”

  I tried to help her understand. “It was a kind of mutiny, hon. They disobeyed all sorts of regs, on smuggling, on drugs, about fighting. Worse, they attacked the officers Captain Malstrom sent in to break it up.”

  “They were brawling. You already said you
wouldn’t have called a court-martial.”

  “Yes, but ... How did I explain, to a civilian? “Look. Say I’m a midshipman, and I’ve been up all night at General Quarters, and afterwards I report to the Captain with my uniform untidy. If he sees it he has to put me on report. And then I get in trouble with the first lieutenant.” I paused for breath. “But he might decide not to see it. Then he doesn’t have to deal with it.”

  “So, decide not to see it,” she said promptly.

  “The problem is that it’s already been seen. If Captain Malstrom hadn’t officially noticed it with formal charges, I could let them go. Now if I do, I’m saying that mutiny goes unpunished.”

  She was troubled. “I thought I knew you, Nicky. You can’t be so cruel as to kill those poor men.” That wasn’t quite fair. I wouldn’t kill them. That decision had already been made by Admiralty, Captain Malstrom, and the court-martial’s presiding officer. I would let them be killed, a different thing altogether. If I did nothing, the process started by someone else would continue. I decided not to press the point. When we parted, the trouble was still between us.

  The next day I had some good news. A note from the Purser; a passenger wanted information about joining up. I called Mr. Browning to the bridge, where I shared watch with the Chief. “One of the Treadwell joeys,” I guessed. “Rafe or Paula.”

  “No, sir.” The purser looked uncomfortable standing at attention. “Mr. Carr.”

  “Derek? You’re joking.”

  The concept of playing a trick on the Captain seemed beyond the man. “No, sir,” he assured me, his tone earnest. “He asked to speak to an officer about your announcement. He kept repeating he hadn’t made his mind up yet.”

  “Who’d be best to send to him?” I asked the Chief.

  “Are you sure you’d let him join, sir?” A good question.

  “No.” That decided it. “I’ll talk with him myself.”

  After watch and a short nap I went down to the Level 2 cabin Derek had shared with his father. It would be less formal than the bridge.

  “Hello, Captain.” We hadn’t spoken since my promotion. He stood aside to let me enter. I chose a seat. His cabin was neat and clean, his belongings put away. Good.