Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

  I spoke softly. “Darla, do you have a file on General Kall?” Almost instantly a picture flashed on my screen. He seemed older than his voice. His statistics and service record flashed below the holo.

  I supposed I should invite him aboard for dinner. Living as he did under constant tension, he would probably appreciate a formal meal. Still, I was reluctant. Kall was Army, not U.N.N.S., and he would notice my youth and inexperience.

  “Relative speed twenty-five kilometers, distance ten kilometers.”

  “Acknowledged. Brake jets, eighteen.” We drifted closer.

  The speaker crackled. “Miningcamp Station ready for mating, Hibernia.”

  “Very well.” My tone was abrupt. I yearned for the reassuring presence of one of our late lieutenants, hands clasped behind him, supervising my drill. Any of them, even Mr. Cousins.

  “Steer one hundred ten, one spurt.” The Pilot’s whole attention was focused on his screens.

  A gentle bump. Console lights flashed. The Pilot had kissed airlocks on his first approach, without need for corrections.

  “Very good, Mr. Haynes.” I tried not to seem grudging. I keyed the caller. “Mr. Wilsky, join capture latches.” I’d posted Sandy at the aft lock, where our guests would enter.

  “Aft latches joined, sir.”

  “Very well. Miningcamp, we’ll off-load your supplies shortly. General Kall, would you care to come aboard?” I hoped he’d refuse.

  The General seemed on edge. “Just to say hello, perhaps. I’d like to get the supplies planetside before local nightfall.”

  “Very well, I’ll meet you at our aft lock.” The Pilot and Alexi could man the bridge during the necessary courtesies. I still hadn’t decided whether to offer dinner.

  “Roger. My officers and I will be waiting.”

  “Mr. Tamarov, report to the bridge!” I drummed on the chair arm, organizing my thoughts. After a moment I sent Vax below to supervise at the forward airlock, through which the cargo would be unloaded.

  Alexi came onto the bridge, breathing hard. I waved him to a seat, watching the aft lock indicators blink on my console.

  We opened our inner airlock hatch. A suited sailor entered the lock. The inner hatch closed, and our precious air was pumped back into the ship.

  I granted permission to open the outer lock. The waiting seaman made fast the safety line to the station’s stanchion. Our airlock and Miningcamp’s were now tethered by steel cable, as regs required. Ever since Concorde’s capture latches had failed, backup lines were mandatory.

  Although the mated airlock suckers were airtight, our inner and outer hatches were never opened at the same time; that would invite calamity. When our visitors came aboard, we’d seal the outer hatch before opening the inner one. Standard procedure.

  “Aft lock moored to stanchion, sir.” Sandy. I recalled my post at Hibernia’s lock when we’d cast off from Ganymede Station. Then, I’d been a mere middy, my every move supervised by Lieutenant Malstrom. Months had passed, and now I supervised from the bridge.

  “Forward lock moored, sir.” Vax Holser.

  “Very well.” I swallowed bile, tried to settle my churning stomach. Did I need another antiflu shot, or was it just my tension? Nerves, I decided. I couldn’t afford to be sick.

  “Welcome to Miningcamp.” A muffled voice, through the speakers. “Captain Seafort, I have my staff along; perhaps I could introduce them to you.” At Miningcamp, visitors were few and far between. General Kall’s officers would eagerly await the ceremony, and whatever social amenities followed. I sighed. Perhaps dinner was necessary after all.

  “Of course, General.” I’d have to change into my starched dress whites. I fidgeted irritably, not looking forward to the formalities.

  Sandy, again. “Sir, a party is waiting at the aft lock. About a dozen men, suited. Shall I open?” He sounded young and nervous. I made allowances; he had no lieutenant at his side, as I’d had.

  “Let them on, Mr. Wilsky; tell them I’ll be down shortly.” I set down the caller.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Derek said quietly to Alexi, “They’re so anxious to meet us they can’t even wait—”

  “Quiet, middy! One demerit!” Unkind, but I was in no mood for banter. I slapped open the bridge hatch. “Mr. Tamarov, you have the conn.” I grimaced. “I’ll change clothes, and meet the General at the aft ...”

  I trailed off, my hackles rising. A dozen men, suited? Something was wrong. For an instant I hesitated, reluctant to make a fool of myself. Then I lunged for the console caller. “Sandy, belay that order! Seal the lock! Acknowledge!”

  No answer. “Sandy!”

  MY SHIP!

  I slammed the emergency airlock override on my console. A red light blinked its warning; the override had failed.

  I bellowed into the caller. “General Quarters! All hands, prepare to repel boarders! Prepare for decompression! Boarders in the aft airlock, Level 2!”

  Alexi and Derek gawked.

  “Repel Boarders” was the oldest, most obsolete drill in the U.N. Navy, but still we practiced it, along with General Quarters and Battle Stations. I wondered if it had ever before been used in earnest.

  I slapped the emergency hatch close. The bridge hatch snapped shut, with enough force to break the arm of anyone caught in its way. I punched in the safe combination, hauled out a familiar key. “Alexi, open the munitions locker! Arm whoever you can round up! Get an armed party down to Level 2!”

  He took the key. “Aye aye, sir! What—”

  I snatched the laser pistol from the safe, shoved it in my belt. “The General—He’s no General, he’s trying to take over the ship! A dozen men in suits? They’re expecting trouble, maybe decompression. Move!” I slapped open the hatch; Alexi flew out into the corridor. I shut it after him, raced back to the caller.

  “Chief, seal the engine room!”

  “Aye aye, Captain. Hatch sealed.” His tone was calm.

  The speaker blared. “Captain, they’ve got lasers! They’re making for the ladder, we can’t—”

  Silence.

  I keyed my caller to shipwide frequency. “Mr. Vishinsky to Level 2, flank, with your whole squad! Meet Mr. Tamarov at the munitions locker. All passengers, to your cabins! Seal your hatches and put on pressure suits! Mr. Holser, to the aft lock!”

  Derek awaited orders, pale but composed. The Pilot gazed at me steadily; he hadn’t moved since I first seized the caller. “Captain, are you sure—”

  “Shut up.” My thoughts raced. We needed time. Until Alexi organized a fighting party, my laser pistol was the only weapon available. “Derek, hold the bridge. No one but an officer may enter. I’m going to the lock.”

  “But—aye aye, sir.” Derek’s hand hovered over the emergency close. I emerged cautiously, fingering my laser, recalling Mr. Vishinsky’s example in the crew berth.

  The corridor was empty.

  I ran toward the ladder. Just in time, I thought to stop and peek over the rail. Two figures in bulky pressure suits were climbing cautiously, weapons ready.

  My first shot caught one of them squarely in the chest. A searing flash, the smell of roasting meat. Gagging, I ducked just as a bolt sizzled into the railing at my side.

  If they were already on the ladder we were in horrid trouble. All my fault; if I’d had my wits about me I’d never have let them aboard.

  I took a deep breath. Vax would be a better Captain than I. I hurled myself around the rail and down the steps, firing as I went. My second shot dropped the other intruder. I leaped over his body, stumbled, almost fell the rest of the way.

  I caught myself, staggered to the bottom of the ladder, firing wildly along the corridor. Several suited men retreated around the corridor bend toward the aft airlock.

  Heedless, I ran forward, still firing. I would exhaust my laser in no time, but at all costs I had to keep the attackers from advancing until our armed defenders arrived. Return bolts of fire seared the bulkhead a meter from my head. I crept forward tow
ard the bend, caught a glimpse of the airlock, and beyond.

  Bodies sprawled in the corridors, some suited. A party of our seamen had thrown up a makeshift barricade in the corridor past the airlock, almost around the far bend. Crouched behind their flimsy barrier of tables, they waited for their assailants, armed with nothing but clubs and the ship’s fire hose.

  More suited figures emerged from the gaping lock. Only a few had lasers; the rest carried a motley assortment of weapons. Ancient electric rifles, stunners, knives. Steel bars were jammed against our emergency corridor hatches nearest the airlock, to hold them open.

  A few men ran at me, clumsy in their heavy suits. I fired. A lucky shot brought down the closest. The others skidded to a stop. Coolly I aimed at another, pressed the trigger. The pistol beeped: out of charge. I cursed.

  Again they came at me. One hurled a billy club directly at my head. I ducked, but it slammed into my forehead in a flash of white fire. Half-blinded, dizzy, I fell to my knees. A cry of triumph. As I reeled, they dashed forward. A club loomed, poised to smash out my brains.

  “CAPTAIN!” A raging giant hurled the club-wielder to the deck. Vax Holser recovered his balance, lashed at a second attacker, fist and club flailing with deadly accuracy. The miner fell back.

  Vax wheeled on his remaining enemy. The man raised his pistol. Vax’s club shattered his suit visor. He dropped.

  Dazed, my head on fire, I clawed to my feet.

  “That one’s the Captain!” Someone pointed. A laser bolt splashed into the bulkhead in a shower of sparks. My knees buckled.

  Vax’s huge hand closed around my waist. He swept me into his arms and ran for the ladder, bolts sizzling at his feet. My weight an unnoticed burden, he pounded up the ladder toward the bridge two steps at a time. The tread of boots thudded behind us.

  “Bridge, I’ve got the Captain!” Vax’s bellow rang in the deserted corridor. The camera swiveled. The hatch slid open. Vax charged onto the bridge.

  Derek slapped the hatch shut. The Pilot, halfway between hatch and console, gaped at his semiconscious Captain inert in the enraged middy’s arms.

  Vax lowered me into my chair. Blood dripped into my right eye; I wiped my forehead on my sleeve.

  “Sir, are you—”

  I snarled, “Disengage capture latches fore and aft!”

  “Sir, we’re still—Aye aye, sir.” He keyed the console. Usually we parted the latches from the lock control panels, but as on any ship, I could disengage from the bridge. “Pilot, prepare to rock the ship! Break contact!”

  “Sir, we’ll decompress!”

  “Break us loose! They’re still boarding!” My head was spinning, but I knew what had to be done.

  “Aye aye, sir! Captain, the safety line is tied. We’ll tear the lock right out of the ship!”

  “God damn you, Pilot, rock us loose!” The stanchion in Hibernia was rated higher than the mooring line; that much I knew. It would hold. The line would snap or it would break the station airlock. I didn’t care which.

  I grabbed the caller. “All hands, all passengers, be ready for decompression in thirty seconds! Everybody get suited! Thirty seconds to decompress!” More blood oozed down my face. “Fighting parties, withdraw! Get into suits!” Emergency suits were stored throughout the ship for a decompression emergency. They held only half-hour tanks. It would have to be enough.

  “Now?” The Pilot’s hands were on the controls.

  “Wait.” The delay was agonizing. Every second allowed more attackers to board us. On the other hand, my crew needed time to suit up.

  “Twenty seconds to decompress! ... Fifteen!” Surely everyone had reached a suit by now. On my console, I slapped shut the corridor hatch switches. Seventeen lights blinked green; two blinked red where the enemy had jammed our hatches. We would decompress not one section, but three. However, the rest of the ship should be airtight, unless stray laser bolts had pierced the bulkheads.

  “Ten seconds! Five!” It had to be done, whether or not the passengers were ready. “Beware decompression! Now, Pilot!” He fired the maneuvering jets in alternation, each squirt rocking the ship around the rubber suckers holding the airlocks together. A long terrible moment passed when it seemed we wouldn’t break free.

  Alarms sounded. Darla came to life with urgent warnings. “Unstable airlock! Air loss in the aft lock! LEVEL 2 DECOMPRESSION IMMINENT! Forward lock is sealed, outer and inner hatches! EMERGENCY! DECOMPRESSION AT AFT LOCK!”

  Cold hell had come to my ship. The mated airlocks broke apart. Outrushing air swept all loose objects toward the aft lock, where the boarding party had blocked both the inner and outer hatches to prevent our closing them. Nothing could hold back the air blasting out of that section until only vacuum remained.

  “Ship in motion, relative speed point five kilometers!”

  Lord God, we beg thy mercy.

  “Pilot, sail us clear before they start throwing things at us!” I thumbed the caller. “All stations report!”

  “Engine room. We have power, no damage. Seals holding.” The Chief, his voice astoundingly matter-of-fact.

  “Comm room reporting. Power, no damage.”

  “Crew berth three, sir. We’re suited and ready. Mr. Tamarov is in charge. We’ve got lasers and stunners, sir.”

  “Master-at-arms reporting. Crew berths one and two are all right, sir. I’m organizing fighting squads.”

  “Galley reporting, sir. Everything’s all right here.” I giggled, unable to stop myself. All was well in the galley; our dinner was safe.

  The bridge spun lazily. I blinked, pulled myself together. “Someone get me water. Vax, situation report!”

  “Aye aye, sir. On Level 2, sections six, seven, and eight are decompressed. That’s the airlock, the exercise room, the lounge, and fourteen passenger cabins. The area is held by hostiles. The rest of the ship has air and power. Undetermined number of boarders in sections six through eight. Sir, some of them may have gotten past the corridor hatches before you closed them.”

  Vax was right. I’d held the hatches open as long as I dared, for the crew’s sake, so as not to trap them in the decompression zone when we rocked loose. The corridor between the airlock and the ladder, where I had fought, was in section eight, now decompressed. The foot of the ladder I had hurtled down was in section nine, and I’d met two invaders on its steps.

  I drank greedily from the cup Derek thrust at me. “We’ll be alert for them.”

  “Sir, the passengers are on half-hour tanks. We don’t have long to rescue them.”

  “Lord God.” I marshaled my thoughts. “Mr. Vishinsky!”

  “Aye aye, sir!”

  “Did any boarders from section six get past the barricades in five?”

  “No, sir. I wasn’t there, but the word is they didn’t.”

  “Very well. You’re under Mr. Tamarov’s command. Alexi, you and Mr. Vishinsky go the long way around the corridor, to section ten.” By circling the disk our war party would surround the invaded sections.

  “I’ll open the hatches in front of you. There may be hostiles in section nine. As fast as you can, secure and evacuate nine. We’ll use it as an airlock to section eight; we’ll pump air from nine back into ten and then open from nine to eight. Got that?”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “We know hostiles are in six, seven, and eight. Also our own passengers who are running out of air. As soon as nine is pumped out I’ll open the hatch to section eight. Clear eight and move on to seven, then six. Bring the passengers back to nine and we’ll cycle them back into ten, where they can desuit. Hurry.”

  “Aye aye, sir. We’re moving!”

  “May I go, sir?” Vax’s muscles rippled.

  “No. You have to stay alive.” I wouldn’t repeat Captain Malstrom’s mistake. Vax was ready now, and I had to preserve him. I pressed a handkerchief to my forehead. I ached abominably.

  Our fighting party climbed to Level 2 and circled the circumference corridor. Our airtight hatches had divided
the disk into wedge-shaped slices, at either end of every section. In radio contact with the master-at-arms, I opened each hatch as they approached. At last, I opened the hatch from eleven to ten, and the crewmen crowded in.

  “Ready, Mr. Vishinsky?”

  The speaker crackled. “You there, don’t stand in the middle of the corridor! Edwards, Ogar, Tinnik, you’re on point. Why don’t you stay behind me, Mr. Tamarov, sir. Captain, we’re ready.”

  I opened to section nine. I could hear Vishinsky shout as he pounded on cabin hatches. “Open up! I’m the master-at-arms. This section will be decompressed in two minutes! Let’s go! Everybody forward to the ladder! Open your hatch or we’ll burn our way in!”

  I thought to help. “Attention, passengers in cabins 208 through 214. This is Captain Seafort. Open your hatches and go into the corridor. You must be evacuated quickly!” Perhaps the sound of my voice would reassure them. Then again, perhaps not.

  A few moments later Vishinsky reported back. “Sir, we’ve made a quick search, no hostiles found. We’ve moved the passengers back into section ten. We’re waiting in nine.”

  “Very well.” I closed the hatch between nine and ten. I flipped on the pumps and began decompressing nine. “Mr. Carr!”

  “Yes, sir.” He stood.

  “Find the purser. The passengers will need help; some of them may be in shock. Take the section four ladder and go the long way around, to meet them. Bring them to the dining hall. You’re in charge.”

  “Aye aye, sir!” Derek saluted. Vax opened the hatch for him and he hurried out.

  I waited impatiently for the pumps to empty section nine. Section eight was already decompressed, its airlock gaping wide. By decompressing nine we’d save the air it held, when the hatch to eight was opened. Finally the pumps completed their work. “Opening to eight, Mr. Vishinsky!”

  “Aye aye, sir.” We waited, listening intently.

  “Look out!” Vishinsky’s voice, a scream. “Ogar, zap the son of a bitch!” The attackers didn’t have to wield lasers to be dangerous. Any weapon that penetrated a suit was lethal.

  The battle was fought in the eerie silence of vacuum, punctuated by grunts and heavy breathing from the suits of our attack party. The snap of the lasers disrupted the suits’ radionics when our men fired; it was audible on the bridge as a momentary whine.