Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

  That did it. She needed discipline as much as I needed midshipmen. An even trade; her parents be damned. “You’re sure? You know what cadets go through?”

  “I know.” She looked worried for a moment, then shrugged. “If other joeys can take it, I can.”

  “It’s harder for a girl. Not many women serve on ships.”

  “Lieutenant Dagalow did.”

  “Yes.” Naval policy barred discrimination, and officially none existed, but wardroom life could nonetheless be particular hell for a woman. On the other hand, I knew Vax and Alexi well, and they wouldn’t let hazing get too far out of hand.

  “You two are willing to be separated?”

  They exchanged glances; Rafe nodded slightly. Paula said, “We won’t like it, but we’re willing.”

  “Repeat after me,” I said. “I, Paula Treadwell, do swear on my immortal soul ...”

  “I, Paula Treadwell ...” A moment later I had another cadet.

  She took the fifth bunk, in the center of the wardroom; Ricky Fuentes moved up to Sandy’s bunk along the wall. The wardroom would remain crowded. Derek especially would learn new lessons about modesty in the Navy. I didn’t really care. I was counting weeks and days, waiting for the end.

  “Lord God, today is December 31, 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.” This time I remained standing. “Ladies and gentlemen, by the Grace of God it has been a tragic and trying year. Our friends and comrades, though absent, travel with us in spirit. I look forward, as do you, to landfall at Hope Nation, and on this last night of this fateful year I ask Lord God’s especial blessing to heal the wounds occasioned by our misfortunes.”

  I sat. Grudgingly at first, they joined in the “Amen.” When the last murmurs had subsided I signaled the steward to begin.

  Only three now sat at my table. Mrs. Donhauser, Mr. Ibn Saud, and, of all people, Amanda Frowel. “Nicky, let me sit with you. What they’re doing is unfair and wrong. I want to show I’m not a part of it.”

  It took courage for my three companions to stay with me. Jared and Irene Treadwell had gone nearly berserk after their daughter took the oath. At first they claimed I had no authority to enlist her. They invaded officers’ country to reclaim her and had to be physically restrained. Then they circulated a petition demanding Paula’s discharge which every single passenger signed, including the three who now sat with me. I didn’t mind that, but when the Treadwells started circulating an appeal among the crew I’d had enough. I passed the word that any crewman who signed or even discussed a petition with them would spend the rest of the cruise in the brig, and sent the Chief to warn the Treadwells to leave the crew alone or they too would see the inside of a cell.

  They disrupted evening meals and had to be physically ejected from the dining hall. Then came the day the Treadwells accosted Paula and forced her back to their cabin. Vax and a party of seamen had to dismantle their hatch to rescue the embarrassed cadet.

  Their agitation continued until, a week ago, Rafe Treadwell was heard warning his parents that unless they let Paula be, he too would enlist. After that the Treadwells became more circumspect; perhaps they had learned something about their children’s resolve.

  I continued to make myself unbearable on the bridge. I drilled the midshipmen in navigation and pilotage without cease. I sent Derek to be caned for some impatience I detected in his tone, and ignored the simmering fury he exhibited for days afterward. I chewed out Alexi regularly until he was so agitated he could barely handle a watch. My off-duty hours were spent alone in my cabin; I had long since packaged the Chief’s pipe and tobacco and sent them to him without comment.

  One day I decided to give Alexi an unscheduled navigation drill. Our middies had to be more skillful than I was, should fate put the safety of a ship in their hands. I called the wardroom but no one answered. It was understandable that Alexi would be elsewhere; it was more unusual for no one to be there at all. Curious and suspicious, I sealed the bridge and went to look, shrugging off my serious breach of regulations in leaving the bridge unattended.

  The three midshipmen and two cadets were nowhere to be found. I searched officers’ country, the lounges, the exercise room. I checked the galley, the mess halls. I went down to crew quarters. I even peered into the engine room.

  Convinced I had an intrigue on my hands, I prowled the ship trying to imagine where the middies might be. Were they conspiring in the hold beyond the launch berth? I passed through the lock to the empty berth. The hatch slid open. Shouts and laughter, in the dim standby lights.

  “Look out!” An object sailed toward me. I ducked. It splattered on my chest, and I was drenched in icy water head to waist. I spluttered with rage.

  In an instant I grasped the situation. Piles of water balloons lay about. The middies and cadets, wet uniforms sticking to their limbs, carried armfuls of missiles as they stalked each other.

  “Oh, Lord God! The Captain!” The figures froze in horror.

  IT DIDN’T HAPPEN! If I acknowledged what I saw, I would have to act. I didn’t want to act, therefore it didn’t happen. I would ignore it. I turned to leave, but the water squished in my shoe and my intent changed abruptly. I dialed down the light until the berth was nearly dark. “Hostile attack, Vax! I’m unarmed! Situation critical!”

  It took him only a second to react. He lobbed a couple of water balloons at me. I caught them and rounded on the nearest middy, who happened to be Derek. “Surrender!” I caught him in square in the face. He squawked and fell back, spitting ice water. I wheeled on Ricky, across the room. “Attack your betters, will you?” I stalked him.

  Alexi was the first who was brave enough to fire at me intentionally. After that it degenerated into a wild melee that ended only after the huge piles of water balloons were exhausted. By that time all the middies and their Captain had turned on the two hapless cadets and bombarded them into submission from all sides.

  I leaned against the bulkhead guffawing. After a while I feared I wouldn’t be able to stop. I brought myself under control and faced the grinning middies. “What a breach of regs! For punishment I order you to mop the place up, every inch of it. Acknowledge!”

  “Aye aye, sir!” They acknowledged my command with unfeigned delight. I began wondering how I might get to my cabin to change clothes without being seen. I wasn’t aware yet that my funk had finally lifted and I could now face each day, if not cheerfully, then at least unafraid.

  Once more, I began to take interest in my duties.

  The Pilot asked again to see me. For months I had ignored his requests, but now I decided to evade him no longer. I went to his cabin. I hadn’t laid eyes on him in four months; his appearance shocked me. Gaunt, his eyes red-rimmed and sunken, he came quickly to attention. I released him.

  He licked his lips. “Now I’m finally talking to you I don’t know how to begin.” I waited uncomfortably. He turned away, hugged himself as if from cold. “Captain, if you don’t restore me to duty before we dock, I’m finished. It—it’s my life, the Navy. It’s all I have.”

  He glanced at my face. “Jesus, how old are you, eighteen? How can you understand? Nothing’s the same when you get older. Sounds aren’t as sharp; the edges of your hearing have gone. Colors don’t seem as bright. Even food doesn’t taste as good. Nothing smells or tastes or feels as alive as when you were young, when you thought your mind would overload from the sheer pleasure of the sensations ...” He trailed off, his eyes distant.

  “I may not be a good officer—” He swallowed and began again. “Captain, I know I’m not a good officer, not really. But I’m good at pilotage. Very good.” I nodded my acknowledgment.

  “When I’m at the conn I feel the—aliveness again. I sense the instruments, the thrusters, through my fingers, with the intensity I could feel elsewhere when I was younger. Can you imagine what it is to face losing that? Please! I don’t know how to beg, but I’m trying.”

  I cou
ldn’t stand much more of that; he sounded like the late Mr. Rogoff. “I’m not asking that, Mr. Haynes.”

  He said, “I can be a very good pilot. At the conn, that is. For the rest of it, I can try harder. If that’s not good enough ...” He broke off. “I’m too old to start at something else. For the love of Lord God, Captain, don’t leave me to rot!”

  “Those protests in the Log? Telling us middies to be quiet because we distracted you?”

  He whispered the words. “Arrogance. I can’t afford it anymore. When you get down to it, this is all I am.” His eyes glistened. “I sail starships. I maneuver, I dock, I plot courses, calculate positions. I can live without my pettiness and my arrogance—oh, God, I’ll have to—but I can’t live without that!”

  “You’ve been thinking a great deal, Mr. Haynes.”

  “I don’t want to live, if I can’t be a pilot.” He swallowed. “Please,” he said, his tone humble. “Give me back my life. I’ll mind my own business, I swear. No protests, no remarks, no looks of disgust. I’ve learned what matters. Pilotage is important. Nothing else.”

  I was moved. “We don’t like each other, Mr. Haynes. That can’t be helped. But we don’t have to. Very well. Your rank is restored. I’ll put you back on the watch roster. We’ll see how it goes.”

  He closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you,” he whispered. Bile rose in my throat. I had broken him. I felt unbearably ashamed.

  22

  IN A FEW DAYS we would Defuse for our final navigation check before arrival at Hope Nation.

  I was running out of time; there was one more thing I had to do before I turned over command to my replacement. On afternoon watch, I assembled the officers on the bridge. Chief McAndrews, the Pilot, the midshipmen, and the cadets waited, perplexed. I called Vax Holser forward. He stood stiffly at attention as I faced him.

  “Darla, record these proceedings.” Her recorders lit. “Mr. Holser, step forward. I, Captain Nicholas Seafort, do commission Midshipman Vax Stanley Holser to the Naval Service of the Government of the United Nations”—thunderstruck, his face lit with unalloyed joy—“and do appoint him lieutenant, by the Grace of God.”

  It was done. My own rank as Captain was subject to confirmation or revocation by Admiral Johanson, but the commissions and appointments I made were not. Unlike the old oceanic navy, field commissions were permanent. Admiralty would accept Vax’s lieutenancy regardless of its wisdom. To do less would cast doubt on a Captain’s boundless authority under weigh.

  Vax, grinning foolishly, accepted the handshakes and congratulations of the other officers. I noticed Alexi’s bemused expression. It must have occurred to him that he’d just become first midshipman, in charge of the wardroom.

  The new lieutenant took the cadets to help carry his gear to his cabin. It was a relaxed moment; the rest of us chatted before dispersing. “Well, Mr. Carr.” My tone was genial. “Are you planning to challenge your new senior?”

  His look was cool. “Perhaps, sir. If occasion warrants.” My smile faded. He wasn’t about to forgive me for sending him to the barrel in a moment of irritation. I wondered if I could make amends. Probably not. Derek could forgive much, but not that unjustified humiliation.

  A few days later I brought the ship out of Fusion. Alexi plotted our position and ran the coordinates for our last jump, under the Pilot’s watchful eye. Mr. Haynes said little. When the figures were presented I laboriously recalculated everything from scratch. It was a good day; I finished in less than half an hour. At last, all our figures matched. We Fused again.

  Alexi relaxed with a sigh of relief.

  “Not so fast, Mr. Tamarov.” I indicated the screens. “Darla, simulate Hope Nation approach, please.” I thumbed the caller. “Chief, simulated Defuse and maneuvers. Middy drill.” I turned back to the midshipman. “Alexi, bring the ship out of Fusion and dock her.” I had failed miserably at the same maneuver eons ago under the tutelage of Captain Haag and Lieutenant Dagalow.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Alexi studied the console. “Engine room, prepare to Defuse.” With confidence, he ran his finger down the screen. My envy grew as I watched him work easily through the complicated maneuver, firing his auxiliary engines, maneuvering to mate with Orbit Station. At the finish he tapped lightly on the braking thrusters, and the airlocks gently kissed. In simulation we were at rest, mated to Orbit Station.

  If it weren’t for a barely perceptible sheen of sweat on his forehead I’d have thrown him bodily off the bridge.

  “Very well, Mr. Tamarov. That’s all.” As he started to rise I reluctantly gave him his due. “Alexi, a fine job. Very good.”

  He grinned with pleasure. “Thank you, sir. Thanks very much!”

  “How do you like being first middy?”

  “I like it a lot,” Alexi said. Then he added shyly, “I’m trying to be like you were, sir.”

  At first I felt a pleasant glow. Then my anger rose. Why in the name of heaven would he want to be like me?

  An air of excitement, a feeling of goodwill, pervaded the ship; our interminable voyage was finally nearing an end. All that remained was to Defuse at the rim of Hope Nation system and maneuver to Orbit Station. Then, disembarkation.

  Most of the passengers had a good idea what awaited them; they’d planned their trip for years and had careers, prospects, opportunities already arranged. I wondered what my future held. A court of inquiry, certainly, and probably a court-martial; the deaths of crew and passengers and the invasion of my ship made it a near certainty.

  I wondered if I’d ever see deep space again. On the other hand, it didn’t much matter. I’d come to know I had no gift for command. My hitch would be up by the time I was sent back to Luna, once again a midshipman.

  I didn’t intend to reenlist. It was one thing to contemplate life in space as a successful career officer in the star fleet; it was quite another to pass my life in a dead-end berth as a midshipman. Well, I was ahead of myself. Who knew if they’d even let me remain a middy? There was Sandy Wilsky to account for, along with my other follies.

  Evening meals in the dining hall were almost jolly. Several passengers asked to join the Captain’s table; I preferred to dine with the few who had sat with me through my isolation. Amanda and I didn’t confide as once we had, but she was civil and occasionally even smiled.

  Poor Amanda. The same unyielding rectitude that had forced her to abandon me also made her side with me to protest the other passengers’ ingratitude. By her lights I had saved the ship, not almost lost it. She was a victim of her skewed sense of justice.

  The night before our final Defuse she waited outside the dining hall. “Nick, I don’t want to leave it ... like this.” Her voice was gentle. “With the strain between us.”

  Being close to her made me uncomfortable; I moved back a step. “I’m still a murderer. Even more now than before.”

  She blushed. “Yes, I said that, and I suppose I still mean it. But people are more complex than I was willing to admit. You did what you thought you must, and you’re still Nick Seafort.”

  I said coldly, “Thank you. There were times when I wondered.”

  “Oh, Nicky.” She put her hand on my arm. “It must have been horrible.”

  “I’ve been”—I thought of putting her off, then chose honesty—“very lonely. Sometimes.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish you well.”

  “That’s all that’s left?” Wounded, I turned to go. She still had the power to hurt.

  “I do care for you!” she cried to my retreating back. I stopped. “How I wish it could have been different, Nicky. I missed you too!”

  “But it wasn’t.” I managed a small smile. “I wish you well also, Amanda. Good-bye.”

  “Come see me in Hope Nation,” she said impulsively. “You’ll be in port for weeks.” After cruising interstellar for more than six months, crew and officers alike were entitled to four weeks of shore leave. The regs were firm on that, and I agreed. Our men were enlistees, not prisoners.

 
I nodded assent. “All right. I’ll look you up.” If I wasn’t under arrest pending court-martial. On that-note we parted.

  The next morning I had the watch, with Lieutenant Vax Holser. The Pilot was also present, waiting for his moment.

  “Bridge to engine room, prepare to Defuse.”

  “Prepare to Defuse, aye aye.” Chief McAndrews was ready, as always. “Engine room ready for Defuse, sir. Control passed to bridge.”

  “Passed to bridge, aye aye.” I traced the line on the screen from “Full” to “Off’. Once again the simulscreens came alive with a blaze of lights.

  “Confirm clear of encroachments, Lieutenant.” Whenever possible I used Vax’s title rather than his name, to help him settle in.

  “Clear of encroachments, sir.”

  “Plot position, please, Lieutenant.” I noticed the Pilot quietly doing likewise. He would not dock Hibernia under someone else’s calculations. After a few minutes the two men checked their coordinates with each other and with Darla.

  “Auxiliary engine power, Chief,” I said.

  “Aye aye, sir. Power up.”

  “Pilot Haynes.” My tone was formal. “You have the conn.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Steer oh three five degrees, ahead one-third.”

  “One-third, aye aye, sir.” Our last jump had placed us within a few hours of Hope Nation and its Orbit Station. The planet gleamed bright and welcoming in our simulscreens, bringing a lump to my throat.

  The watch changed, but I remained on the bridge, my thoughts fastened on what might have been.

  Hours later, my long reverie was interrupted. “Sir, Orbit Station reports locks ready and waiting.” The comm room.

  “Confirm ready and waiting, understood.” The Pilot was busy at his console.

  “Relative speed two hundred ten kilometers per hour, sir.” Vax, to the Pilot.

  “Two hundred ten, understood. Maneuvering jets, brake ten.”

  I picked up my caller. “Comm room, patch me to Orbit Station.”

  A pause. “Go ahead, sir, you’re patched through.”