Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)

by David Feintuch

  The lawyer jumped up. “It certainly is, Your Honor,” she said. “The evidence is clear that the minor child was not in full possession of the facts which—”

  “Thank you,” I cut in coldly. “This court may take judicial notice of Naval regulations. Involuntary enlistment is permitted when in the Captain’s judgment the safety of the ship so demands. Cadet Treadwell was so enlisted. She will remain in the Service for the full period of her enlistment. You, sir, have no authority whatsoever over my actions as Captain of Hibernia or as senior Naval officer in Hope Nation. I’m surprised you didn’t know that or, worse, that you chose to ignore it. I shall suggest to the Government that they recommend your immediate replacement on those grounds.” I turned to go. When I was two steps past the bar the judge’s strangled voice broke the silence.

  “Arrest that man!”

  The court officers moved forward. I pointed to the judge, snapped to Captain Forbee, “Arrest that man!”

  It stopped them in their tracks. The livid judge and I exchanged glares. After a moment of ominous silence I said calmly, “Would you care to retire with me to your chambers to resolve this matter?”

  He glanced back and forth between my unarmed officers and his court officials. With a sharp nod he lunged off the bench to the doorway at his side. He slammed the door behind him.

  I paused at the entryway. “Carry on,” I said into the stunned silence. I followed into his chambers.

  The judge, trembling with rage, faced me from behind his desk.

  “Would you like a way out of this?” I made my tone as reasonable as I could manage. At first he was too furious to respond. After a moment he nodded. Apparently he knew the law as well as I did.

  “Very well. One, I apologize publicly to the court for my lack of respect and manners. Two, the hearing never took place. The record of it is destroyed. Or gets lost. Three, you dismiss the case for lack of merit, which you discover immediately upon reading the filings today.”

  It was the Naval solution, of course. A confrontation like ours was intolerable, so we wouldn’t allow it to happen. We wouldn’t recognize its existence, just as a Captain would be blind to a midshipman’s black eye. My apology would satisfy his pride, but would have no other effect; I’d be putting it on a record that was to be destroyed.

  He glowered. “You goddamn wiseass.”

  I ignored the blasphemy. “You tried a fancy move and it didn’t work,” I said. “If I’d handed her over, you’d have kept her past the time I sailed and the issue would be moot. As it is, I win. Why’d you go out on a limb for the Treadwells? They’re not even locals.”

  The Judge pulled out his chair and slumped into it. “Their lawyer,” he muttered. “Miss Kazai. She’s helped me out.”

  “Well, she’ll know you tried.” Having won, I could afford to be conciliatory.

  He gave me a small, grim smile. “Never come back to Hope Nation as a civilian. Not while I live.”

  My triumph vanished. I thought of Amanda. “No,” I said. “I won’t be back.”

  We returned to the courtroom and went through our charade. I apologized humbly for my unmannerly remarks. The judge erased the record. He then looked through the file and dismissed the Treadwells’ petition for lack of jurisdiction.

  Mrs. Treadwell jumped to her feet as I passed her on the way out. “You won’t get away with it!” she shouted. “The courts in Detour will help us! We’ll see you there!”

  I shrugged. Perhaps.

  26

  THOUGH THE HEARING WAS officially suppressed, the story made its way through the ship. Vax wore a foolish grin for the rest of the day, even during his watch. Alexi went so far as to congratulate me openly; I bit back a sharp reproof.

  The rest of our crew straggled back from shore leave. Our final passengers were ferried up to the ship and settled in their cabins. Among the last to board were the Treadwells. I had them escorted directly to the bridge.

  “I thought of refusing you passage,” I told them. “But I don’t want to separate Rafe and Paula sooner than necessary. I let you aboard, but one more protest, one petition, a single interference with the operation of my ship—and that includes harassing Paula—and you’ll spend the entire trip in the brig. Is that understood?”

  It wasn’t that easy. I had to threaten to have them expelled to the station before they finally gave me their agreement.

  The purser’s last-minute stores were boarded. A new ship’s launch, replacing the ill-fated one on which our officers perished, was safely berthed by Lieutenant Holser under my anxious scrutiny. Darla recalculated her base mass without comment.

  To my relief all our crew members returned from shore leave; we had no deserters, no AWOLs. Seventeen passengers for Detour chose not to continue their trip; that didn’t bother me. Others took their places. On this leg, we would carry ninety-five passengers.

  Derek paged me from his duty station at the aft airlock. “The new midshipman is at the lock, reporting for duty, sir.”

  “Very well. Send him to the bridge.” Suddenly I was back at Earthport Station, smoothing my hair, nervously clutching my duffel, anxious to make a good first impression when I reported to Captain Haag. Now I was at the other end of the interview.

  “Permission to enter bridge, sir.” An unfamiliar voice.

  “Granted,” I said without turning.

  “Midshipman Philip Tyre reporting, sir.” He came to attention smartly, his duffel at his feet.

  I turned to him and fell silent. He wasn’t handsome—he was beautiful. Smooth unblemished skin, wavy blond hair, blue eyes, a finely chiseled intelligent face. He could have been lifted from a recruiting poster.

  I took his papers, letting him wait at attention while I looked them over. He’d joined at thirteen and now had three years service. That put him senior not only to Derek, but to Alexi as well. A disappointment for Alexi, but that couldn’t be helped. I had plans for Alexi soon enough.

  “Stand easy, Mr. Tyre.”

  “Thank you, sir.” His voice was steady and vibrant.

  “Welcome to Hibernia.” I stopped myself from offering my hand. The Captain must keep his distance. “You’ve been on interplanetary service for the past year?”

  The boy flashed a charming smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “And you’ve been to Detour.”

  “Yes, sir. On Hindenberg, before I was transferred out.” Tyre had seen a lot of service, more than I had when I’d been posted in Hibernia.

  “It seems you’re to be senior middy.”

  “That’s what I understood from Captain Forbee, sir.” His smile was pleasant. “I think I can handle it.”

  “Good. Mr. Tamarov was senior for a while, but I doubt he’ll give you any trouble.”

  “I’m sure he won’t, sir.” Was there more emphasis in his tone than necessary?

  “Very well, Mr. Tyre. Get yourself settled in the wardroom, and have a look around the ship.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He saluted and picked up his duffel with graceful ease. “Thank you, sir.” He turned and marched out. I made a note to reassure Alexi that he hadn’t been intentionally demoted.

  I sat back, comparing the new middy’s entry to Mr. Chantir’s. Our new lieutenant had come aboard the evening before. He’d reported to the bridge, saluting easily. He responded to my welcome with a warm, friendly grin. “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be aboard.”

  “It says here you have special talent in navigation.”

  “I wouldn’t say special, sir,” he said modestly. “But I enjoy solving plotting problems.”

  “Then I’ll put you in charge of the midshipmen’s drills.”

  He smiled again. “Good. I love to teach.” I knew immediately that I would like him. I thought of embittered, tyrannical Lieutenant Cousins and how I’d dreaded our lessons.

  We were ready to depart. The Pilot at the conn, we cast off, maneuvered a safe distance from the station, and Fused almost at once. I was so busy I forgot to watch Hope Nation dwindl
e on the screens before they blanked.

  It wouldn’t be long before the stars reappeared; we were on a short run to Bauxite to pick up our third lieutenant. A voyage of five weeks by conventional power, in Fusion we could make the hop in less than a day. We’d take longer to maneuver the ship for mating with U.N.S. Brezia than to travel the interplanetary distance in Fusion.

  Brezia was a small cruiser that shuttled back and forth among the planets of Hope Nation system, available for orbital rescues or other needs of the civilian mining fleet and the area’s commercial craft. Lacking fusion engines, Brezia cruised at subluminous speeds. Unfortunately, her Captain was only rated interplanetary or I would have shanghaied him as well as his lieutenant.

  Pilot Haynes and Lars Chantir worked together during the docking. The Pilot, true to his word, gave no trouble. As he’d said, he was good at his job. After we located Brezia he deftly maneuvered us into matching velocity. To avoid the cumbersome chore of mating airlocks, we drifted to within a hundred meters of Brezia and I had a T-suited sailor carry a flexible line to their lock. Shortly after, our new officer came across the line, hand over hand, his duffel tied behind his suit.

  Having little else to do, I went to the lock to meet him. Correctly, he stripped off his suit before coming to attention. “Lieutenant Ardwell C. Crossburn reporting, sir.” A short, round-figured man in his late thirties.

  “Stand easy, Lieutenant. Welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He looked around at his new ship. “As soon as I get my gear stowed I can take up my duties, sir. I’ll try to be of assistance.”

  “No hurry, Mr. Crossburn,” I said in good humor. “You can wait until after dinner.”

  “Very well, sir. If you insist.” An odd way to speak, but the man had a peculiar manner about him. Well, his record showed him to be a competent and experienced officer. I returned to the bridge and waited impatiently while Mr. Haynes and Lieutenant Chantir plotted Fusion coordinates and rechecked them together. Laboriously I went through the calculations myself and found no error. We Fused.

  In seven weeks we would reach Detour, a younger colony than Hope Nation, and one whose environment was less hospitable to humankind. Its air held less nitrogen and slightly more oxygen, but it was breathable. They’d had to do a lot of terraforming to bring down the sulphuric compounds in the atmosphere before Detour could be developed. Now the planet was open for colonization and some sixty thousand settlers had already arrived.

  Lars Chantir was my senior lieutenant. Mr. Crossburn, with six years experience, was second. Vax was last in line, but that mattered less among lieutenants than midshipmen, unless the Captain died. The barrel was duly moved to First Lieutenant Chantir’s quarters; it was a traditional duty of the senior lieutenant.

  I had time on my hands, time to miss Amanda. Our nights in the hills of Western Continent had provided the first sustained intimacy I’d ever known. Knowing how incapable I was, Amanda had still cared for me. I yearned for her presence.

  We settled down to shipboard routine. I missed the familiar passengers: Mrs. Donhauser, Mr. Ibn Saud, and, of course, Amanda. Few of our original group were continuing with us; unfortunately the Treadwells were among them.

  One day Vax came to me on the bridge, troubled. “Sir, there’s something I think you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  He hesitated, on difficult ground. “Lieutenant Crossburn, sir. He’s been questioning the crew about the attack at Miningcamp. At first I thought he was just making conversation, but he’s seeking out the men who were most involved.”

  I chose the easy way out. “You know better than to complain about a superior officer.”

  “Yes, sir. It wasn’t a complaint. I was informing you.”

  “Drop it. I don’t care what he asks.” I had nothing to hide from my new lieutenant. My conduct would be subject to Admiralty’s unblinking scrutiny as soon as we reached home, and I knew I had no chance of emerging without substantial demotion, if not worse. Mr. Crossburn’s inquiry could do no harm to my shattered career, though it was unusual.

  More disturbing was Lieutenant Chantir’s casual comment while I perused a chess manual on a quiet watch. “I’m surprised your midshipmen don’t make more effort to work off demerits, sir.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yesterday I caned one of them for reaching ten. You’d think he’d take the trouble to exercise them off. They’re only two hours apiece.”

  “Which midshipman?” I asked, my mind on the queen’s gambit.

  “Mr. Carr. I rather let him have it, for his laziness. What is your policy, Captain? Should I go hard or easy?”

  “Neither,” I said, disturbed. “Use your judgment.” I had issued Derek seven demerits for trying to choke me—and I hadn’t forgotten to log them when we got back—but he would have been too well trained by now to blunder into more. “How many did he have?”

  “Eleven.” Very odd. I didn’t think Derek would step that far out of line.

  “Let’s look them up.” I turned on the Log, suspecting I knew the answer. If a lieutenant wanted Derek caned he didn’t have to trouble giving him demerits, he would merely send him to Mr. Chantir with orders to be put over the barrel. A first midshipman, on the other hand, couldn’t issue such an order. He could only assign demerits, which if given fast enough would have the same effect.

  I flipped through the daily notations made by each watch officer. “Mr. Carr, improper storage of gear, one demerit, by Mr. Tyre.... Mr. Carr, insubordination, two demerits, by Mr. Tyre.” Why hadn’t Derek worked them off? I turned the pages. “Mr. Carr, improper uniform, two demerits, by Mr. Tyre.... Mr. Carr, inattention to duty, two demerits, by Mr. Tyre.”

  There it was. Tyre was piling demerits on Derek faster than he could exercise them off.

  I decided I couldn’t interfere. It was Derek’s bad luck Tyre had made an example of him; the new first middy was asserting his authority. But though I put the incident out of my mind, I had been a midshipman too recently to miss the other signs of trouble. When I saw Alexi on watch he seemed more hesitant, more preoccupied. More significant, I never saw him off watch except at dinner. I realized all my midshipmen seemed to have dropped out of sight. I hoped Alexi would give me a hint, but he was too Navy to do that. Wardroom affairs were settled in the wardroom.

  It was not a busy time for me. In Fusion, we had no need for navigation checks, no data on the screens, nothing to do except keep an eye on the environmental systems: recycling, hydroponics, power. Brooding about the wardroom situation, I began watching for new Log entries.

  Derek, Alexi, and both cadets were fast accumulating demerits. Seven for Alexi in three days, two more for Derek. Sixteen between Paula and Ricky.

  I bent the rules to ask Philip Tyre outright. “Everything going well in the wardroom, Mr. Tyre?”

  He smiled easily. “Yes, sir. I have it under control.” As always, he was immaculate. Slim and slight, his face was faintly disturbing in its perfection.

  “You’re working with a good group of officers, Mr. Tyre.”

  “Yes, sir. They need reminding who’s in charge, but I’m on top of that.” His innocent blue eyes questioned me. “Is anything wrong, sir?”

  “No, nothing,” I said quickly, knowing I had strayed across the unwritten line that kept the Captain out of the wardroom’s business.

  Dr. Uburu came to me next, catching me outside the dining hall on the way back from dinner. “Did you know,” she asked gravely, “that I treated Paula Treadwell this week?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “I thought not.” She paused as we reached the top of the ladder.

  “What for, Doctor? If I’m not violating your professional ethics?”

  “Hysteria.” She met my eye.

  “Good Lord.” I waited for her to continue. She said nothing.

  “What was the cause?”

  “I swore an oath not to tell you,” she said. “My patient insisted, before
she’d talk about it.”

  My hand clenched the rail. “I could order you,” I said.

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t obey.” Her voice was calm. She smiled, her dark face lighting with warmth. “I don’t mean to make problems, Captain. Just keeping you advised.”

  “Thank you.” I went to my cabin and lay on my bunk, wishing the Chief still visited for evening conversations. Since I’d broken off our sessions after Sandy’s death he had been friendly and helpful, but had kept his distance.

  My next watch was shared with Lieutenant Crossburn. After a long period of silence he made efforts to start a conversation. I let him lead it, my mind elsewhere. He soon brought up the attack at Miningcamp. “When the rebels forced their way on board,” he asked, “who was most helpful in repelling them?”

  “Mr. Vishinsky was invaluable,” I said, not wanting to be bothered. “And Vax Holser.”

  His next question snapped me awake. “What made you decide to let a dozen suited men on board in the first place?”

  My tone was sharp. “Are you interrogating me, Lieutenant?”

  “Not at all. But it was an amazing incident, Captain. I write a diary. I try to include important things that happen near me. I’ll change the subject if you’d rather.”

  “No,” I said grudgingly. “It was a mistake, letting them on board. I very much regret it.”

  He seemed pleased at my confidence. “It must have been a terrible day.”

  “Yes.”

  “I write every evening,” he confided. “I pour my thoughts and feelings into my diary.”

  “It must be a great solace,” I said, disliking him.

  “I never show it to anybody, of course, even though it reads quite well. I’m the only one who’s seen it, other than my uncle.”

  It seemed polite to prompt him. “He’s a literary critic?”

  “No, but he understands Naval matters. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Admiral Brentley.”

  Heard of him? Admiral Brentley ran Fleet Ops at Lunapolis, and this man had his ear! My heart sank.