Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1)
Page 44
“Almost every day, sir. Not while we were Defused.”
“And you thought you could get away with it?” Brentley’s tone was menacing.
“I didn’t care, sir.” I spoke with civility, but I’d had enough.
“He says you’re a lunatic. That you’re paranoid, you were suspicious of bombs.”
“It kept him in the launch berth, sir.”
He glared at me. I stared back.
In his eye, an odd twinkle. “You really did that?”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“What do you think of him, Mr. Seafort?”
I could be insolent to him, but I wouldn’t lie, though my answer would cost me my career. “He’s dangerous, sir. He never should have made lieutenant. He throws his family connections in the face of his seniors, and takes it upon himself to investigate us. I wasn’t going to put up with that. I’d do exactly the same again. Or maybe I’d brig him. I don’t know.”
Brentley shook his head. “Do you know what trouble I went to, getting him out of the Solar System? The wires I pulled so his orders would come from someone else? And you, you ungrateful whelp, you bring him back and dump him in my lap again!”
I snorted. “He was dumped on me, sir. I had no choice. I was under weigh when I found out about him.”
He turned away disgusted. “I know. It’s not your fault. I never thought it was.” He looked up. “You know how he made lieutenant? Some toadying Captain thought I’d be pleased. He did it for me. For me!” The Admiral turned back to me, shaking his head. “By the way, don’t worry about challenging that pair of Dosmen who glitched your puter. It won’t be necessary; they’ve been dealt with.”
“Good.” My tone was dull. What did any of it matter?
“Seafort, I can’t give you Hibernia. You’re too young yet. It wouldn’t sit well, even if you are a hero. And your rank as Captain, I can’t confirm it.”
“I understand, sir. Will I go back to midshipman?”
“No.”
A lieutenant, then. It would be hard for me to adjust, but I could do it.
“Actually, I was thinking of Commander,” Admiral Brentley said. “I’ve got a sloop coming in, Challenger. Crew of forty-two, two lieutenants, three middies. She takes seventy passengers. I can put you back to Captain after your first trip out, when your youth won’t be so offensive to us oldsters. You’re only twenty; hardly any of your classmates have made lieutenant yet.”
Commander? But that was the same as Captain; the title differed only by a technicality. And a sloop was a full command, with—I forced my attention back to his words.
“She’s got a new drive unit, supposed to cut a month off the run to Hope Nation. And she’s bristling with lasers. She’ll be part of the squadron we’re sending. Will you take her?”
I was speechless. Confirmed as Commander, with my own vessel? My mouth dry, I nodded.
“Good. Your wife?”
“Amanda will ship with me.” Despite the risk of melanoma T, we’d already decided that, at her insistence. It was unusual, but permitted.
He grimaced. “I don’t like that. I’m old-fashioned. But I suppose it’s your choice.” He went on to another subject. “Oh, I had a visit from your Midshipman Tyre. He begged me to let him resign from the service.”
“For what reason?” I remembered Tyre on watch, one long, dreary day halfway home. Unexpectedly he’d put his head on the console and began to weep, in long, desolate sobs.
“Now what, Mr. Tyre?”
“Please, let me out. I want to resign. I can’t take any more, sir. Oh, I beg you!”
“Steady, Mr. Tyre.”
“They’re torturing me! I get caned every week. It hurts so much! I have eight demerits right now, and I’ve already worked off six since Monday! They’re on me every waking minute, both of them.” He raised his tear-stained face. “I don’t understand, sir. What have I done? Why is this happening to me?”
“You were rather cruel, Mr. Tyre. They haven’t forgotten.”
“Cruel? How could I have been? I was just doing my job, sir. I tried to help them!” I sighed. He would never understand.
“I’ll make you an offer, Mr. Tyre. You’re a fine midshipman when you’re dealing with your superiors. You’re competent, courteous, friendly on watch, eager to help. It’s your juniors you can’t handle. Forget about that part of your job, just ignore them, and I’ll pass the word to go easier on you.”
“You mean it would stop?” He looked beyond me, as if toward heaven.
“I don’t think it will ever stop, Mr. Tyre. You’ve seen to that. It might lighten a bit, though.”
“Yes, sir. Very well, sir. I accept. Please!”
I nodded. I would have a word with Alexi. I couldn’t know that a smoldering Derek Carr would choose that very night to challenge his senior middy, to follow him to the exercise room, to beat him coolly into a bloody unresisting pulp, afterward kicking his bruised rump along the circumference corridor back to the wardroom. Derek was effectively in charge of the juniors for the rest of the voyage home.
“The boy wouldn’t complain about any of you, not a word,” the Admiral was saying. “I couldn’t get any reasons out of him. I suppose I should let him go, if he’s such a weakling.”
It was my fault, in a way. If I had been able to get through to him ...” I sighed. “He still might make a good officer,” I said. “I can keep him with me awhile.”
Brentley looked relieved. “Another problem settled, then. I can’t give you full shore leave, not with an interstellar war on our hands. If I hadn’t seen those recordings ...”
“I know, sir.”
“Who do you want with you?”
“Mr. Carr as a midshipman. Lieutenant Tamarov,” I said instantly.
“You need one more middy and a lieutenant. Let me know or I’ll assign them to you.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“It’s a hell of a thing.” He stood next to me for a moment, in silence. He held out his hand. “Good luck, Commander.”
I shook his hand soberly. “I’ll need it, sir.”
Outside, the sun had lowered toward the horizon; the evening cool was settling on the scrub trees and the fields. Alexi waited on the sidewalk with Vax, the Treadwell twins, Derek, and Ricky. They all stared at me, anxiety, worry, concern reflected in their young faces.
I grinned. “Commander. U.N.S. Challenger. I leave in a week.”
Alexi whooped, dancing around the car. Vax broke into a grin. “Who do you take, sir?”
“Alexi goes with me. If you don’t mind, Mr. Tamarov.” He was beside himself, grinning idiotically. “You too, Derek. We’re going back to Hope Nation.” Carr said nothing, but his eyes closed with relief. “I need another middy.”
Midshipman Paula Treadwell would be going to navigation training school on Luna. Ricky was slated for Academy. I had recommended it in the Log; I wanted him to have the best.
“Me, sir?” Rafe looked hopeful.
“Speak when you’re spoken to, Cadet,” I snapped. Then, “Still, I suppose you’d do. I’d have to promote you to midshipman. Are you sure you’re ready for Last Night?”
The fourteen-year-old grinned at Derek Carr. “I can take anything, sir.” It had become a wardroom byword, since our aristocratic cadet had made his stubborn vow.
“Very well.” I looked at my lieutenant. “What’s your posting, Vax?”
“They offered me Caledonia, on the Ganymede run. I turned it down.”
“Command of your own sloop? Why?”
“I want to sail with you, sir. I told Admiral Brentley if he gave you a ship I wanted to go along.”
“You’re ready for command, Vax.”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
He faced me. “You’ve taught me a lot. I’m not convinced you don’t have anything more to teach. Sir.”
My eyes misted. We hung, all of us, in that uncomfortable moment before parting. Ricky Fuentes, gangly and awkward in
his early adolescence, came to me hesitantly. We looked at each other. Suddenly he flung himself on me, burying his head in my chest, hugging me fiercely. I gave him a squeeze. “Good-bye, boy. I’ll see you again.”
“Will you?” His eyes were red.
“Yes. I promise.” I regarded our onetime ship’s boy with affection. “I have some advice. At Academy, don’t hug your drill sergeant, no matter how much you like him. It’s bad for your health.”
“Aye aye, sir!” He grinned like a foolish puppy.
I eased into the car. “Take me home, people. I’ll see you later at the party.” I closed my eyes, feeling the car jounce over the potholes. I was going home. To Amanda. To my crew. To my ship.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1994 by David Feintuch
cover design by Michael Vrana
978-1-4532-9701-8
This edition published in 2012 by Open Road Integrated Media
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