Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  I blinked, back again in Dr. Tendres’s office. “Sorry, sir. My mind was wandering.”

  “From the look of it, a pleasant memory.”

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  He snapped on his holovid. “Well, whatever the cause, you’re more relaxed than when I last saw you.” Relaxed? That was one word for it. “I’ll recommend limited shoreside duty, Mr. Seafort. Three months, and then we’ll see.”

  “Three months?” Had my honesty cost me this? “I was hoping to be assigned a ship—”

  He waved impatiently. “No, Mr. Seafort, you’ll get nowhere by pushing me. Three months.”

  “Liaison, sir?” I repeated. “Surely you can’t mean it.”

  “Why not?” Admiral De Marnay glowered. “The planters respect your accomplishments; you’ve been here before, you’ve even visited their plantations.”

  I stared glumly at the carpet. “I’ve met some of them, yes, but as for their respecting me—”

  “Harmon Branstead, and his brother Emmett from Challenger. They’ve been singing your praises to the other families. You’re well regarded.”

  I said doggedly, “Whatever talents I have, sir, public relations isn’t among them.”

  “There’s not much public relations involved. The planters are agitating for self-government. We want someone to listen sympathetically without committing himself. With a war on, it’s important to keep communications open.” The Admiral checked his watch. “Anyway, that’s your assignment. Feel free to travel.”

  “Isn’t there any other duty, sir, that I could—”

  De Marnay roared, “Damn it, Seafort, why won’t you let me be diplomatic about finding you makework? You’d stay beached for the rest of the year if I hadn’t promised you something!” His fingers drummed his holovid. “You talked Tendres into a clearance, so I’ll keep my word, but don’t ask for more.”

  Shocked, I could say nothing.

  A knock at the door. The same young middy I’d seen earlier said urgently, “Sir, excuse me, Resolute reports ambiguous contact at edge of radar range. It may be a fish.”

  “Very well, Bezrel, I’ll be right there. Look, Seafort. I have nothing against you.” He got to his feet. “You’ll get a ship in good time. But first you need rest.” He accompanied me to the door, clearly in a hurry. “I’ve got to run. If that’s one of the aliens...” As I left he called after me, “Take an aide and a driver to help out.”

  I spent several days nursing my resentment in the isolation of my apartment; even Annie’s wiles couldn’t lure me out of my sulk. It was only when Alexi asked permission to put in for a transfer that I was shaken into awareness.

  “Apply whenever it suits you,” I said, trying to make my voice toneless.

  “Yes, sir, thank you.” He bit his lip, troubled. “It’s just that, now you’re recovered and inactive, there’s nothing for me to do.”

  “I know that,” I said, relenting. “You know about the glorified vacation they’ve forced on me. Do you want to be part of it or to go back to ship duty?”

  “I want ship duty, of course.”

  “Very well.”

  He blushed up to the roots of his hair. “But, ah, I was hoping...”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Aye aye, sir. I hoped you’d ask me along, when they give you a ship.”

  “Oh, Alexi.” I wandered to the balcony doors. “I’m sorry. Of course I’ll have you. Shall we wait it out together?”

  He grinned. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  “Admiralty House is even busier than before since that false alarm with the fish, so we’d better organize our own jaunt. Admiral De Marnay said something about a driver. I don’t suppose we really need one.”

  Alexi said, “Pardon, sir, but the larger your detail, the more you’ll impress the planters.”

  “Um.” I thought it over and sighed. “Very well, put in for a driver.”

  The following morning I was ready to leave. I’d vetoed putting in for a heli; we had little enough to do as it was, and I wanted to keep our mission low-key. An electricar was ample. Alexi loaded our luggage, along with maps, callers, and, just in case, camping gear, while I said my good-byes to Annie. Her idea of farewell was different from mine; as I changed clothes afterward I said, “We’ll only be a few days, hon. Sure you can manage without me?”

  She rewarded me with an impish grin. “You be surprised how well I can manage without you, Cap’n.”

  “Belay that,” I growled with mock severity, and bestowed a final kiss.

  Outside, I hurried to the electricar. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s get—” I stumbled to a halt. The driver came to attention, grinning. I managed, “What are you doing here?” Eddie Boss, like Annie, had been one of the transpops set adrift in Challenger. He’d chosen to enlist, and remained in the Navy after we were rescued.

  “I be assigned to drivin’ you, sir.” The huge petty officer’s smile was wider than usual.

  “But how—why—”

  “Dunno, sir. I was on Kitty Hawk and I got orders. Come on down and drive for the Cap’n, they say.”

  “I put in for him, sir,” said Alexi. “As a surprise.” He regarded me with misgiving. “Maybe it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “You surprised me, all right.” I felt myself smiling. “As you were, sailor.” Eddie relaxed. “Do you drive?” I asked. In Lower New York, the only cars seen were gutted hulks.

  “Hibernia’s joes taught me on long-leave, sir.”

  I settled into the front seat. “Well, let’s see what you learned. Mr. Tamarov, brace yourself.” I made a show of gripping the dash.

  “Aye aye, sir!” We were off.

  I didn’t need to study the map; only one road led west out of Centraltown to the plantation zone, and I’d driven it before. Bulldozed through the rich red earth, Plantation Road ran more or less parallel to the seacoast. An hour or so out of town, it narrowed and the smooth pavement gave way to gravel.

  “You went this way with Derek Carr?” asked Alexi from the back seat.

  “To visit his family holdings. As I remember, we had lunch at Hauler’s Rest. The meals are big enough to fill even Mr. Boss.” Eddie grinned his gap-toothed smile.

  Derek and Alexi had served together as midshipmen on Hibernia and were friends. Now Derek was on a run to Detour, eleven weeks away. Even if he returned safely, I might not see him again if I gained a ship first.

  After a time Alexi took the wheel. With three drivers we could continue until well after dark. Along the road grew thickets of unfamiliar ropy foliage through which an occasional massive genera tree thrust its mighty snout. On my last trip I’d enjoyed the drive. Today, the woods projected an ominous silence that disturbed me. What was different, other than myself?

  By midafternoon we were still long hours from the plantation zone. I took the wheel. As evening fell Minor rose first, followed by Major. I had to concentrate on my driving; their twin shadows made me dizzy. I glanced occasionally at the map to see how far we were from the vast estates that supplied so much of Terra’s foodstuffs.

  Alexi said, “The Bransteads aren’t expecting us until tomorrow, sir. We can stop at any plantation for the night; we’d be welcome in a guest house.”

  “I know.” All plantations offered food and lodging without charge to travelers; it was the local custom and they could well afford it.

  We drove another hour before we came on the marker for Mantiet, the first of the many plantations that justified Hope Nation’s existence. I slowed, biting my lip. “I hate to ask hospitality at this hour of the night.”

  “We be campin’, then?” asked Eddie.

  Alexi snapped, “Speak when you’re spoken to.”

  His manner helped me decide. “Why struggle with a tent when we’re tired and irritable? Let’s find the guest house.”

  I turned down the long dirt drive, past fields of corn and wheat radiant in the soft moonlight. Eventually we came to a circular drive that curved around the front lawn of a
sprawling mansion.

  A dog barked. A light went on; a moment later the door swung open. The man who strode toward us had obviously dressed with hurry. He peered into the car.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Then why drive past my home at midnight?”

  “I was hoping to find the guest house.”

  “You don’t think it’s a bit late to be calling?” Without waiting for an answer he pointed to the drive. “Behind the manse. You’re welcome to breakfast in the morning, then be on your way.” He turned on his heel and strode to the door.

  Alexi called, “This is Cap—”

  “Quiet.” I slammed the vehicle into gear.

  “Cap’n, the house be over—”

  “I heard him, Mr. Boss!” The car lurched over the rutted drive toward the main road.

  Alexi asked mildly, “I take it we’re not staying?”

  I growled, “The temperature isn’t right.”

  “Sir?”

  “Hell hasn’t frozen over.” I spun the electricar onto the highway, muttering under my breath. Alexi and Eddie Boss knew me well enough to remain silent.

  I drove at a fast clip until my adrenaline faded, leaving me tired and shaky. “Look for a good place to pull over,” I said. “We’ll camp the night.”

  A half hour later we were parked alongside the road pulling out our duffels. I’d forgotten just how easy our pair of poly-mil tents were to assemble, or I’d have been less reluctant to use them. After we pounded in the stakes, Alexi, Eddie, and I quickly spread the tough plastic over the poles and staked it. Alexi rummaged in the cooler and came up with softies for all of us; I swigged mine greedily.

  Alexi asked, “Shall I bunk with Mr. Boss, sir?”

  I hesitated. A lieutenant didn’t share quarters with a seaman; it wasn’t done. But he wouldn’t share quarters with his Captain, either. We should have brought three tents.

  I felt a wistful longing for times past. “If you had your choice?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I—um, as you wish, sir.”

  I raised my eyebrow, realized he couldn’t see the gesture in the dark. “If you’d like to bunk with me, I don’t mind.” My tone was gruff.

  “If you’re sure—I mean, thank you, sir.” He tossed his duffel into the tent. “Take the other, Mr. Boss.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Eddie stared up at the unfamiliar constellations. “Never slept in no outside place before.”

  “Not even in New York?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “On roofs, sometimes. But didn’t see no stars from there.”

  “They won’t hurt you, Mr. Boss.”

  “I know.” He sounded scornful. I left Eddie contemplating the majesty of the heavens.

  Alexi had unrolled our self-inflating mattresses and was getting ready for bed. “Almost like old times, sir,” he said softly as I undressed.

  How many years had it been since Hibernia’s wardroom? “I was thinking the same,” I said.

  Huddled in our beds we recalled old shipmates: Vax Holser, Derek Carr, and poor Sandy Wilsky, long dead.

  “I’ll never know how you had the guts to stand up to Vax, sir. He could have broken you in half.”

  It had been a memorable fight. But it was the Navy way; wardroom matters were to be settled between the middies. “I had a secret weapon, Alexi.”

  “What was that, sir?”

  “I didn’t care.”

  “I felt that way after Philip Tyre was put in charge.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

  A long pause. “That’s what makes you different, sir. Other Captains would have no regrets.”

  “It’s worse, then. I knew better, but still did wrong.”

  “He was senior.” Alexi turned onto his other side. “After Tremaine off-loaded you and the others onto Challenger, it was...odd.”

  “Oh?”

  “Captain Hasselbrad was in charge. A ship has but one Captain.”

  “Of course.”

  “But the Admiral wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d stay on the bridge for hours at a time. The Captain would give an order and Tremaine would countermand it in front of us all. I almost felt sorry for Hasselbrad.”

  “Almost?”

  “He assented to what Tremaine did to you.”

  “You all did, Alexi. You had to!”

  He said fiercely, “No, we chose to!”

  “It’s over and done with.”

  His voice wavered. “It isn’t. It never can be. We let you down.” He struggled for words. “When you...Some wrongs cannot be righted. We only learn to live with them.”

  I mused, “Derek Carr’s gone, in Lord God’s hands. Vax hates me. You’re my only friend. Please don’t do this to yourself.”

  A long quiet. Alexi said with a catch in his voice, “God, sir, I’ve missed you.”

  4

  WE GOT UP LATE, washed as best we could in an icy chuckling stream, and sipped steaming coffee while we repacked the electricar. I drove; after an hour we came to a dirt road that wound away into a heavy woods, under a homebuilt gate whose sign read BRANSTEAD PLANTATION.

  When we pulled up to the house a youngster lounging on the porch got up to greet us. “I’m Jerence.” He sounded sullen. “Pa told me to say hello if he was still out back.”

  “You’ve grown, boy.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I’m thirteen now. I was ten last time you came.” He opened my door and gestured toward the house. “Go on in. I’ll call him.”

  “Thank you.”

  He kicked disconsolately at the red earth. “You’re welcome.” He loped away, disappearing behind the house.

  Sarah Branstead was at her door before we reached the steps. “Welcome back, Captain Seafort. To Hope Nation and Branstead Plantation.” Her smile was warm and genuine.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “No, you must call me Sarah. It’s good to see you again, Captain. I’ve heard you’ve had...difficult times.”

  “Yes.” I cast about for a way to change the subject. “Who’ll be here today?”

  “Tomas Palabee, old Zack Hopewell, Laura Triforth. The Volksteaders, do you know them? I know you met Plumwell, the manager of Carr Plantation. Some others; I’m not sure just who Harmon invited. And Mantiet, of course.” A momentary annoyance passed across her features. “Mustn’t leave him out.”

  We strolled into the manse. Moments later Harmon Branstead hurried in to greet us, two youngsters trotting alongside.

  “Sorry, Captain. I was working on the new silo.” We shook hands, and I introduced Alexi.

  When he heard we’d camped out for the night, Branstead was appalled. “After passing half a dozen plantations? Hospitality was all around you!”

  I grunted, catching Alexi’s eye before he could speak. “I camped on my last trip,” I said. “I was looking forward to it.”

  I’d have waited until dinner hour to eat, but Eddie Boss, offered refreshments, accepted with alacrity despite my scowl. The housekeeper, noting Eddie’s enthusiasm, disappeared into his kitchen. The tray he brought us a few minutes later—savory sliced meats and steaming fresh vegetables—was more a meal than a snack, and I ate with gusto.

  I was just mopping the last of my gravy when the whap of heli blades sounded in the distance. As a lightweight private craft settled on the front lawn the Branstead family moved outside to greet their guests. A burly, unsmiling man jumped out before the blades stopped whirling.

  He gave Harmon Branstead a perfunctory handshake and scrutinized us as he approached the manse. “You’re Seafort, the imperial envoy? I’m Palabee.” His clasp was firm. “Did they instruct you to keep us pacified at any cost, or to tell us to go to hell?”

  “Tomas, don’t harass him. He’s just arrived from a night in the woods. Imperial envoy, indeed!”

  “Isn’t that what you are?” Palabee was blunt.

  “I—”

  Harmon Branstead said firmly, “No. He is my
guest.” Palabee had the grace to blush. The corners of his mouth turned up. “Very well, sorry. But the sooner we get to business, the better.”

  “What business is that?” I asked.

  He shot me an appraising glance. “Didn’t they tell you?” “They told me I got along well with the planters,” I said coolly. “Apparently they were mistaken.”

  He ignored my tone. “Just why are you here?”

  “As liaison between the Government and the plantation owners.” I glowered. “Why are you here?”

  “To negotiate, of course. If they haven’t prepared you for that, we’re wasting our time.”

  “What’s to negotiate?”

  His reply was forestalled by the throb of another heli. We went outside, where I was introduced to Seth Morsten: flabby, middle-aged, affable. Awaiting the rest of the guests, we retired to the parlor and drinks.

  The Volksteaders farmed the next plantation west; they arrived by land. So did Lawrence Plumwell, manager of Carr Plantation. He eyed me with disfavor. “It seems we’ve met before, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir. Three years ago.”

  “You traveled with your retarded cousin, I recall.” His tone was acid.

  I flushed. We’d thought the deception necessary to get Derek Carr safely in and out of the plantation he owned but did not control. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “As am I. It would have been good to speak candidly with Mr. Carr.”

  “If I see him I’ll tell him so.”

  With a sardonic smile Plumwell moved on.

  Zack Hopewell looked old enough to be Harmon Branstead’s grandfather. Given the intermingling of the old Hope Nation families, perhaps he was. He nodded shortly to Palabee, shook hands warmly with Branstead, and turned to me. “So this is the hero of Miningcamp.”

  I flushed.

  “Seriously, Captain Seafort. My granddaughter instructed me not to return without your autograph. Your exploits are well known here. And admired.”