Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  At the moment the simulscreen pictured the wave-emission chamber astern of the engine room. Where a normal ship’s stern tapered outward in a graceful curve, Victoria’s was thick and stubby. Nor did her drive shaft extend as far aft as I expected.

  “Looks odd, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Martes.”

  “She’s not much for looks, but she goes like a bat out of hell.”

  I frowned at the phrase, but ignored it for politeness’ sake. “What other changes did they make?”

  “Other than reducing us to minimal hold capacity, none. Of course, we’re sadly lacking in lasers.”

  “Why?”

  “To conserve mass, sir,” said Steiner. “With the added mass of the laser mountings we wouldn’t be able to put her into Fusion.”

  “I see.” Fusion was a mystery whose depths I’d never be able to plumb.

  “Bram is our Augmentation expert,” said the Captain. “Anything happens to him and the Chief, it’s back to the manuals. Anyway, they’ve made us into a sitting duck. Or rather, a sprinting duck. We can run, but we can’t fight. That’s the only reason I’ll be glad to leave her.”

  I looked up. “Oh?”

  “Transferred as of next week.” His eyes sparkled. “To a fighting ship, I hope.”

  “Who’s your replacement?”

  “Don’t know.” He pointed vaguely beyond the hull. “I haven’t been groundside yet. What’s it like?”

  I had to force my mind to my reply. “Hope Nation? It’s lovely. Don’t you have long-leave coming?”

  “Deferred ’til our next run, sir. We’ve only been out nine months.”

  I let them walk me through the rest of the ship. The only time I pulled rank was when I insisted that Martes not wake the off-duty crew or officers. At length I found myself at the airlock, saying my good-byes.

  “Your hospitality is appreciated, Captain. And yours, Lieutenant.”

  The young Commander grinned. “It’s worth an hour of sleep to be able to say I met Captain Seafort.”

  I cleared my throat. “Yes. Well.” I paused at the airlock hatch. “Your Mr. Fuentes. I commend him to you. An exemplary officer.”

  “Ricky? He’s a good joey. And he’s told us all about you.”

  “Ah.” I saluted and made my escape.

  10

  “INSPECT MY SHIPMENT RECORDS?”

  “Yes, sir.” I tried to meet General Tho’s eye. He had greeted me effusively when I’d entered. Now his manner was something else entirely.

  “But—why?” He stood abruptly. “Never mind. You have the Admiral’s authority. Why is none of my concern.”

  “I just want—”

  “William has all our records on file. You may study them here, if you wish.”

  “I don’t need to take up your office. I can—”

  “It may not be my office when you’re through.”

  I gaped, trying to get his meaning. I ventured, “You mean General Khartouf? He—”

  “That too is not my concern. Review the records at your leisure.” It was a dismissal. Cheeks flaming, I left.

  In the outer office, Tolliver and Jerence waited while I stopped at the sergeant’s desk. “Where can I find a console?”

  “If you need to be private, use the quartermaster’s office, two hatches to the east.”

  “Thank you. Come along,” I snapped. My lieutenant and his charge followed as I stalked down the corridor. Under my breath, I cursed the ambition that had saddled me with this meddlesome job. I was short of sleep, ill-tempered, and still not recovered from my mad dash through Centraltown.

  Jerence sullenly scuffed the deck. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Tolliver, keep him out of my hair.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Tolliver smiled. “Say something, boy. Anything.”

  Jerence swallowed. In silence we marched to the quartermaster’s office. The corporal in the outer office came to his feet. I growled, “General Tho sent me. Where’s your console?”

  “Mr. Cary’s office, in there. But I don’t think you should—” I was already slapping open the hatch. The console rested under a large screen that resembled the simulscreen on a bridge.

  As I sat I realized I had no idea how to activate the Station’s puter. On ship I would enter my ID code, of course. I tried it.

  “May I be of service, Captain?” I jumped at the hidden voice.

  “Uh, yes, William. How do I enter a request for data?”

  “You might try asking me.” I’d have sworn he smiled.

  “Right.” I glanced at Tolliver. Whatever humor he saw, he knew to keep to himself. “William, put the incoming cargo manifests for the last year on the screen, please.”

  “Certainly, sir.” The screen was full before he finished speaking.

  I tried to take in the overwhelming mass of data. “Um, show me arrival dates.”

  “Here you are, Mr. Seafort.” He highlighted them.

  I hadn’t realized how much cargo flowed from home system to the Hope Nation colony. The screen was crammed with data, and had space to show only the first two months.

  I remembered that I didn’t have to examine it all. “Only military cargoes, please.”

  The screen shifted. Now, with less data, I could scan four months at a time. William’s display ran across many columns, hundreds of lines deep. Each line represented a consignment ferried sixty-nine light-years from Earth to support our vast military buildup. Our strength here was second only to home system.

  “Show the consignee of each cargo, please, and the intended destination.”

  “Right, Captain.”

  I puzzled through the data. “Now, where delivered and when.”

  “You’ve got it. What did you do to irk the Commandant?”

  “Now add—I beg your pardon?”

  “General Tho seemed put out after you left his office. I wondered why.”

  “You were there. Didn’t you hear our conversation?”

  He sounded offended. “No, of course not. I can’t listen in unless I’m invited.”

  “I see.”

  “After you left Mr. Tho delivered a few remarks. He didn’t order me to erase them.”

  “Don’t repeat his private conversations,” I said quickly. “Show two more months.”

  “Right.” It sounded like a sigh.

  I studied the shipping data. Many consignments had been dropped at Centraltown. A few had gone directly to Venturas Base, but most of the Venturas cargo had—

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Tolliver was already out of his seat. In one swift motion he snatched Jerence’s arm and swept him toward the hatch. “Sorry, sir.” They were gone.

  Most of the Venturas cargo had been set down at Centraltown, where much of it still waited. Well, the Venturas Base didn’t even have a proper landing strip; only the smallest of the Station’s shuttles could drop cargo directly there. Mr. Eiferts would soon remedy that.

  “William, show supply requisition dates and actual delivery dates.” I studied the chart he generated. It looked as if General Tho had met his delivery schedules; cargo was offloaded from incoming ships and barges and brought down to Centraltown when expected.

  The hatch opened; Jerence and Tolliver went to their seats. The boy sat hugging himself, crying softly. I raised an eyebrow. Tolliver stared back impassively. I decided to let it pass unobserved, as with a middy.

  “No problems here,” I said to Tolliver. He crossed the room to read the screen from behind my seat.

  “How far back did you check, sir?”

  “A year.”

  “And how recently?”

  His questions annoyed me. “To the present.”

  The speaker crackled. “Until Victoria, Cordoba was the last ship to dock, Captain. Four weeks ago.”

  “Thank you, William.” I studied the chart; Cordoba’s cargo was listed as delivered to Centraltown as requested. “Well, that wraps it up. We could have done all this from gro
undside.” I stood and snapped off the screen.

  “It’s good that General Tho’s records aren’t as confused as the quartermaster’s,” Tolliver said.

  “True.” My head ached, and I didn’t want to be sidetracked. “Tho stays on top of his paperwork.” I grimaced at Tolliver. “We could visit the cargo bays, I suppose. Just a formality. Get up, Jerence, we’re done here.”

  The boy leapt to his feet, with an anxious glance at Tolliver: I opened the hatch, recalling the endless frustration of paperwork on a ship such as Hibernia. “William, how often are deliveries updated?”

  “Actual delivery, Captain, or the request dates?”

  “Actual, of course. The request dates wouldn’t be updated.”

  “I post actual delivery dates immediately after the shuttles land with their cargo.”

  “Who posts the dates on which the quartermaster requests his supplies be delivered?” I crossed back to the console.

  An infinitesimal pause. “Which time, Mr. Seafort?”

  I held my annoyance in check. “You said they’re only posted once.”

  “No, Captain,” William sounded prim. “You said that.”

  It was like pulling teeth. “When else is the requested delivery schedule updated?”

  “Approximately monthly, Captain.”

  Tolliver whistled under his breath.

  I frowned. “But why?”

  “To conform to actual deliveries,” said William.

  I blinked.

  Tolliver said with awe, “The son of a bitch rewrites his delivery requests to match what he actually delivers!”

  “That’s approximately correct,” agreed William. “Minus the expletives.”

  I grated, “What fool orders that?”

  “I do.” A voice came from the hatchway.

  I whirled. “General? But...” I sank into my seat. “Who told you what we were reviewing?”

  “William mentioned it.” The diminutive, neatly dressed man fingered his razor mustache.

  “Mr. Tolliver, take Jerence outside.” The moment the hatch was closed I demanded, “Why fudge your delivery dates?”

  “To make the reports I send home look better.” General Tho held my gaze until I had to look away.

  I said bitterly, “For that, you made a shambles of our supply operation?”

  “No. Supply was already a shambles. I move my cargoes groundside as fast as possible. Changing the schedules retroactively did no harm.”

  “Except to your integrity.”

  “Except that.” He looked about uncertainly, chose a chair across from the console. “You’re an innocent. If you knew politics, you’d understand.”

  My chest ached. I coughed, wishing I hadn’t chased after Jerence. “I know what signing my name to a lie means.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’ll resign, if you like. Save you the trouble of dismissing me.”

  I tasted bile. “I have no authority to dismiss you.”

  “Odd, your dismissing General Khartouf, then.” His stare was unflinching.

  I gestured toward the screen. “Why was this charade necessary?”

  “Necessary? I don’t know that it was.” He left his seat, stared moodily at the console. “Advisable, perhaps. Expected.”

  “By whom?”

  “Seafort, you’re Navy. You’re the senior service. Naval appropriations sail through the General Assembly, and your Academy is deluged with applications. You steep your cadets in honor and tradition.” He focused on something deep within the screen, perhaps light-years distant. “The Army’s...different. U.N.A.F. has to fight for scraps after Navy’s done feeding. So, we have to do a better job. Appear to do a better job.”

  “Who cares about delivery schedules at a colony sixty-nine light-years from home?”

  “The General Staff cares.” His tone was fierce. “They present thousands of figures like those I send, when they go hat in hand to the U.N. appropriations committees. What you see as falsifying records, personal dishonor, is a way of life for us. As long as no one is hurt...”

  His hand flicked in a gesture of helplessness. “How did I come to this? When I bicycled across the hills to Vientiane to drop off my application at the recruiting station...I don’t know.” With a shrug he drew himself up to his full meager height, eyed me bleakly. “Do as you will. I’ll be in my office.”

  “General, wait—” He was gone.

  I sat motionless in the silent room. After a time I got to my feet, opened the hatch. Tolliver and Jerence waited in the corridor. “Let’s go.”

  “What will you do, sir?” Tolliver fell in step beside me.

  “Visit the cargo bays.”

  “I meant about General Tho. Now we have to go through all his records with a fine-tooth comb.” He shook his head. “Lord God knows what corruption we’ll find. Where do we start?”

  I stopped short. “Do we make decisions now?”

  Tolliver looked startled. “No, sir. I just thought—you obviously have to do something about him.” Jerence glanced back and forth between us.

  “Is that your order?”

  Tolliver gulped. “No, sir, not at all. Excuse me.”

  My tone was savage. “I don’t excuse you, Lieutenant. In future when I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Aye aye, sir.”

  Jerence shot him a vengeful look. I wheeled on him. “Behave!”

  “Me?” He was indignant. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. If I see that look again, I’ll set you in a cabin alone with Mr. Tolliver.” That silenced him. It was handy having a bogeyman on staff. In mutual outrage we all trudged down the corridor to the cargo bays.

  Hours later I sat in the officers’ mess with Tolliver comparing notes. We’d found several cargo booking procedures that would benefit from change, but we’d uncovered no serious problems. A memo to the quartermaster would be the end of it.

  “What about supplies to the fleet?” Tolliver asked.

  “The fleet is out of my jurisdiction. The Admiral made that quite clear.” I picked at my food. Across the table, Jerence wolfed his sandwich.

  “Yes, sir.” Tolliver cleared his throat. “And the General?”

  “Is out of your jurisdiction, Lieutenant. As the fleet is beyond mine.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” His eyes fell to his coffee, and remained there.

  “Anyway, we still have to—” I fell silent.

  Tolliver looked up. “What, sir?” He followed my gaze. Lieutenant Vax Holser carried a tray from the line, searching for a table.

  I stood. “Wait with Jerence.” I crossed the room. “Vax?”

  The burly lieutenant looked up, startled. Emotions flitted across his face, quickly suppressed. “I didn’t expect you here.” He added as if an afterthought, “Sir.”

  I ignored his manner. “I’d like to talk with you.”

  “I wouldn’t like that.”

  I closed my eyes, willing away the pain. “Please.”

  His lips compressed. “Whatever the Captain orders.”

  “It’s not an order, Mr. Holser.” I looked around. Most of the tables were occupied; I saw no private place to talk. “I’ll wait in the corridor, Mr. Holser. Come if you wish. If not, I’ll accept your decision.” Without waiting for a reply I strode out.

  Naval personnel of all ranks walked the corridor, going about their business. I paced.

  Vax wouldn’t come. I’d begun years ago by brutalizing him, and ended by spurning his friendship. He would never forgive me; it was painful for him even to speak to me. Anyway, what could I say to him? That I was sorry? That I’d meant only to save him? I thrust my hands in my pockets, paced with head down.

  “I’m here.” It was a challenge.

  I whirled. “Don’t sneak up on me! What’s wrong with you?” Thoughts of conciliation were forgotten.

  Vax eyed me steadily. “Nothing. What’s wrong with you, other than the mess you’ve made of your face?”

&n
bsp; I bit back an angry retort. “Vax, why won’t you speak to me?”

  His glare could have melted an alumalloy hull. “You know God damned well why.”

  “Don’t blaspheme!” My fury matched his own.

  “That’s no longer your concern, Captain Seafort. I’m on the Admiral’s staff now.”

  “Vax,” I said hoarsely. “Tell me what you won’t forgive.”

  He was silent for a long time. When his eyes finally met mine, they were cold. “You bastard.”

  I gaped. Even in informal conversation, a lieutenant couldn’t—I thrust down my indignation. “What did I do?”

  “You saved me,” he said simply.

  “But I—”

  “On Portia, whenever Alexi sent Philip Tyre up to be caned, I beat him with especial relish, because he was what I might have become without you. He was cruel and sadistic, and unappeasable. You saved me from that.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “We were friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then you discarded me.” The words slashed.

  “Challenger?”

  “Yes, Challenger.” He glanced around, saw that nobody was looking, shoved me against the bulkhead. “I could kill you, Seafort.”

  “Vax,” I said in anguish, “I wanted you to live. No more than that.”

  He bellowed, “I wanted to be loyal! No more than that!” Stunned, I could say nothing. “I wanted to follow you, even if it cost my life. What right had you to make that decision for me? Who appointed you God?”

  “I was Captain.” I knew that wasn’t enough. “Vax, I didn’t care any longer. I’d lost Nate, and—and—” I found it hard to speak. “And I’d lost Amanda. I was going to my death. I didn’t want you swept up in that.”

  “You had no right to make the choice for me.”

  “As Capt—”

  “Not if we were friends.”

  The words hung heavy in the silence. I forced myself to meet his eye. “Forgive me, Vax.”

  “No, not ever.” The finality shook me.

  “I’ve been through—you don’t know what I had to endure on that cruise. I’m damned, and have no one but myself to blame. Please, Vax. Be with me.”