Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  I snapped, “I’m not helpless, Jerence.” The boy’s face fell. I took a couple of steps and hesitated. “Perhaps you’d better, after all.” Eagerly he took the canister from my hands.

  We proceeded slowly to the school in which the emergency clinic was operating. Electricars, some battered, lined the roadway. We passed a family helping a heavily bandaged man into a car. Though I had to stop more than once for breath, I felt little of the dizziness that had plagued me; Dr. Avery’s vapormeds were having their effect. In any event, Alexi and Tolliver were ludicrously close, waiting to catch me if I sagged. Ribald jokes came to mind; with an effort I suppressed them.

  On the stoop two women sat consoling each other, oblivious to passersby. Alexi held the door.

  In the hall they’d set up an admitting office near the gymnasium that served as the main clinic. The hall was crowded with patients, some bandaged, some uninjured, many slumped despondently. I found a place on a bench.

  Tolliver leaned over the admitting desk, spoke to the weary civilian behind it. The man ran his hands through his hair, pushed himself up from his desk.

  “Captain Seafort? An honor to meet you, sir.” I nodded through my mask. “I’ll have a med tech look you over while you wait for the doctor.”

  “Wait?” Tolliver’s tone was hostile.

  “Yes, wait.” The man showed signs of irritation. “We’ve only three surgeons, and they’ve worked without sleep the past four days. We finally sent two of them to rest, and the third’s trying to hang on to a joey who was trapped under a collapsed wall since the blast.”

  I forestalled Tolliver’s reply. “How long before the doctor has time?”

  “Hours, probably. We take life-threatening cases first.”

  “Of course.” We shouldn’t have come. Pneumonia was nothing compared to the injuries they battled. My vapormeds seemed to be holding their own against it.

  “You can wait in the lobby or in a classroom.”

  “Could I come back later?”

  “I can’t guarantee we won’t get another emergency, but that’s less likely with each passing hour. All we’re finding now is the dead. A doctor should be able to see you after seven tonight.”

  “Thank you. Does anyone have a survivors’ list?”

  “It’s on the puter at emergency HQ but I can tie in from here. What name?”

  “Miss Wells. Annie Wells.” My heart thumped.

  He bent over the console, straightened. “She’s not listed as a survivor.”

  I turned away, unable to speak.

  “But she’s not among the known dead,” he added. “The list isn’t complete. It only has those who’ve been treated or have reported to a relief center.”

  Annie would know to put her name on the list, of course. So she was lost. I sagged against the wall. After a time a wave of contempt washed away my self-pity. So easy to dismiss her as dead, yet I’d hadn’t even searched for her. Perhaps she was hurt, wandering, desperate for help.

  I beckoned to Harmon Branstead. “Would you take me back to the spaceport?”

  “No.”

  Stunned, I could only gape. “What?...I’m sorry.” My tone was stiff. “I didn’t mean to impose.”

  “Imposing has nothing to do with it. I won’t be party to your suicide.”

  I snorted. “Don’t be silly. I won’t be able to see a doctor for hours. I need to look for Annie, and I should check in at Admiralty House.”

  “That’s not wise. Dr. Avery—”

  “Damn your Dr. Avery!” My vehemence drove him back a step. After a tense moment I cleared my throat. “Forgive me, Harmon.”

  “Of course.” He sighed, unclenched his fists. “Well, let’s get you back to the heli, if you must.”

  “Thank you.” On the way to the makeshift airstrip I allowed Alexi and Tolliver to support some of my weight, more winded than I cared to let on.

  Strapped securely into my seat, I fell into a doze while Harmon lifted off and headed west. When I woke, the heli was settling on the tarmac behind Admiralty House. I opened the door and swung out my legs, debating whether to report first to Admiralty or to search for Annie. Annie was more important, but Admiralty House was but a few steps away.

  “Tolliver, remember where we parked our car?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bring it round the front of Admiralty House. Alexi, you might give me a hand.” I paused. “Harmon, thanks for everything.”

  “You’ll go back to the clinic?”

  “I think I’m getting better. I’m sure my fever’s down.”

  “Give me your word you’ll be there at seven.”

  My eyebrow raised. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  Jerence looked anxiously from his father to me. Despite myself, I smiled. “Very well, Harmon. My word.” My smile vanished. My word was worth less than he knew.

  “No, sir, no one’s come groundside since yesterday.” Willem Anton, the duty lieutenant. Admiralty House seemed nearly deserted.

  “The Admiral didn’t send a middy?”

  “Nothing’s landed except the shuttle that took Captain Forbee aloft, sir. Would you like to call Naval HQ at the Station?”

  I grimaced. “The Admiral has enough on his mind. Who’s in charge here?”

  “Lieutenant Trapp, upstairs.”

  “I’ll go see him.” I got to my feet.

  Alexi blurted, “Mr. Anton, could you ask Lieutenant Trapp to come down instead?”

  I wheeled. “Remember your own duty before you intrude on mine!” I panted for breath.

  Alexi blushed crimson, but held his ground. “I thought—you’ve been so—”

  But Anton was already on the caller; he’d observed the vapormask and canister Alexi held. I glared. Alexi looked only mildly contrite. While we waited I asked Anton, “Have you heard from my wife?”

  The lieutenant looked up, face grim. “Was she downtown?”

  “I don’t know. We lived near downtown.”

  He started to speak, shook his head. “Sorry. I’ve heard nothing, sir.”

  Lieutenant Trapp saluted as he trotted down the steps. “Admiral De Marnay told me you’d be along, sir. Good to see you again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, sir, I was in the tactics room the day you came to, ah, visit Mr. Holser.”

  “Yes.” I didn’t want reminding of that. “What’s our status?”

  “We’re monitoring reports. They’re on screen in the tactics room, if you’d like...”

  “Very well.” I ignored Alexi’s reproach and followed Trapp up the stairs. Halfway, I paused, my strength fading.

  In the tactics room, Trapp’s pointer tapped the screen. “The Admiral’s here on Vestra, in orbit about thirty degrees west of the Station.”

  “Foolish of him to chase about on a ship.” Placing himself at risk served no purpose; better that he commanded from the safety of the Station or Centraltown. In a moment I realized what I’d said. Mortified, I added hastily, “He—uh—Of course, he has his reasons. Please disregard my comment.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Still, if Vestra was destroyed, our chain of command would be sundered. With Forbee on the Station I was the only Captain groundside; I had best stay close to Admiralty House until the danger was past.

  Lieutenant Trapp pointed. “The fleet is divided into two squadrons, to protect both Centraltown and the Station.”

  “Any sightings?”

  “Not for a couple of days, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Sir, are we, ah, losing?”

  “I don’t know.” He swallowed. “If the fish take out our fleet, what will happen to Centraltown? To Hope Nation?”

  “Enough, Lieutenant.” My voice was sharp. “We’ll do our duty.” I sat, waiting out a passing weakness. “How many Captains are on the Station?” If Admiral De Marnay were killed, the senior Captain there would be in charge. The only other Admiral sent to Hope system, Geoffrey Tremaine, had died by my own hand.
>
  “Mr. Tenere is recovering on Orbit Station, sir.”

  “That’s all? Everyone else is on ship?”

  He swallowed. “Or lost.”

  “Very well.” I had to remain at Admiralty House. No, I had to find Annie. I cursed; I couldn’t do both. Anyway, did it make sense to stagger about Centraltown, dependent on a vapormask? Others could search more competently than I, and my duty was here.

  No. Annie was my wife. “Mr. Trapp.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll set my caller to standby channel. Reach me by it if there’s any action. I’m going to search for my wife.”

  By the time I reached the foot of the stairs I was sweating. Nonetheless I made an effort to walk casually to the main door, Alexi at my heels.

  “The car’s right here, sir.”

  I took several breaths, negotiated the stoop. Perhaps I’d better wear the vapormask after all. I took it from Alexi’s hand, thrust it over my face.

  I leaned on him the rest of the way.

  I sank into the back seat, inhaling from the vapormask as deeply as I could. Each breath came as a stab.

  It took Tolliver over an hour to negotiate the debris-filled streets to my neighborhood. Alexi dozed in front, head cradled on his bandaged hand. While we drove I stared at rows of blasted, windowless buildings with sagging roofs, hoping against hope that my apartment was spared.

  We turned south, away from the worst of the devastation. Soon Tolliver pulled up on the street where I lived. Our building was less damaged than many we’d passed, though splintered siding boards hung askew, smashed by the force of the blast. Underlayment peeked through roof shingles. A few windows were torn from their mountings.

  Yet, the building stood.

  “I’ll check for you, sir.” Tolliver was subdued.

  “No.” I struggled with the door.

  “You can barely—”

  “Shut your mouth.” I let Alexi help me from the car.

  Breathing carefully through the confining mask, I negotiated the walkway and put my thumb to the apartment lock. No click. Well, power was off, and the building’s backup batteries might have run down. I banged on the door, waited. I knocked again, my eyes shut against a salt sting.

  No answer.

  Tolliver, carrying the caller, had gone around the side of the building. “A window’s smashed.”

  “Can you get in?”

  “Anyone could, now.”

  I bit back a savage retort. “Climb in and open the door.”

  The radio crackled. “Captain Seafort?”

  Tolliver handed me the caller. “Yes?”

  “Lieutenant Trapp, Admiralty House. You said to call if anything...We’ve just heard from Orbit Station. A shuttle’s on the way down with a messenger for you.”

  “Messenger?” I couldn’t think.

  “A midshipman, sir.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll be back shortly.”

  A moment later Tolliver opened the door. Annie must have packed in a hurry, I thought, observing the bureau doors thrown open, dressers emptied on the floor, papers and clothes tossed in an untidy mess. It took me a while to comprehend someone had been searching.

  No. Looting.

  No sign of Annie. No message.

  Unutterably weary, I fell on the couch, watching the last of day darken to dust

  “Shall we go back to the clinic, sir?”

  I stirred. “Admiralty House.”

  Alexi said, “But, the doctor—you promised—”

  “Admiralty House.” I let them help me to the car. When I sat again, I couldn’t stop panting.

  Alexi was hesitant. “Could you drop me at the hospital?”

  “It’s not in operation, Alexi.”

  “But I could get my clothes, my things...maybe rest.”

  “All right.” I nodded to Tolliver.

  Within a few blocks we had passed into a zone of appalling devastation. Tolliver maneuvered past fallen trees, wrecked cars flung about like pebbles, broken and tumbled houses. A few crumpled bodies strewn amid the wreckage gave scale and perspective to the rendition of a demented architect.

  We detoured to avoid impassable streets; eventually I lost my sense of direction, and sat passively while Tolliver swore at the blockages.

  The road ended at a broad avenue; on the far side was a row of smashed houses fencing a rolling meadow. Tolliver gunned the engine.

  “Hey, where are you—” We careened across the side yard of a house, into the meadow beyond.

  “This is Churchill Park. If I cross—”

  “Cars aren’t allowed in the park.”

  He hit the brakes, twisted around in his seat. “What, sir?” Even Alexi stared.

  “Never mind.” I felt a fool.

  Tolliver’s eyes bored into me. “Would you care to drive, sir?”

  “Never mind, I said!”

  He restarted the engine, shaking his head with unconcealed contempt.

  We made better progress across the open fields than through the rubble-filled streets. The grass beneath us was shriveled and burned, and trees were down everywhere.

  I strove to orient myself; we must be approaching downtown. The hospital would be a few blocks beyond the edge of the park. Only weeks before, Annie and I had strolled here before visiting the Cathedral.

  We reached the crest of a small hill. Beyond was the boundary of the park. Tolliver found a gap in the row of shrubbery lining the park and plunged through.

  Around us was devastation.

  We turned the corner. Alexi pointed eagerly. “The hospital is over...past that...” His voice trailed off.

  Centraltown Hospital was gone.

  A pile of unrecognizable rubble covered two blocks. Beyond the ruins of hospital stretched the ruins of downtown. The commercial district, the government buildings, were obliterated. Thank heaven I’d taken Alexi to the plantation zone.

  Tolliver switched off the engine. “Christ Jesus, even the walls.”

  Alexi slumped in his seat. “If I’d been there...”

  Tolliver’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “You’d be dead.”

  Alexi said forlornly, “My things. My clothes.” He sat huddled, arms crossed as if warming himself.

  “People died here.” Tolliver’s tone was sharp. “Clothes are nothing.”

  “They’re all I had. That and my room.”

  I said gruffly, “You’ll stay with me.”

  “Where?”

  I didn’t know. My chest ached. “Tolliver, back to Admiralty House.”

  “You’re supposed to see a doctor,” Tolliver said.

  “Middy, shut up!” Blessedly, he did.

  13

  THE ROAR OF THE descending shuttle subsided. In the Admiralty House anteroom I impatiently drummed my fingers on Lieutenant Anton’s console. “What’s keeping him?”

  “Shall I go look, Mr. Seafort?” Alexi got to his feet.

  “No.” I concentrated on breathing. Some minutes later the front door swung open. I came awake.

  A voice piped, “Midshipman Avar Bezrel reporting, sir.” A youngster in immaculate uniform brought himself to attention with an Academy salute.

  I scowled. “Don’t I know you?”

  “I’m on Admiral De Marnay’s staff, sir. I took you into his office when—”

  “Very well. As you were.” He relaxed, said nothing further. I prompted, “You have a message?”

  “Yes, sir, but the Admiral said it’s for your eyes only.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  He took a deep breath. “I was told, only when we’re alone. I’m sorry, sir, no disrespect intended.”

  I tore off the vapormask. “Who ordered this charade?”

  “Admiral De Marnay, sir.” His innocent gray eyes met mine.

  “Anton, Tolliver, Mr. Tamarov, leave the room.” I waited until they’d trooped upstairs. My voice was ice. “Is that satisfactory, Mr. Bezrel?”

  The boy fished in his jacket pocket, came out with a chi
p-case.

  I opened it. “You leave too, Mr. Bezrel.”

  “But, sir, I have the—”

  “At once.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He wheeled, marched to the stairwell, and trotted upstairs.

  I inserted the chip into Lieutenant Anton’s holovid, flipped it on, entered my passcode.

  Gibberish.

  I spun the dial, searching through the images. All unreadable. My fist slammed onto the console. “Bezrel, get down here!” My breath stabbed.

  The boy trotted downstairs. “Aye aye, sir.”

  “What is this nonsense?”

  Bezrel said, “You need a code to unlock it, sir.”

  “Give it!” I held out my hand.

  “He made me memorize it, sir!” He wrinkled his brow, then spouted figures. I tapped them into the holovid and punched the readout, grumbling under my breath.

  Random characters filled the screen.

  “Look at that garbage!” The boy peered at the console. “Try again.”

  “3J2, uh, 49GHZ...1425, sir.”

  “You told me 1245!”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  I punched in the new figures. “Two demerits, you silly young—”

  Still gibberish. I drew breath to speak.

  “I think it was 1542!” the boy said desperately.

  The screen was full of random symbols. I lurched to my feet. “Think? You don’t remember?”

  To my astonishment, the boy began to sob, standing at attention, tears running down his cheeks. “I’m not sure, I—I mean...”

  “Oh, for God’s—” I raised my voice to a bellow. “Tolliver!” I paced to the wall, returned panting to my seat.

  Edgar Tolliver raced downstairs, took in the scene.

  “Take this—this puppy out of here! Have him back in five minutes acting like a middy. Move!”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Tolliver snatched Bezrel’s arm and propelled him to the door. I sat behind the desk, muttering imprecations. Eventually I calmed, but my chest throbbed.

  In a few minutes the door opened. Bezrel crept in, hugging himself, head down. Tolliver followed. He touched the boy’s shoulder and guided him gently to my desk. Bezrel came to attention. “I’m sorry, sir,” he quavered. “I should have—”

  “Belay that. I was wrong to yell. Stand easy.” I forced the impatience from my tone. “Do you think you have it now, Mr. Bezrel?”