Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  I studied the positions. “Any sightings?”

  “No, sir.”

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Midshipman Bezrel skidded into the room, came quickly to attention. “A call for you, sir. Mr. Anton sent me. It’s—”

  “Is that how they taught you to report?”

  “No, sir, but I—”

  “Go back down then! Report properly!”

  He gulped. “Aye aye, sir.” He saluted, turned, and left. Lieutenant Trapp and the other middy exchanged glances, said nothing. A moment later Bezrel’s step sounded more sedately. He knocked at the door, entered at my nod. He stood at attention, shoulders stiff. “Midshipman Avar Bezrel reporting, sir!”

  “Better. Stand at ease.”

  “Mr. Anton’s compliments, sir. You have a call.”

  “Very well. How old are you, Mr. Bezrel?”

  “Thirteen, sir.” Young for a middy to be sent interstellar; his voice hadn’t even broken. “Sir, I thought you’d want—”

  I reached for the caller. “Is it the Admiral?” If I’d kept him waiting...

  “No, sir. It’s—”

  “Nicky?” The voice tore at my soul.

  I tore off the vapormask. “Annie? ANNIE?”

  “Oh, Nicky! You be’ent dead!”

  “Lord God. Where are you?”

  “Dat refugee place, by the park.”

  “Annie, I... I had to pause. “We looked for you...” Trapp turned away from my anguish.

  “Our ’partment, you see’d it? Someone got in, mess wid our things.”

  “Where are you?”

  “When the boom hit, I din’ know what to do. I wen’ back our place, nothin’ workin’, no lights or caller. I took food and hid ’til I figure it was safe. Empty places; I found lots of ’em. You din’ come back; I thinkin’ you was dead.”

  “Oh, Annie.” I stopped, swallowed several times. Trapp and Bezrel were in the room; I managed to control my voice. “Stay where you are. I’ll come for you.”

  Her tone had a note of alarm. “Oh, no, Nicky, you don’ wan’ see how I be lookin’ now. Wait ’til I go back to the ’partment, get nice clothes. I meet you.”

  “Clothes don’t matter; I’ve got to see you.”

  “I wan’ look good fo’ you, firs’. You come...”

  “Meet me at the apartment.”

  “Naw, dat bad place now, people broke window an’ trash our stuff. Meet me—” She paused. “Outside the Cathedral we be married in.”

  “Annie, it’s bombed out. Nothing left but—”

  “Safe place. Good place. Seeya in an hour.”

  “Don’t—”

  “Ten o’clock.” A click.

  “Annie!” I pounded the caller, but she’d rung off. I sighed. Not the best place to meet, surrounded by rubble, but what did that matter? My wife was alive.

  After a time Lieutenant Trapp cleared his throat. I looked up, wiped my eyes. “Sorry.”

  “I’m glad for you, sir.”

  “Thank you.” I rounded on Bezrel. “Why didn’t you tell me who was calling? I made her wait while I sent you back down!”

  “I tried, sir, but—”

  “All you had to do was say her name!”

  “Yes, sir, but you—”

  “Two demerits. Out!”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He saluted and fled.

  I let my fury ebb. Annie was alive; nothing else mattered. My illness didn’t count. Our apartment was nothing. Even...I faced it: even Eddie Boss didn’t matter any longer.

  Trapp was tactfully silent. I stared at the board, willing the fish to show their whereabouts, explain their intentions. The middy on duty fidgeted, but quieted at my frown. “Well, the fish won’t be dropping any rocks,” I said. “Not without Defusing into the middle of the fleet.”

  “Yes, sir,” Trapp agreed. “But our ships are tied down patrolling. To cover Centraltown while the Station is over the Venturas, we’ve committed here, and here.” He gestured. “What does that leave us in reserve?”

  “Enough, I hope.” Footsteps pounding on the stairs. I swiveled.

  “Midshipman Avar—”

  “Another call, Mr. Bezrel?”

  “No, sir.” He was stiff at attention. “Lieutenant Anton’s compliments. Ms. Triforth and Mr. Hopewell are below, demanding to speak to the officer in charge.”

  “I beg your pardon? Demanding?”

  “That’s the way Mr. Anton said it, sir. I don’t mean any disre—”

  “What in hell—er, what do they want?”

  Bezrel said anxiously, “Mr. Anton didn’t tell me, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He seemed grateful to escape.

  I’d have to go down, of course. The planters should have called for an appointment, but nonetheless they were too important to snub. I had half an hour to get rid of them before I was to meet Annie. I turned to Trapp. “Have Mr. Anton show them to the conference room.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  I hoisted myself out of my chair, headed for the door. I paused, my face reddening. “Mr. Trapp, when you see Mr. Bezrel...” I reached for my vapormask.

  “Yes, sir?”

  I mumbled, “Tell him his demerits are canceled.”

  His face was impassive. “Aye aye, sir.”

  Laura Triforth, sprawled in an easy chair, came to her feet when I entered. Old Zack Hopewell faced the wall with hands clasped behind him. He turned, gave a formal nod. His manner was more somber than hostile, but I sensed that something had changed.

  I shifted the canister awkwardly to shake hands, and sat as soon as I decently could. My heart pounded; perhaps climbing upstairs had been less wise than I’d thought.

  Laura spoke first. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Seafort, but we’d hoped to meet with Admiral De Marnay.”

  “He’s aloft.”

  “So we heard.” Hopewell was blunt. “Why is that, Captain Seafort?”

  I was astounded. Civilians questioning Naval dispositions? I ducked the issue. “Perhaps I can help you. I’m still Naval liaison to the planters.”

  “So you’re in charge?”

  “The Admiral ordered me to run Admiralty House for the time being.” I clasped my hands on the table, waiting.

  Hopewell said only, “What’s afoot, Captain?”

  My mind spun. “Why, not a thing. Admiral De Marnay can’t spend all his time—”

  Hopewell’s tone was icy. “I’d prefer,” he said, “that you tell me the truth, or nothing.”

  I was silent a long moment. “I think you’d better explain your visit.” De Marnay should have stayed groundside to handle this. I’d warned him I had no knack for public relations.

  Hopewell’s look was definitely unfriendly. “We may be provincials, Mr. Seafort, but we’re not stupid. We notice things.”

  “Such as?”

  “More and more of your personnel are being sent aloft.”

  “Since the bombing, housing has been a problem.”

  “No, it began a week before they hurled the rock at us.”

  “Normal crew rotation.”

  “You’re fencing, Mr. Seafort. I thought better of you. How many Captains are groundside at the moment?”

  “Just—that’s classified information. I shouldn’t—”

  “The fish are your enemy. We aren’t!” He was relentless.

  “Nevertheless, I can’t—”

  “Are you the only one left?”

  I shook my head; how did I get into this mess? “I can’t discuss that, Mr. Hopewell.”

  Laura said, “Do your orders forbid it?”

  I hesitated. “Not specifically.”

  “Then level with us.”

  I took a deep breath. If I was wrong, then so be it. “I’m the only one.”

  Hopewell sagged, as if defeated. “You were right, Laura.”

  This had gone on long enough. “About what?”

  The two exchanged glances. It was Ms. Triforth who answered. “Ab
out ten days ago you began stripping men from Centraltown. We noticed it first in the restaurants and bars. Some of us have a financial stake downtown, you know. Fewer seamen seemed to be on leave. Then even the officers began to disappear.”

  Admiral De Marnay should have known better than to try to hoodwink these planters. They ran everything. It was their town, their colony.

  “Odd, that this occurred just after a fastship arrived from home.” Laura caught my look of surprise. “Oh, yes, we heard about her as well. Victoria, I believe. Anyway, we began keeping tabs on your personnel even before the explosion. The bomb threw us off for a while, because we were all busy offering help, but I’d say right now there aren’t more than fifteen officers in all of Centraltown, including midshipmen.” Close. Twelve. “And a handful of sailors, helping with cleanup operations.”

  I said, “Go on, Ms. Triforth.”

  “You’ve stopped delivering supplies to the Venturas Base. For that matter, you’ve stopped bringing cargo down to Centraltown as well.”

  “That could—”

  “Your Lieutenant Eiferts won’t let us visit the Venturas, but food purchases for the base have virtually ceased. Either your men are living on rations, or you’ve been evacuating Western Continent too.”

  The Admiral’s orders were clear. I could tell no one of our contingency plans. I temporized. “If this is true, what do you make of it?”

  “Tell us what to make of it, Captain.” Laura’s voice was cool.

  “You’re worried,” I said, hoping to appear reasonable. “What do you think is happening?” I held my breath, afraid of the response.

  Ms. Triforth stirred. Zack Hopewell waved her silent. “You intend to abandon us,” the old man said. The blunt charge lingered in the silence of the room.

  I stared at the mahogany table. To follow orders I must deny everything, else our good relations with the planters would be destroyed. But my visitors would see through my denial, and I’d lose the trust I’d striven to build. Wasn’t that as much a breach of my orders as revealing the truth?

  In any event, I’d only confirm what they’d guessed, though Admiral De Marnay wouldn’t see it that way. He’d more likely view it as grounds for court-martial.

  A hesitant knock. Midshipman Bezrel drew himself to attention.

  “Get out!” I snarled.

  The middy fled.

  I slammed my fist on the table. At length I looked up. Neither alternative would suffice; I had to find my own way.

  “Mr. Hopewell, kindly shut the door.” I waited. When he sat I said carefully, “What you have described could be coincidence.” He stirred restlessly, but I overrode him. “If the Navy were planning a maneuver, there might be reasons I couldn’t tell you. Orders to that effect.”

  Laura said, “That explains nothing.”

  With an effort I got to my feet. Thinking came easier when I paced. “I couldn’t possibly confirm your suspicions.” I tucked the canister under my arm. If I paced slowly, I could still speak. “But it would be interesting to imagine what Admiralty might arrange, given substantial losses in the Hope Nation fleet. Remember, even though the fish attacked here first, they could attack anywhere.”

  “Imaginings aren’t what we’re here to—”

  “Shut up, Laura. Listen.”

  Ms. Triforth glowered at her companion.

  “We sent thirty-eight capital ships to Hope Nation. That’s a third of the entire U.N. fleet. The loss of that many ships, or a substantial number of them, would seriously impede the defense of home waters, should the fish invade there.”

  Laura said to Hopewell, “They’re abandoning us.”

  “Listen.”

  I took several deep breaths, disregarding the pain they caused. What I was about to say could hang me. “If Hope Nation weren’t an important colony, so much of the fleet wouldn’t have been risked to defend it. Consider Admiralty’s predicament. If they leave the fleet here, it might be lost. If they bring it home, they might lose Hope Nation.”

  “We already knew that.”

  I regarded Laura Triforth with distaste. I was risking my commission, if not my life, to inform her, and the woman wouldn’t shut up. “I’m not Admiralty, Ms. Triforth, but I imagine what they might do is try to hedge their bets.”

  Puzzled, she shook her head. “How do you mean?”

  That was more what I wanted. Like an instructor at Academy, I drew her on. “The Hope Nation fleet has to be strong to be effective. Admiralty doesn’t want to see it whittled down to nothing. Perhaps they might set a limit on losses. They might tell the Admiral Commanding that the fleet could operate as long as losses were acceptable, but when they became too great, the fleet was to return home.”

  Ms. Triforth demanded, “You’ve already lost nine ships that we know of. What is the decision point?”

  I looked at her with surprise. “We’re just speculating, Laura. It’s all hypothetical.”

  With an effort she restrained her irritation. “Hypothetically, Captain, what would that point be?”

  “One that might never be reached. Certainly, a substantial number of ships.” I held up a hand to stop her objection. “But if it were approached, it would mean the fleet was under heavy attack. Obviously there would be no time to begin ferrying men up to Orbit Station. So Admiralty might, hypothetically, order a precautionary evacuation ahead of time.”

  This time the silence continued for a full minute. Finally, Zack Hopewell asked, “How long would these contingency plans remain in effect?”

  I shrugged, suddenly weary, and made for my chair. “I don’t know. Perhaps until the battle was won.” I sat.

  “Or lost.”

  “Yes.”

  Zack Hopewell cleared his throat, waited until I raised my eyes to his. He said simply, “Thank you.”

  For some reason when I spoke my voice was gruff. “If these plans were known—”

  “They won’t be.”

  “If Admiral De Marnay learns of this conversation, my career is finished. Naturally, if he asks, I’ll tell him. But he may not ask.”

  Hopewell said, “I don’t see how our knowing would lead us to do anything we wouldn’t otherwise. Do you agree, Laura?”

  “What is there to do?” Laura Triforth folded her arms. “You’ll be back, eventually. You’ll have to. We supply too much food for you to abandon us. When you return, we’ll sell to you on our terms, not yours.”

  “That’s not my bailiwick.”

  Ms. Triforth shrugged. “Actually, sending the fleet home may be in our best interest. The fish seem to be space dwellers; they’ve shown little interest in our planet. Once you leave we can reorganize the government—”

  My tone was sharp. “That’s treason. I won’t hear any such conversation. Hope Nation is a U.N. colony until the Government decides otherwise.”

  Zack Hopewell cleared his throat. “Laura, it’s uncivil to aggravate the Captain with our political debates. He’s risked a great deal for us.”

  “Very well.” She stood. “We’ve taken enough of your time, Mr. Seafort. You have our assurance that what we’ve spoken of will go no further.” We shook hands.

  Hopewell asked, “How is your pneumonia?”

  I gestured at the vapormask. “Not good, as you can see. But it will pass.” I myself might pass.

  “You’re under treatment?”

  “I went to the clinic yesterday. The doctor wants me to return every day or so.”

  Ms. Triforth paused at the door. “The clinic is a long way. Do you go by heli?”

  “The Naval helis have been busy downtown. Today, we drove.”

  “Mine is at your disposal. I’ll call here every day. Have your man tell me what time to pick you up.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “No, I insist. You’ve been a true friend to all of us, Mr. Seafort, as I’m just beginning to realize.”

  I came out of my chair. “Thank you. Pray that Admiralty’s fears never come to pass. We’ll work out our problem
s together.”

  On that note they took their leave.

  I sat gathering my strength before I rang for Alexi. A few minutes later, leaning on his shoulder, I passed through the anteroom, on my way to our electricar. I halted by the desk. “What are you sniveling at, Middy?”

  Midshipman Bezrel wiped his tears with his sleeve. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Answer my question!”

  His face puckered. “I can’t get anything right for you. No matter how hard I try...I’m sorry. Please...” He lapsed into miserable silence.

  “Why did you come to my door?”

  “Mr. Trapp told me to ask if your guests wanted refreshments.”

  “Very well.” My rebuke wasn’t worth bawling over. What were middies coming to? I tried to imagine myself wailing over a reprimand from a Captain, but even as a first-year cadet, it would have been unthinkable. I sighed. “Carry on.”

  Settled in the car at last, I leaned back while Tolliver headed toward downtown and the ruins of the Cathedral. It was fitting that Annie and I reunite there, I decided. In that place I’d promised to love and honor Annie Wells, until death did us part. I’d been hurt by her infidelity, more wounded than I’d been able to say, but it was past, and Eddie was gone. Transpop ways were not our ways, and Annie was of the transient culture, not mine. I would heal our marriage. I’d do whatever I must.

  A street was blocked, and Tolliver braked sharply. “Careful,” I muttered, breathing deeply from the vapormask. The interview with the planters had left me uneasy; their knowledge of our operations was much greater than I’d realized. If Hopewell and Ms. Triforth knew all we were doing, then so did Mantiet and his cohorts. I would have to be especially careful. Outside the car, ruined houses glided by.

  We were crossing the park when the speaker crackled. “Trapp reporting, sir. A tightbeam from Naval HQ on Orbit Station. U.N.S. Wellington engaged a fish.”

  My fingers tightened on the caller. “When?”

  “A few minutes ago, apparently. The fish fused alongside. Wellington’s crew was already at Battle Stations. They skewered it with a midships laser.”

  “Good.” A thought struck. “She was already at Battle Stations?”

  “Yes, sir. Captain Steers hasn’t stood down since the attack on Centraltown.”