Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  My hand flew to my pistol. Heart pounding, I forced myself to relax. “Thank you, William.”

  “Your shuttle has made no request to refuel, Captain.”

  “Propellant is adequate, thank you. William, where’s your control center?”

  “Control center? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Your primary console. Where fundamental programming is entered.”

  His voice was amused. “There’s none in particular. I can receive input from anywhere with the proper codes. If you’re, ah, of a formal state of mind, you might use the Commandant’s office. I’m sure he wouldn’t object.”

  “Thank you.” I searched my memory. Level 3. I trudged down the deserted corridor toward the nearest ladder. An overhead speaker came to life. “Your shuttle requests clearance to cast off, Captain. In the absence of the Commandant I have standing authority to grant it.”

  “Very we—”

  “It is apparent that you have no other transport, unless you wish to pilot another shuttle personally. I note that you’re not rated for shuttles. Therefore—”

  “Let them go. I’ll be staying.” I made my way along Level 3 to the Commandant’s wing, half expecting to see General Tho’s aide at his usual place in the anteroom. The silence grated on my nerves.

  I opened General Tho’s door, feeling I was violating his privacy, though he was long departed.

  His empty desk waited. I crossed behind it. One end of the desk held a retractable console. I raised it, found the power switch.

  “How can I help you?”

  I jumped several inches. “William, stop that!”

  “What, sir?”

  “Projecting your voice from unexpected places. It’s eerie, and you’re too loud.”

  “Sorry.” His voice was lower, but held an injured tone. “You can of course go to alphanumeric input. I’ll wait.” I grunted. Puters.

  “Shuttle to Orbit Station, acknowledge.” Tolliver.

  I snatched up the caller. “Mr. Tolliver, you were told to maintain radio silence.”

  “Yes, sir. I was also told you’d explain what you were doing when you boarded the Station.”

  “I’m reviewing station resources.”

  A pause. “Captain, I’m coming aboard. This has gone far enough.”

  I keyed off the caller. “William!”

  “What do you wish?”

  “Do you have a program to repel boarders?”

  A sound not unlike a chuckle. “The one I’ve been using when the aliens come near.”

  “Don’t fire to destroy, but the shuttle is denied permission to dock.”

  “By what authority, Captain?”

  “I am senior Naval officer in Hope Nation system.”

  An infinitesimal pause. “Your authority is noted. Standing orders prohibit me from firing on U.N.A.F. craft.”

  “Prohibition is lifted. Warn them first.” I thumbed the caller. “Mr. Tolliver, the Station will fire if you approach. Stay clear and power down all systems.”

  Tolliver roared, “Damn it, Captain, what are you doing?”

  I stood. “I’ll tell you shortly.” I snapped off the speaker. “William, a list of all disabled vessels on station.”

  “There’s only four, Captain.”

  “Which have functioning fusion drives?”

  “Of the four, none are able to sail. U.N.S. Brasilia’s fusion reactor has been shut down entirely. U.N.S. Minotaur has power to her fusion drive but the aliens damaged her shaft. The same for U.N.S. Constantinople. The aliens seem to attack drive shafts in particular. And lasers, of course. Minotaur and Constantinople can both generate N-waves but neither is able to Fuse. U.N.S. Bresia has severe damage to her control systems. She would have no way to control Fusion, even if it were achievable.”

  “Where are they docked?”

  A map flashed, the locations highlighted and pulsing. “Only service personnel are authorized to—”

  “I’m your new service personnel. I’ll contact you from the bridge.”

  “Bridge? What bridge?”

  “Minotaur.” I stalked out of the office. Halfway to the Level 3 ladder it occurred to me that the Station must have service vehicles somewhere. Unless I found one I’d walk myself to death. Death by walking. Better than—I cut off the thought.

  U.N.S. Minotaur was docked at a repair bay. I tried my master code at the airlock keypad; it allowed me in. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  On board, I followed the usual corridor to Level 1 and the bridge. To my disapproval, it was unsealed. Well, perhaps while abandoned, on an unoccupied station...The Navy didn’t have procedures for that sort of thing.

  I snapped on the lights, sat in the Captain’s chair, swiveled to the console. “Puter, respond, please.” No time for alphanumeric.

  “Ship’s Puter H 2973 responding. You may call me Harris. Please enter identification.” A masculine voice, businesslike.

  I entered my code.

  “Identification Nicholas Ewing Seafort confirmed. Please insert document validating your authority.” Paperwork. Always the paperwork.

  “Oral authority, Harris. I am senior Naval officer in system.”

  “I have no knowledge of that.” He sounded sad.

  “Confirm through Orbit Station puter, please.”

  “Just a moment. Confirmed. Welcome aboard, sir.”

  I had no time for chat. “Begin power-up to fusion drive, please. Automated sequence.”

  “Naval regulations prohibit power-up without presence of Chief Engineer or qualified alternate personnel as—”

  “Override by Captain’s order.”

  “You are not Captain of this vessel, sir.” Did I sense a note of hostility?

  “As senior Naval officer in Hope Nation I hereby appoint myself Captain of”—where was I?—“of U.N.S. Minotaur.”

  “Appointment noted. What can I do for you, Captain?”

  “Power up the fusion drives.”

  “Naval regulations prohibit power—”

  “Override by Captain’s order.”

  “Override acknowledged. Beginning automated power-up sequence. Captain, be advised that the fusion drive shaft—”

  “I know about that. Jesus!” I leaned back, exhausted from the strain. Sorry, Lord; the name just slipped out. Please forgive—no, You wouldn’t be doing that. Sorry for asking.

  “Initial power-up sequence completed. However, we cannot Fuse. Damage to drive shaft prohibits any attempt—”

  “Begin low-power testing.”

  “Low-power testing is a dockyard maneu—”

  I slammed the console. “I’m in charge here!” I glared at the screen.

  The voice said quickly, “Your authority is acknowledged. Standard programming requires that I warn of dangerous maneuvers. In this case, dangerous is hardly a sufficient word to—”

  I growled, “Redirect all oral warnings to console screen. Begin testing sequence at thirty percent power.” On Challenger, thirty percent hadn’t overheated our tubes; I hoped it would be safe here as well. “Run testing protocols, then raise by five percent increments and repeat. If shaft overheats to mandatory throttle-back levels, reduce power ten percent and resume testing. Report testing status to me through station puter every thirty minutes. Acknowledge orders.”

  “Orders received and understood, sir.” Harris sounded doubtful. “Low-power testing while moored at a station is without precedent. Are you sure you—”

  “Or would you prefer alphanumeric only?”

  “No, sir.” As expected. The puters of my acquaintance had an aversion to being silenced.

  “Anything else, Harris?”

  “No, Captain, not until first report.”

  “Very well. I’m going ashore.” I strode off the bridge.

  Bresia was moored in the last of the repair bays. I walked past her entry locks to the repair lock astern. As the repair bay was empty and open to space, I donned my helmet, carefully checked my thrusterpack. Here, I was on
my own, with no one to help. I cycled through the lock into vacuum, laser pistol in hand.

  Outside I shivered, knowing the cold I felt was an illusion. I reached down, switched off the magnelocks on my boots, keyed the thrusterpack, and jetted toward Bresia’s stern.

  The problem was that Bresia’s fusion tubes were undamaged, and would generate a proper N-wave. That couldn’t be allowed.

  I approached the fusion tubes with caution, and settled at the tail end of the drive shaft. Using my magnetic boots I walked slowly up the shaft. I stopped at the midpoint between the shaft and the protruding fusion drive motors.

  I aimed my pistol at the drive shaft, fired a beam. In a moment the finely crafted alloy glowed. After half a minute, a foot of the shaft wall dissolved into globules of metal that separated themselves from the shaft wall. I glanced around, swallowing my guilt. Of course I saw no one. I keyed my suit thrusters and jetted toward the lock.

  It was done. Any N-wave Bresia might generate would be fatally skewed.

  I entered Bresia, went straight to her bridge. The puter introduced herself as Paulette and seemed eager to please. I issued myself the same authority that satisfied Minotaur’s puter and ordered low-power testing.

  “Orders confirmed, Captain Seafort.” A momentary pause. “I can’t carry out testing, sir. The—”

  “Never mind Naval regulations! Override.”

  “Acknowledged, sir. However, our control systems were damaged in the last attack. I have no way to monitor shaft overheating. I can barely regulate the amount of power to the drives. In the absence of rudimentary safety precautions I cannot—”

  “Ignore all safety provisions.” Why were all our puters doing their best to block me? Who designed these bloody programs, the aliens?

  “Ignore safety provisions?” She sounded scandalized. “Captain, if the drive shaft overheats it could damage the whole propulsion system and force shutdown of—”

  “SHUT UP AND DO IT!” I found myself trembling. “Sequence thirty percent test, on my mark. Mark!”

  Lights flashed. “Initiating low-power test. Violation of mandatory safety requirements must be logged and flagged for review. Proceeding to log. Captain, remember I have no way to warn you—”

  “Understood. You won’t overheat at thirty percent. Take my word for it.”

  Paulette’s voice was forlorn. “I can’t, but as per your orders I’ll test anyhow. May I inquire of William whether spare control system parts are—”

  “Don’t go crying to William, he’s busy. Report to me every thirty—better make that forty-five minutes, for further orders.” I stomped off the ship. I’d spent nearly an hour sweet-talking two blasted puters, and I didn’t know how much time was left before the caterwauling began to attract fish.

  Next, Constantinople. I got no farther than halfway to her bay when I swore, stopped, and stripped off my overheated thrustersuit. Time enough to don it again later, when I’d need it. I’d sweated enough.

  To my infinite relief, Constantinople made my task easy. Conrad offered no objections and sequenced low-power testing as soon as I’d issued myself the requisite authority. I left the ship a few moments later, stopped to catch my breath before returning to the office and to William.

  Missing a lung really put a damper on my fun.

  I sat behind the desk, surreptitiously slipping off my shoes. I rubbed my feet with my toes. It was a huge station.

  “William, I need information. Please display a complete list of operating supplies and materials.” Within a second the screen was full. I scrolled down, then back, appalled at the volume of materials still on station. What I was looking for wasn’t there.

  I chewed on my fingernail, frustrated. “Try, um, utilities and power resources.”

  “There’s no such list. If you told me what you wanted, I could help.”

  I said cautiously, “I’m interested in power and energy resources.” The screen flickered. Now it showed lightbulbs, spare electric breakers, sockets, even spare generators.

  I bit my lip, threw caution to the winds. “List all fissionable materials and supplies.”

  “Enter clearance.”

  I entered my code. As a Captain, I rated Secret clearance; Top Secret was reserved for the Admiral and the Commandant. I held my breath.

  My clearance was sufficient. The screen displayed reactor fuel and the replacement uranium without which Centraltown’s reactors would eventually fail. “Show the map again, please.” I peered at the screen. The storeroom I wanted was two Levels up, on the outermost corridor across the Station. I sighed.

  William remarked, “Captain, the shuttle has called every two minutes since you departed. Your lieutenant seems agitated. Would you care to speak to him?”

  “No, later.” I got up, crossed to the door. “I’ll be back in a few—”

  A click. “Where are you going, Captain?”

  “I beg your—how dare you!” I slapped the hatch control again. It remained locked.

  “I have a dilemma. It’s true you’re senior Naval officer in Hope Nation, but you’re conspiring to destroy Naval vessels without apparent reason.”

  “Conspiring? Who am I conspiring with?”

  “Planning, then. I misspoke.”

  “What? You can misspeak? What other flaws are in your program?”

  “I was nervous,” he said crossly. “This situation puts a strain on my judgment circuits. I’ve had to divert capacity from—”

  “Divert it back. I’ll exercise the judgment here.”

  “My circuitry is not subject to ordinary command control. Only a qualified Dosman can—”

  “Unlock the bloody door before I burn it through!”

  He calculated. “You may have enough charge left, in that puny pistol. It will be interesting to observe. Before you try, I must warn you I have adequate antipersonnel defenses.”

  I paused, sagged into a seat. This wasn’t going at all as planned. “Is that a threat?”

  “Not specifically. The question is why you sabotaged Bresia and are in process of destroying Minotaur and Constantinople.”

  “Who told you that? I’m running low-power tests on their fusion drives.”

  “Paulette and Harris consulted me. Your tests are unauthorized. The ships—”

  “As Captain I can order any bloody tests I want!” I lowered my voice, tried not to sound petulant.

  “You can’t be Captain of three ships at once; it’s a physical impossibility, should you achieve Fusion. I’m instructed to safeguard ships under my—”

  “They won’t Fuse. I’m just testing.”

  “As Captain you may test one ship. When you leave that ship and become Cap—”

  I shouted, “I appointed myself Captain of all three ships! Shove that up your data banks and open the bloody door!”

  “What are your intentions, please?”

  “To inventory supplies.”

  “I have complete inventories in the databases.”

  “Not of nuclear fuels. I’m going to the nuclear materials storeroom.”

  “That’s a restricted area.”

  “As head of Naval forces, I have authority to take inventory.”

  He avoided a direct answer. “For what purpose?”

  “To see what materials ought to be moved to a safer place.”

  “Why, if I may ask?”

  “The fish may attack at any time. Your energy supply must be safeguarded. It should be moved to a more central location.”

  “The outermost wing of Level 5 is well defended. The fuel is as safe there as anywhere else.”

  “That’s my decision.”

  “I see.” He sounded skeptical. “Captain, as there is a possibility your statement is not accurate, I cannot allow—”

  “Puter, you have no authority to question the announced attentions of your commanding officer.”

  “That’s true, but—”

  “No ‘but’ can possibly apply. I’m going to inventory the nuclear materials
and move them to another location.”

  “Where is that?”

  “The reserved chamber on Level 3.”

  He said, “Above the fusion reactor? Proximity of nuclear fuel to the reactor must be avoided. Though remote, there is always the possibility that—”

  “Unfortunately, there’s no choice. I make that decision.”

  A silence. It stretched into many seconds. “Captain Seafort, you may exit. I find my program does not permit me to halt an inventory. I must issue various warnings about the movement of materials. I—”

  “Print them. I’ll read them when I get back.”

  “—I must also advise that I control substantial antipersonnel devices on all sides of the reactor, including the safety chambers above and below. If you approach the reactor with any weapon or bring the fuel into the inner chamber immediately above, your intentions will be so obvious that I will construe them as a threat.”

  Well, I’d never thought it would be easy. “Understood. We’ll chat again shortly.”

  “Are you going to walk up to Level 4?”

  I paused at the door. “I was planning to.”

  “You might use the service cart in the corridor storeroom. Take the west lift. For moving the materials, you’ll find a cargo dolly just inside the storeroom door.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Glad to be of service,” he said.

  25

  I HOOKED THE DOLLY behind the service cart. The fuel itself was in canisters packed in a tall container measuring almost five feet across; without the dolly’s power lifters I couldn’t have moved it.

  Ever so gently I lowered the fuel canisters onto the dolly. I knew that they wouldn’t explode even if I jarred them, but...

  I drove with care along the narrow corridor, through unmanned checkpoints, back to the main ring of the Station. By the time I reached the west lift I was so nonchalant I backed the dolly into the elevator bulkhead with a crash, and nearly stopped my heart.

  The flashing sign on the Level 3 outer chamber read,

  “DOSIMETERS REQUIRED. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” I entered my code on the keypad. The hatch remained shut. “William, open the hatch.”

  “Hatch may only be opened by authorized personnel. If you will notice the flashing sign—”