Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  While in an emergency it was possible to enlist a cadet aboard ship—I had done so myself—ordinarily cadets were sent to Academy for their training. As plebes, they were taught the basics of navigation, physics, radionics, electronics, gunnery, and the like.

  As soon as cadets could be trusted not to wander in front of the firing grid of a laser cannon or unscrew their suit helmets Outside, they were sent for a long term to Farside, the “real” Academy. There, freed from distractions and distanced from visiting busybodies, their advanced training commenced: simulated docking maneuvers, airlock security, Orbiting Station procedures, and the other skills they’d need to be set loose in the corridors of a U.N.N.S. starship. Often, they were then returned to Devon for further training.

  The term of enlistment was five years, and theoretically a. youngster could serve the entire term as a cadet and never make middy. In practice, most were graduated after two years or so, some after only one year. Graduation was at the discretion of the Commandant.

  This practice was a radical departure from the military institutions of previous generations, and I was somewhat apprehensive of the responsibility it thrust upon me, but overall, the idea made sense. Though a cadet might not be ready to serve as a midshipman, that didn’t necessarily mean he was failing his coursework. Further, under the Naval system, holding back a cadet for a few extra months bore little of the stigma that would attach if he failed to graduate with a scheduled class.

  In any event, a cadet might be pulled from classes in the middle of a term and sent to the fleet as a middy, or might be held on all or part of another year for further training.

  One never knew, and the eagerness to prove themselves ready for graduation spurred cadets to greater efforts.

  I struck across the large expanse of front lawn, toward the barracks and classrooms on the far side of the parade ground. Here, tall oaks gave welcome shade from the heat of the spacious front grounds.

  I followed a path worn in the grass. A pair of gray-clad legs protruded from beyond a tree trunk. As I passed, the youth jumped to his feet, stiffened to attention. I saluted, moved on, stopped.

  “Jerence?”

  “Yes, sir.” His belly was sucked in tight, spine stiff.

  Aboard Victoria on my flight home, I’d enlisted Jerence Branstead, of the Hope Nation Bransteads, as a cadet. Once home, he’d been transferred to Academy for proper training.

  I strolled back, pursed my lips, examined him. Though the seat of his pants was dusty from where he’d been sitting, his shoes were polished, his uniform crisp, his hair combed neatly. A far cry from the miserable boy locked in a sweaty cabin, desperate for the vial of goofjuice that lay unopened on his bed.

  I smiled but immediately converted it to a frown. After all, he was but a cadet, and I shouldn’t deign even to speak to him. “Stand easy.”

  “Aye aye, sir!” His shoulders relaxed; he spread his feet, clasped his hands behind him in the at-ease position.

  “Hasn’t your leave begun?”

  “Yes, sir. I—” He gulped, stopped. Quite right. A cadet answered questions, but otherwise spoke only when spoken to.

  “Well?”

  “I’m being sent to Farside, but I have no place to go for leave, sir. I’m staying on grounds.” He swallowed, essayed a small tremulous smile.

  I reddened. “Of course.” Harmon and Sarah Branstead were on Hope Nation, lacking even the knowledge that their son had survived. “No Terran relatives?”

  “No, sir. I’m fourth generation.”

  “Very well. Carry on.” I resumed my stroll. He’d made his bed; now he could lie in it. It was he who’d begged for the opportunity to enlist, and loneliness was part of the cost. Giving him special treatment would do neither of us any good; I had to treat him like any other cadet.

  I crossed the parade ground, wandered toward the barracks. Yeltsin Hall was silent and empty. Beyond it was Valdez Hall. No reason to go farther. But still, Valdez ... I sauntered closer. No harm in going inside, just to look around. It had been so long.

  I took the steps two at a time. The door was ajar; the sergeant wouldn’t have liked that, inside, I heard voices, a gleeful shout. I swung the door wide and strode in.

  A pillow hurtled past my head. The girl prancing on the bunk ducked, snatched it out of the air. “You missed! Can’t you even—oh, God!” She leaped off the bed, stiffened to attention, as did five other youths. A young voice shouted, “Attention!”

  I stared unbelieving at the disorder. Valdez, like all the barracks, held two rows of single bunks in meticulous order, one on each side of the narrow corridor, some thirty beds in all. Now, mattresses were overturned, pillows scattered everywhere. Dust motes danced in the sunshine streaming through the windows. The contents of two duffels had been dumped unceremoniously on the beds.

  “What is this?” No one answered. I wheeled to the closest boy. “You! Report!”

  He was in trousers and shirtsleeves. Perhaps it was his jacket that lay crumpled in the corridor. “Cadet Rafe Slater reporting, sir! We were, ah ... uh—”

  I snorted. “You sure were. Who’s in charge here?”

  A small voice answered, “I guess I am, sir.”

  I wheeled. “You guess?”

  “Cadet—oh, I—Midshipman Anton Thayer, sir.” A slim youngster, red curly hair.

  I looked at his cadet grays and raised an eyebrow.

  “I was just promoted, sir. Today.”

  “Ah.” The place was a shambles. How many demerits to give? Two each? Four? A middy was an officer, not a child. How could he allow—

  Just promoted, the traditional fierce hazing of Last Night finally past. The rest of the barracks on leave. I cleared my throat, glad I’d come to my senses in time. “I see. Carry on.”

  “Sir?” He gaped. “I mean, aye aye, sir!”

  I made sure to maintain my scowl until I was well outside the door. Then my grin broke loose. Children. I shook my head. They’d get enough discipline during the term. Today, graduation day, it didn’t matter. Anyway, it was the sergeant’s worry; I was supposed to be a remote figure, aloof from day-to-day concerns.

  Most of the middies had taken chairs at the burnished conference table. The others were seated uncomfortably on an overstuffed couch, trying to appear businesslike. Seven boys, four girls.

  I gazed around the crowded room, saying nothing. How could midshipmen be so young? I doubted some of the boys had ever seen a razor. Surely it hadn’t been so in my day.

  In my day! I snorted. I was but twenty-five, though I felt eons older. Several of these youngsters were from the class that had just graduated; a few had been midshipmen for more than a year. One old-timer had three years’ experience under her belt.

  I perched on the edge of my desk, letting the silence stretch. A couple of the middies shifted nervously. None dared say a word. I looked down at the curly redhead sitting in the closest chair; Midshipman Anton Thayer flushed, studied the carpet. He was in his blues now, far more presentable than when I’d surprised him in barracks.

  “I’ve already been introduced to most of the staff, and I wanted to meet the rest of my officers.” Midshipman Guthrie Smith’s mouth turned up in a shy smile. Officers. I knew how hard he’d labored to achieve that acknowledgment, at seventeen. “You, the lieutenants and I will be working together from now on.”

  They sat straighter. “You’re no longer cadets, and you wear officers’ blue. By Act of the General Assembly, you are deemed adults. On leave you may go into town and carouse, or do whatever else strikes your fancy.” Some had a faraway look; I suspected they would lose little time.

  Time to bring them back to earth. “I want to make clear my expectations. You’re here for two purposes: to help where you’re needed, and to set an example for the cadets. If I find that your conduct on base is less than exemplary, you will answer to me.” That got their attention, all right. Though my powers weren’t as absolute as those of a Captain under weigh, my displeasure was a calamity
no midshipman would enjoy. A word from me would have them over the barrel.

  “As you know, Academy drill sergeants are noncom Marines. When you were cadets you were required to obey them. Now you’re their superior officers.” I waited until the sudden grins had faded, before shattering their illusions. “In name only. The sergeants will treat you with due courtesy; if one does not, you are to report him to me at once. Nonetheless, you will treat requests from the drill sergeants as if they are orders from me. Is that clear?”

  They all responded, “Aye aye, sir,” their voices subdued.

  I stood to pace, found I had no room. I eased my way around to the back of the desk. “As to the cadets.” I glared at them. “Technically you can order a cadet to do anything you wish. I suggest strongly—” I paused for effect. “I suggest strongly that you refrain. Occasional hazing is acceptable; they have to learn to cope with it. But keep it within bounds.”

  Some of them looked crestfallen. I didn’t care. A cadet’s life could be hell, and I didn’t need these unseasoned youngsters making it worse. Not too much worse, anyway.

  “As to striking them, you have every legal right to do it.” After all, I had the right, and the middies acted in my behalf. “However, I forbid it. You’ll be put over the barrel at the first violation, and the second will result in dismissal.” During my second year on Farside there had been an incident, a nasty one. I wanted no repetitions.

  Time to lighten a little, perhaps. “Who’s senior at the moment?” I asked. It would change, as middies were transferred from here to Farside. Academy hierarchy was less rigid than aboard ship.

  They didn’t need to look at one another’s insignia. They knew. Middies always do. “I am, sir.”

  “Sandra Ekrit?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well.” The other middies would call her by her last name, as a mark of respect. Until someone with more seniority showed up, she was in charge of keeping the middies under control and out of my hair.

  It also meant the others could challenge her, as was Naval tradition. I wondered if the lanky young woman could hold her own against some of the burlier middies. We’d see. Like anyone else, she would sink or swim on her own.

  “Any questions?”

  A dark-haired boy raised his hand. “Midshipman Eduard Diego, sir. Will we have specific assignments?”

  Sandra Ekrit scowled, knowing it was better for him not to bother me with trivia. Still, I’d invited him to ask.

  “I don’t know. I’m as new at this as you are.” That brought a few startled grins. I rebuked myself silently. A fine start as their Commandant, confessing I knew nothing about the job. “We’ll see. Anything else?” I waited. “Dismissed.”

  Chapter 4

  STRIDING WITH TOLLIVER THROUGH the concourse of Earthport Station, I tried to ignore the ache in my chest, a legacy of my recent lung replacement.

  I peered at the flashing signs. “Terminal 4. G Concourse straight ahead. Shuttle to Lunapolis, turn right.” After a moment I gave up. Earthport was the largest orbiting station we’d ever built, and invariably I lost myself in it.

  I waited patiently at a counter for the red-jacketed civilian to look up from his puter. When he did his eyes widened in recognition. “Aren’t you—can I help you?”

  “The shuttle to Farside?”

  He pointed. “It leaves from the Naval wing. They can tell you the gate.”

  “Thank you.” I should have known better. Naturally the shuttle would leave from the Naval bays; no civilians could visit Farside. I hoisted my duffel, strode past the guard. “Come along, Mr. Tolliver.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” My aide was unusually silent, perhaps as a consequence of my earlier rebuffs. My mind was on our forthcoming visit. I’d never been to Farside as an officer; three days after I’d made midshipman I’d been sent onward to U.N.S. Helsinki.

  The Station corridor took an abrupt right angle. As I reached the turn, a midshipman tore around the bend and cannoned into me. We went down in a tangle. Tolliver thrust him aside, helped me to my feet.

  I bellowed, “Watch where you’re going, you young pup! Haven’t they taught you a thing? What’s your rush?”

  The boy saluted, stammering. “Sorry, sir. I was trying to make it to the shuttle to meet—to meet—” He ground to a halt, paling as he realized to whom he spoke.

  “Yes?” I barked.

  His voice faltered. “You, sir. Midshipman Adam Tenere reporting, sir.” He came to attention. Tolliver’s expression was carefully solemn, though I detected a glint of amusement.

  My shoulder throbbed, and I wondered if I’d twisted my ankle. “You’re from Farside?”

  “Yes, sir. My lieutenant sent me to escort you to base.”

  “He told you to race through the Station as if a squadron of fish were after you?”

  “No, sir!”

  “He told you to knock me down when you found me?”

  “No, sir.” The mortified middy could guess what was coming.

  “Four demerits, Mr. Tenere. Consider yourself lucky.” Each demerit meant two hours of hard calisthenics. I could as easily have had him caned, and most Captains would.

  “Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir. I’m sorry.”

  I snorted, stooped to pick up my duffel. “Which way?”

  It was a foolish question. He pointed back the direction he’d come. “Down there, sir.”

  “Very well.” I limped off.

  “May I carry your duffel, sir?”

  “No.” Inconsiderate children, racing like mindless idiots ... I took a cautious breath, half expecting something to grate. My chest seemed all right. “Yes. Here.” Let him lug the damned thing. It was heavy.

  “I already offered to carry that, sir.”

  “Shut up, Tolliver.” We walked the length of the corridor in silence.

  In the shuttle I strapped myself in, took a deep breath, strove for calm. “Tenere, you said?”

  “Yes, sir. Adam Tenere.”

  “Any relation to ... ?”

  “Captain Tenere? He’s my father, sir. He has Freiheit. He should be home in a couple of months with the fleet.”

  Because I’d Fused home in the fastship Victoria, I’d completed the trip in nine months, while the rest of the fleet was still in Fusion. They’d be home shortly. Though I’d brought news of the fleet’s terrible losses, the details were still not general knowledge.

  I made up my mind. It was his father; the boy should know. “Freiheit was lost. Mr. Tenere was fortunate; they found him in a lifepod.”

  “I didn’t know that. Did his men survive?”

  Immediately I regretted the demerits. “Not that I know of.”

  He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. All they told me was that he was coming home.”

  “You’re assigned to Farside?”

  “Yes, sir. Posted two months ago.”

  “I’ll see to it you get leave when he’s here.”

  The midshipman turned to me, his demerits forgotten. “Thank you, sir.” His face lit with gratitude. “We’d both appreciate that.”

  I flirted with canceling the demerits, but decided not to. The boy had run over me like a tank.

  The trip from Earthport Station to Farside took five hours. The few other passengers aboard our shuttle were techs returning from leave. When the Pilot began surfacing maneuvers I shut off my holo and watched through the porthole. The round domes of Farside stood out clearly against the ragged terrain. Of course they would, with no hazy atmosphere to impede vision. I squinted, trying to spot the Hull.

  Settling the shuttle onto the Lunar surface wasn’t as effortless as docking at Station, but it was far less an ordeal than diving into Earth’s gravity well. I waited to unstrap until the lights blinked. Young Mr. Tenere had his belts loose the moment our jets stopped squirting.

  The Pilot came back into the cabin as I stood carefully in the one-sixth gravity. “Welcome to Farside, sir.”

  “Welcome back, you mean.” I smiled. “I�
��ve been here before.”

  “Oh, yes. Though it’s hard to imagine you a cadet.”

  I could find no reply, so I waited, watching the airlock lights.

  When docking at an orbiting Station, it was the vessel’s responsibility to meet the Station’s lock. At a groundside installation, the lock came to the ship. Ponderously, the thick plastic and alloy tube rolled across the landing grid toward our hatch. A pause while Farside’s puter negotiated its mating with the shuttle’s lock. A gentle bump, another, a click. The red light flashed. The tube stiffened slightly as it pressurized.

  In a few moments the green airlock light flashed; the shuttle was mated. We crowded into the tiny lock while it cycled. Though shuttle and lock tube were both pressurized, as was Farside Base itself, as a matter of course the hatches were never opened simultaneously. Doing so would court disaster.

  In the tube two rigid portholes, one on each side, offered a view of the unforgiving Lunar surface. It was a far cry from the manner I’d come to the base as a cadet. Fully suited, checked and rechecked by our instructors, we’d been released a few at a time from the shuttle locks and shepherded across the Lunar surface to one of the wide dome locks.

  I noticed my weight increasing as I neared the inner lock. It took a lot of power to maintain near-Earth gravity in a Lunar installation, but that’s what our atomic generators were for. Lightlife would hinder the cadets’ training to an unacceptable degree; therefore the expensive, fusion-powered gravitrons buried below the base.

  At Farside’s inner lock Adam Tenere touched the pad; the hatch slid open. We gathered into the tiny chamber in silence, the few techs pressed against the bulkhead, the middy careful not to brush against me. The outer hatch closed. Because we were fully pressurized the inner hatch opened immediately.

  I stepped forward while the others held back. Quite right. The Captain was always first to enter.

  Several officers awaited us in the corridor. They saluted and came to attention; I released them. I said formally, “By order of the Board of Admiralty of the Government of the United Nations, I assume command of Farside Academy Base.” There; that was out of the way.