“ComCincLuna to all ships. Execute Maneuver C. Argentine and Brunswick, hold your current positions. I’ll join you with the squadron covering Earthport Station. If I’m disabled, Captain Lusanski in Waterloo is senior.”
A whispering, outside the hull.
“Report all sightings directly to—” Static. “Confirm your positions every five minutes.”
“Aye aye, si—” Static. A muted roar, transmitted through the hull.
“Attention all ships, Tripoli reports a second sighting, coordi—” The shuttle bucked. Stanner kept our nose down, used the jets to position us.
“Until we have confi—” The speaker cut out.
Stanner’s voice was taut. “We’ve lost them for a while. Hang on.”
“Can we make it?”
His jaws tightened. “Oh, we’ll make it, one way or the other. I forgot to buy insurance.” He took quick breaths. “Another ten thousand feet and I’ll spread the wings. That’ll help some.”
“Whatever you say.” My one attempt at the controls of a shuttle had been suborbital.
“Potomac Shuttleport, do you read London Shuttle Victor three four oh?” No answer. He shook his head.
“Are they hit?” My voice was unsteady.
“Hit? It’s the static buildup. We’ll have to wait to get through.”
I felt a complete idiot. “Yes. Of course.”
“Try every minute or so. My attention’s on the readouts.”
“Right.” It would give me something to do.
To my infinite relief they answered my fourth call. “London Shuttle, this is Potomac Shuttleport, we read you.”
Stanner keyed his caller. “We’ve had a scramble, Potomac. I will be approaching from the Southwest at forty thousand feet. Can you take us?”
I held my breath, but the answer was nonchalant. “No problem, London Shuttle. Earthport alerted us an hour ago. All outgoing traffic has been grounded. Come on in.”
Had it been that long? I gripped the dash while Stanner took his approach coordinates, then cursed under my breath. If we could hear Approach Control, we could hear Admiralty as well. I switched from speaker to earphones, keyed the caller.
“—no, sir. I’m sure. So’s the puter. No encroachments except Tripoli.”
“Where the hell did he go, Charleston?”
A pause from Charleston. “I couldn’t say, sir.”
“Right. Um, sorry.”
Another pause. “ComCincLuna to all ships. Current status: one sighting confirmed, coordinates thirty-four, one eighty-seven, two hundred. The alien apparently Fused to safety. Current whereabouts unknown. Second sighting is unconfirmed, may be an anomaly.”
I snorted. The “anomaly” was probably an overexcited young officer, now shriveling under his Captain’s extreme disfavor.
A scream of protesting air, as Stanner eased the wings back into flight mode. The buffeting slackened. He asked, “What’s it all mean, Captain?”
I waved him silent, strained to hear voices through the static. Every ship of the squadron had gone to Battle Stations, waiting for further sightings. None came. At last I sighed, keyed off the caller.
Stanner began a long, slow swing to port. He said nothing.
Coloring, I realized I’d snubbed the man in his own cockpit. “Sorry, Mr. Stanner, I was listening. It seems there was just the one fish; the second was a false sighting.”
“Are they planning an attack? This is the first time they’ve shown up in Home System.”
The second. The one I’d speared with Challenger was the first. “Too early to tell. It could be a fluke, or some kind of scout. In Hope Nation ...
“Yes?”
At Hope Nation the fleet had stood by for days, sometimes weeks, between sightings. “There’s no way to tell.”
For a moment Stanner’s attention was on the shuttle’s long him. Then, “Captain, I have a wife and kids. Are they safer in Lunapolis or at home?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” After a moment I tried to make amends for my tone. “No one knows, Pilot. On the one hand, Lunapolis is a smaller target. But Terra has an atmosphere, and is less fragile. If I had a choice, that’s where I’d want my family.”
He muttered, “Christ protect us.”
“Amen.”
Half an hour later we pulled up to the terminal. The engines sank into a whine. I unbuckled, made as if to stand, hesitated. I offered my hand. “Godspeed, Mr. Stanner.”
“And you, sir.”
“Thank you.” I ducked through the hatchway into the cabin.
He called after me, “We need you on a ship.” I pretended not to hear.
The steward had my duffel ready. He’d held back other passengers so I could go first. Well meant, I suppose, but I’d have preferred him to ignore me entirely.
I strode along the moveway, hoping I’d find the right counter.
“Captain Seafort! Wait, sir!” I turned, saw a florid lieutenant running after me. I waited. “Lieutenant Greaves, sir. Mr. Duhaney is in the Naval Liaison Office and sent me to get you.”
“The what? And how did he know I’m here?”
“Naval Liaison Office, sir. It’s really just a conference room reserved for Naval officers. Lunapolis Base reached him there while he was in a meeting. When he heard the London shuttle diverted, he knew you’d be on it.”
“Very well.” I slung my duffel over my shoulder, followed him through the corridors.
He held open the door. “Go right in, sir.”
Admiral Duhaney looked over his shoulder, straightened, rubbed his back. “Ah, there you are, Seafort.” With him was Senator Boland and another man I didn’t know. They hovered over a caller. “Have you met Senator Wyvern?” We shook hands and sat.
“What’s the latest, sir?”
“Nothing since the son of a bitch Fused. We’ll hold Battle Stations for a few hours, then stand down unless he shows again.”
I nodded. There was little else we could do.
Richard Boland let out his breath in a long sigh. “It’s one thing hearing about these adventures on the holos, Seafort. It’s another to have a fish overhead.”
“I know.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “What do you think they’re up to?”
“Me? How should I know?” Perhaps it was the adrenaline surge. I felt a bit shaky.
“You’ve been there, and we haven’t.”
Duhaney and Wyvern watched me intently.
“I’ve no idea.” I stood to pace. “My guess is you won’t see any more of them for a while.”
“Why not?”
“Just a hunch. In Hope Nation we never could anticipate their patterns. And it was years between the loss of Telstar and their next attack.” But once that attack started, it nearly obliterated Hope Nation and our defensive fleet.
Senator Wyvern cleared his throat, as if before a speech on the General Assembly floor. “This makes it all the more important we settle where the new hulls originate.”
Boland said sharply, “Not now, Brett.”
I wasn’t interested in politics. “Can you get them to speed up the caterwauling bomb, Admiral?” I sat.
“This gives me an excuse to knock some heads together.” Duhaney paused. “On the other hand ... Seafort, don’t make any public comments on this affair, understand?”
My annoyance showed. “I’ve never given interviews, sir.” Didn’t he know even that?
“Say nothing. That’s an order.” He hesitated. “I might as well tell you; we’ve already agreed. Unless the fish show up before tomorrow, we’re treating this as a false sighting.”
“You’re what?” I came to my feet.
“As far as the public is concerned, that is. Of course, we’ll increase our vigilance.”
“But why?”
Senator Boland’s voice was soothing. “No point in causing alarm, Captain. Or panic.”
“You’ll lie about an enemy in home waters?”
“Think, Seafort. What goo
d would the truth accomplish?”
“What good—” He had a point. As long as our Home Fleet maintained its watch, publicizing dangers that were unavoidable might cause panic. Worse, it might evoke demands that our Navy stop serving the colonies, so as not to attract the fish. “It’s not my decision to make, Senator.” And thank Lord God of it.
Duhaney cut in, “Let him be, Richard. He’s as fatigued as we are. Seafort, I’ll arrange a suborbital to London for you. One flight won’t disrupt our ground defense.”
“I can wai—very well, whatever you wish.” Let the Academy gates swing shut behind me, shield me from politicians and armchair Admirals.
Boland got to his feet. “Mr. Duhaney, if you’ll ring Naval Transport, I’ll walk Mr. Seafort to Departures.” Smoothly done. I barely felt the dismissal. Moments later I was striding with Boland through corridors packed with frustrated travelers waiting out their delays.
“We’re doing the best we can, Seafort. I’ll use the sighting as a club to get Brett back in line, and we’ll have your new ships built. Alarming the public would only interfere with that.”
I grunted. For all I knew, he was right. U.N.S. Wellington was almost ready for launch, and we needed many more like her.
The Senator’s tone was casual. “I’m bringing Robert to Devon tomorrow.”
“Robert?”
He frowned. “My son.”
“Oh, yes. Pardon me. I’m sure he’ll do well.”
“I’m most interested in seeing that he does. Any way I can possibly help, please let me know.” I waited for more, but he left it at that.
It was late evening before a helicab finally deposited me on the Academy tarmac. The guard saluted, waved me through without showing my ID. I thought to make an issue of it, decided not to. My face was too well known to question, even without my scar. I called Admiralty in Lunapolis, checked with a staff lieutenant I knew. All was quiet in the Home Fleet.
The compound was a madhouse, callers ringing off the pad. Arrival day, as if by magic, caused parents in each of the subsequent groups to verify dates, reconfirm what their cadets were allowed to bring along, and query each of the admonitions spelled out in the acceptance letter and pamphlet.
Lieutenant Paulson and the sergeants had been through it before, and weren’t fazed. Two middies waited in my outer office to run any needed errands, and Tolliver was out on the grounds, keeping an eye. Still, I sat in my office, expecting at least an occasional call to slip past their vigilance. After a time I conceded none might come.
Restless, I paced my way past coffee tables and chairs, made a note to have the furniture thinned as I had in my Farside office.
It was past lunchtime before I’d had enough. The only call I’d fielded had been from Quartermaster Serenco, asking approval for a special order of milk to replace some that had spoiled. I ran my hands through my hair, adjusted my tie, and closed the door behind me. “I’ll be on the grounds.”
“Yes, sir.”
As on board ship, I didn’t carry a caller. On a vessel I could be reached through any of the corridor speakers; here I could not. But on ship I might be needed instantly for an emergency, and that was not the case at Academy. In any event, I’d be damned if I’d have a caller squawking under my jacket, or be seen with a mini plugged in my ear. I might as well be a teener with a stereochip.
I headed toward the barracks, hesitated, reversed my course, and strode the trimmed pathway back to Officers’ Quarters and beyond to the shaded expanse of front lawn.
The recruits were instructed to arrive between ten and two. Parents drove their nervous offspring to the curved drive in front of the imposing iron gates, or walked across the commons from the heliport or the train station several blocks away.
Inside the gates, middies on special duty corraled the cadets-to-be, and every few minutes took a group of them to the Admin Building, where their Naval careers would commence. Once inside the Academy compound, cadets would be allowed no contact with their families, other than by letter, until their first furlough far in the future.
From a safe distance I watched the tearful good-byes. One recruit spotted me among the trees and pointed excitedly. Quickly I turned away and struck out for the mess hall, between barracks and classrooms.
Though formal lunch was over, I wandered into the galley. I ignored the startled cook’s mates, peered into the coolers. Surely there must be something.
“Would you like a sandwich, sir?”
I grunted. “Whatever’s easiest.”
“Why don’t you sit down in the hall? The mess steward will bring it out.”
“Very well.” I chose the closest cadet table, cupped my head in my hands, and brooded.
The start of a year. Some of my charges were halfway through training, others about to begin. How could I help the new recruits understand what they’d embarked on? An officer did not work for the Navy, he was the Navy. Now, with the fish devastating our colonies, we needed responsible officers more than ever.
My hand caressed the table’s rough plank. The joeys who’d be eating their next meal here were yet children. How could they be expected—what? Initials? I rubbed at the faded marks, noticed others. I wondered which sergeant wasn’t doing his job. When I’d been a cadet ... Could we identify the malefactors by the letters? No, the carvers had wisely left but one initial each.
“Your lunch, sir.”
I jumped at the unexpected voice. “Very well.” The steward set down the tray. They’d gone to the trouble to heat a full meal: meat, vegetables, mashed potato. A heaping salad, steaming coffee. I sighed. I’d have made do with anything.
The door flew open and a middy rushed in. He hurried to my table and came smartly to attention.
“Midshipman Anton Thayer reporting, sir.” His carrot-red hair was neatly brushed, his uniform in order. “Lieutenant Sleak’s compliments, and Senator Boland is asking for you at the gate.”
“Tell him—No, wait.” I got up, crossed to the caller on the wall by the doorway, keyed my office. “Seafort.”
“Sleak here, sir. Shall I have the Senator escorted to your office?”
“What does he want?”
“He’s brought his son.”
“Yes, send him—” I hesitated. An important politician shouldn’t be alienated; what did tradition matter when a member of the Naval Affairs Committee was—No. “Keep him at the gate. I’ll be along.”
“Are you sur—aye aye, sir.”
I rung off. Anton waited for dismissal. I growled, “Have you no work to do?”
“Yes, sir.” He ran off.
I hurried to the door, slowed my pace. The Commandant was no Senator’s lackey to come scurrying at his call. Still, as I skirted the edge of the parade ground, my stride lengthened. Perhaps it would have been better to offer him the hospitality of my office.
I crossed the front lawn to the gate. A middy, shepherding an awkward group of recruits, saluted as he passed. At the curb two cars were parked. Alongside one of them a slim youth was enduring an older woman’s embrace. Senator Boland waited patiently near the guardhouse.
I stepped outside the gate, tugged at my jacket. “Good to see you again, Senator.”
“And you, Commandant. May I present my son Robert? Robert, Commandant Seafort.” The lanky fourteen-year-old smiled shyly, unsure whether to offer his hand.
I clasped my hands behind my back as casually as possible, nodded politely. “I’m sure he’ll make a good cadet, Mr. Boland.”
The byplay hadn’t gone unnoticed; something in the Senator’s eyes changed. Still, he said affably, “I was hoping to see Robert’s barracks.”
“I wasn’t told which one he’ll be assigned. Sorry.” The information could be read from the guardhouse console, a few steps away. “I’ll have someone phone your office this afternoon.” Surely that wasn’t too great a concession to his rank.
“I won’t be able to place the barracks by name alone.”
I smiled. “They’re all alike.�
�
“Yes. Well ... His eyes locked on mine. “My wife and I are most anxious that Robert justify the honor of his admission.”
“That’s commendable.” I tired of the sparring, turned to the boy. “When you’re done with your good-byes, one of the middies will take you in.”
“Thank you.” Robert’s tone betrayed his uncertainty.
“Is there anything else, Senator?”
“Admiral Duhaney mentioned your questions about the budget. I’d be happy to go over them with you.”
“I suppose I—um, well, perhaps—” I broke off, knowing I sounded a dolt. I took a deep breath, spoke more firmly. “Robert, I’ll speak with your father alone for a moment.”
“Yes, sir.” He retreated toward the car.
My heart pounded. “Senator, I know what you want. It isn’t possible. The Naval Affairs Committee’s visit is months away. You’re here privately, and parents aren’t allowed to enter Academy. I won’t make an exception. We’ll take care of your son, as we do them all.”
Senator Boland’s eyes were pained. “Including the boy whose helmet was smashed a few days ago? Oh, yes, I know about that.” He paused. “Can you imagine how dear Robbie is to me? I’m proud, but frightened at the same time.”
“Yes, I think I can understand that.”
“He’s leaving home, leaving my custody for yours. See how eager he looks? Inside he must be terrified.” His voice turned bitter. “Of course, you wouldn’t know about that.”
My eyes turned back to his. “You can’t possibly ... My voice faded away. He couldn’t know. I’d never spoken of it.
I sat hugging myself, oblivious of passing fields as the train labored through the rolling English countryside. In the seat across, Father read from his Bible.
Four days earlier, the jerries had brought me home from the stadium in a police wagon, a blanket thrown across my shoulders for the shock, an untouched cocoa cooling on the bench at my side. Father had come outdoors at the light flashing in the night. We had no caller; he hadn’t known.
When Father summoned me from the back of the wagon I dutifully followed him into the house. Mechanically I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the faded wall until the teapot screamed its readiness.
Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4) Page 10