Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “Some of you joeys were from North America. A few were from Germany, two from Lunapolis. From across the globe, and beyond. That’s where you were from.” He slowly walked the aisle. “But that’s over and done. Now you’re from Valdez. this is your home, and these are your mates.”

  He stopped in front of our bed. “Seafort, touch her face.

  Both hands, she won’t bite. Sanders, put your hand on his shoulder. I want all of you touching each other.” Embarrassed beyond words, I raised tentative fingers to Cadet Sanders’s face, while the third boy’s clammy hand rested on my knee.

  Sarge’s voice was hushed. “You are now members of the finest military force known to man. These are your brothers, your comrades. You need not be embarrassed at their touch, at their view of your bodies. Their accomplishments are your own. Your honor is theirs, and their honor yours. If you lie, you shame them. If you betray them, you betray yourself, your Navy, and Lord God.

  “Years from now, when you sail the void between the stars, you will know that every officer in the U.N.N.S. shares your bond. For now, strive to be the best you can, for your mates’ sake. From time to time you will fail, and you will be punished. Eventually, you will succeed.

  “This morning, you were strangers. Now you are bunk-mates, embarked on a mission to prove yourselves worthy of the Navy and of each other. Return to your beds.”

  I crept back to my bunk. “Good night.” He strode to the door, left.

  Within the barracks, all was still.

  Our cadets settled in to the whirlwind of their new lives. Five days later, I gave the oath to our second group, and, from a distance, watched the rituals repeat themselves.

  During the week Senator Boland called three times to inquire about his son Robert; I managed to duck all his calls. The desk sergeant offered him the same rote reassurances that any other parent would receive.

  Furlough ended for the second-year cadets; soon every barracks space would be taken, until we began shipping youngsters back to Farside. I debated going there myself, but didn’t. Here in Devon, I could be in New York within hours, should Annie call.

  Aloft, the Home Fleet patrolled in vain. No fish were sighted anywhere.

  Days passed; our third and fourth groups of cadets arrived and we processed them as we had the others. Increasingly restless, I stalked the Academy compound while exasperated sergeants taught their cadets the rudiments of calisthenics, military posture, obedience. I marveled at their patience.

  One evening I strolled through the barracks area, avoiding dorms I knew to be occupied. My drill sergeants had enough on their shoulders without surprise inspections by the Commandant. Musing, I stopped in front of an empty building.

  Our next to last group of recruits would arrive in two days. Within a week our roster would be complete. Which among the anxious youths we took into our company would become another Hugo Von Walthers, which a dismal failure? If only we knew. It all began here, in aging barracks like the one I faced. Idly, I stepped through the door, switched on the light.

  Thirty bare mattresses, thirty empty bunks. I wandered past the steel bed frames, ran my fingers over the dusty windows. In days this dorm would be throbbing with activity and anticipation, with fears and suffering as boys groped to become men.

  “Can I help—oh, pardon me, sir.”

  I turned; Sergeant Olvira flipped an easy salute, came to attention.

  “As you were.” Embarrassed, I thrust my hand in my pocket. “I was just—wandering.”

  He nodded, as if encountering the Commandant in a deserted barracks were a common occurrence. “Yes, sir.”

  “And what are you doing here, Sarge?” It wasn’t much, but I had to say something.

  “Valdez will be my barracks, sir. I heard the door open.” Sergeants were housed in apartments adjacent to their barracks, sharing a wall. They had privacy, but were on hand should need arise. Though it was questionable how much privacy they enjoyed, if Sergeant Olvira could hear my quiet step.

  “Sorry, Sarge. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “No problem, sir. I was looking over my paperwork, before the joeys get here.” He hesitated. “I have fresh coffee, if you’d like.”

  “No, thanks.” My tone was cool. Bad enough I’d spent an hour with him in the staff lounge. It wasn’t appropriate for a commander to socialize with subordinates, and worse, some would see it as favoritism.

  “Sorry to have disturbed you, sir. I’ll leave you be.” He waited for dismissal; I nodded. Alone, I sat on a bed, tried to quell my annoyance. He had to have noticed my abruptness. What had been his sin: to offer me a cup of coffee?

  I stood, wandered to the end of the room. Whatever enjoyment I might have had in my visit was gone. I snapped off the light, left the building. I started back to Officers’ Quarters, but my pace slowed. It was only coffee. I’d been too brusque. I returned to the barracks, found the outside entrance to his apartment.

  “May I take you up on the drink?”

  Sergeant Olvira concealed any surprise at my abrupt appearance. “Of course, sir. Come in.” He stood aside.

  I sat at his table, waited while he fetched sugar, cream. He poured my cup, warmed his own and sat. “It’ll be good to get back to work again.”

  I smiled politely. “You didn’t fancy your leave?”

  “I’m not much for time off. I only took a week.”

  “In a couple of days you’ll have your hands full.” I sipped at the steaming brew.

  He pushed aside the pile of folders to hunch forward, elbows on the table. One file slid down; I grabbed at it. The cover flipped open to a half-page photo of an earnest youngster. I closed the folder, tossed it back on the stack. “What are you working at?”

  “Putting names to faces. A head start really helps. And I like to know about the joeys when I see them.”

  I hadn’t known sergeants did that. I’d never known much about how they worked. “Find anything interesting?”

  “No, not really.” he sighed. “This one, for example. French. Theroux. Fourteen, mother a Dosman in Paris. Father deceased. In his admissions essay he said he’d dreamed of joining in the Navy ever since he saw Celestina Voyage. Awful bilge, that holo, but I can see it inspiring a young joe. Maybe it will never help me to know that. Perhaps it may come in handy.”

  “Theroux.”

  “Jacques Theroux. He’s just one of—”

  “Let me see the folder.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Social visit or no, he immediately obeyed an order.

  The boy looked solemnly past me to the holocamera and beyond. But for Tolliver’s intervention, he’d be languishing over a rejection letter rather than rechecking his traveling bag, counting anxious hours. Which youth had been left off the list, so Theroux could attend Academy? I hadn’t even bothered to ask. I snapped shut the file.

  “Is something wrong, sir?”

  I shook myself back to reality. “No, nothing.” I made small talk until I was free to escape into the night.

  I paused at the mess hall door, tugged at my jacket. “All right, I’m ready.” Tolliver held open the door.

  “Attention!” The bellow rang through the room. Two hundred forty cadets stood instantly, came to attention. Most of them got it right. Hair neatly brushed, ties straight, trousers creased; their sergeants wouldn’t have permitted otherwise. I strode past their benches to the circular table at the front of the hall. My officers saluted as I approached.

  I raised my voice. “As you were.” More quietly, to my own table, “Be seated, gentlemen.” Lieutenant Sleak, Edgar Tolliver, Sergeant Obutu, and several instructors without barracks took their seats. Until now, I’d had little contact with them. Perhaps I should drop in on the classrooms from time to time, though that wouldn’t make the instructors’ tasks any easier.

  “That tryout of the new gunnery simulator was great,” Sergeant Olvira remarked, helping himself to soup.

  Sleak passed the bowl along. “How’s it look, Gunnie?”


  Olvira grinned. “You should have seen Ramon’s face when he came out. He can’t wait ’til it gets here.”

  I asked, “Ramon?”

  “Ramon Ibarez, sir. He’s assistant gunnie.”

  “Oh, yes.” I colored, chagrined that I hadn’t remembered. “He was that impressed?”

  “It’s overpowering, sir. When we get it installed you could give it a try. You’re in a cabin just like laser fire control on a ship of the line. When the fish appear you practice with the usual firing screens, but there’s also a huge puter-driven simulscreen, and you actually see the fish you hit. It’s more like the real thing than ... the real thing!”

  I tried to warm to his enthusiasm, though the idea of facing fish once again, even in simulation, was repugnant. “I’ll give it a test. Though gunnery was never my best—Yes? What?”

  “Midshipman Sandra Ekrit reporting, sir.” She paused to catch her breath. “Mr. Diego says, a call from Admiral Duhaney, and do you want to take it in your office?”

  I don’t want it at all. “No, I’ll get it by the door.” I stood, waving my fellow officers back to their seats. Across the hall I took up the caller. “Seafort.”

  “Just a moment for Admiral Duhaney.”

  I waited. Several minutes passed. I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, aware of curious glances from the cadets. It wasn’t good form to let them see their Commandant holding the line like an errand boy waiting for instructions.

  Finally the receiver crackled. “Seafort?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Glad I reached you. Give Senator Boland a ring, would you? He’s worried about his boy.”

  “Are you serious?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

  A pause I thought would never end. “Yes, I’m serious, Captain Seafort. He had trouble getting through to you, and I promised to look into it. Talk to the barracks sergeant, make sure everything’s all right, and give the man a call. I’ll check later to make sure he’s satisfied.”

  “I don’t—aye aye, sir.” There was nothing else I could say. It was an order.

  “You might let the boy talk to his father now and then.”

  I stared at the caller; surely he couldn’t mean it. I swallowed an unwise reply. “I’ll consider it.”

  He snapped, “Don’t get on your high horse, Seafort. Boland’s committee controls our purse strings.”

  “I know that.” My voice was cold.

  “Oh, by the way, that new puter program you brought back on Victoria. The Dosmen have gone wild over it. We’re going to reprogram most of the fleet.”

  “Is Billy all right?” I felt a fool for asking.

  “Billy is what you call it? Victoria’s puter hasn’t been powered down, if that’s what you mean. It warned us that data would be irretrievably lost. The program’s too complicated to unravel quickly, so we’re taking no chances.”

  I smiled. William, Orbit Station’s late puter, had even thought to safeguard his son’s life. Or maybe Billy had thought of it on his own.

  “Keep Boland happy, Seafort. One hand washes the other.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  He rung off. Brooding, I walked slowly to my seat. What he’d asked of me was wrong, and I’d agreed to it without protest.

  Tolliver looked up. “Everything all right?”

  “Fine.” I stared at my cold meal, beckoned the steward. “Take this away.” Subdued conversation resumed while I stared at the starched white cloth.

  After dinner I went back to my office, closed the door, slumped in my leather chair while behind me the day turned to dusk. Just a call, a quick reassurance. No need to make so much of it. The boy needn’t even know. But it was hardly customary for the Commandant to ask after the health of a cadet; the moment I spoke to Ibarez, he’d know Robert Boland was under special scrutiny. Inevitably, the boy’s treatment would subtly change, and just as inevitably, it would poison the boy’s relations with his fellow cadets.

  Yet I had no choice. I’d been given an order, and I’d assented.

  The caller buzzed. Tolliver. “About those figures you asked me to look into, I have some interesting—”

  “Not now!” I slammed down the caller. What was the point of a receptionist, if any officer on the base could harass me when—Well, Tolliver was my aide, and could bypass the middy in the outer office. Still, his calls were an annoyance; I should have them blocked. But then, what was the point of having an aide? Muttering under my breath, I stood, paced the room until my ire cooled.

  The caller buzzed again. I snatched it up. “No more calls!”

  “Aye aye, sir. Sorry.” Midshipman Guthrie Smith. “I just thought, it being your wife—”

  Cursing, I keyed the caller, dropped back in my chair. “Annie?”

  “Hullo, Nicky.” Her voice seemed eons away. “I talked to Dr. O’Neill and he—I wanted to call.”

  “I’m glad. I’ve missed you.”

  “How are things? You gettin’ the cadets in line?” She giggled, sounding her old self.

  “I’m trying.” I withheld my questions, determined not to press.

  “Nicky, I ain’t felt too good, these days. Sometimes I think, if you just came, took me someplace, it’d be all right. I lie down in bed wid ... with you, you hold me tight.”

  I took a slow breath, controlled my tone. “I could come anytime. Tonight, if you like.” Even if I had to steal a training heli.

  “No, I don’t want that.” She sounded firm. “Sometimes I feel that way, like I said. But other times I don’t. I wan’ wait ’til it’s right, alla time.”

  I ventured, “Maybe that won’t happen until we’re together, all the time.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know. Thas’ what I wanted ta say, I don’t know. And I wanted ta hear your voice.”

  “God, I love you, Annie.”

  Tears were in her tone. “I love you too, Nicky. Can you understand that, and still I wanta be alone?”

  I hesitated, chose honesty. “No, hon. I can’t. Maybe it’s because I want to be with you so much.”

  “Oh, Nicky.” She sounded sad, and I felt twinges of guilt.

  “It’s all ri—”

  “Lemme think about it some. I call you, maybe a few days. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “All right, love.”

  “Bye, now.” She rang off, and I sat, desolate.

  After a few minutes I stood heavily, determined to get my unpleasant chore done with.

  Outside, the evening air was braced with the crisp tang of early fall. As I strode the white walkway a lone cadet looked up, quickly returned to his clippers. I wondered what had been his sin.

  I crossed the compound to barracks, found Valdez Hall. Lights Out would sound in fifteen minutes. I would wait to see Sergeant Ibarez after he came out; better that than making my mission known to his cadets. Meanwhile, I didn’t want to skulk around as if spying on the barracks. I moved off, wandered in the dark past other dorms.

  Wright Hall; the front door swung open, a gray-clad youth dashed down the steps, ran to the corner of the building, faced the wall, assumed the at-ease position. I sauntered over. “What are you doing?”

  “Sir, I—”

  The door opened. “Go on, tell him! Good evening, sir.” Sergeant Radz.

  Jerence Branstead said loudly, “I’m learning not to be insolent to my betters, sir.”

  The sergeant gave no quarter. “And how long will that take, cadet?”

  “I—as long as you say, Sarge.”

  “I’d guess about half the night, if you start now.”

  “Yessir!”

  I’d had no business interfering, but it was too late. Well, in for a penny ... “Why are you letting him off, Sarge? We have ways of dealing with troublemakers.”

  “Yes, sir. I’d hoped—”

  “Send him to my office in the morning.” Jerence blanched. “If I decide he’s going to be a problem I’ll have a middy pick up his gear in barracks. We’ve plenty of candidates who’ll apprecia
te their training.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  I would let Jerence off with a couple hours of running around the compound on errands, but the boy needn’t know that yet. Let him spend the night in anticipation of a Commandant’s caning; he wouldn’t be so quick to irritate his sergeant in future.

  “Very well.” The sergeant saluted; as I turned to go, he winked.

  Reluctantly I retraced my steps to Valdez. Lights were out, and the door shut. Swallowing my distaste I went around the side to Sergeant Ibarez’s door, knocked.

  “I thought I told you—Oh, good evening, sir.” he waited. “Is there ... did you want to come in?”

  “I—no.” I yearned to turn on my heel, go to my apartment. But I couldn’t ignore Admiral Duhaney’s order. On the other hand, how would he know I hadn’t really checked with Ibarez? I could tell Senator Boland all was well with Robert, as surely it was.

  No, I couldn’t require my cadets to obey orders if I myself refused. And the Admiral had been quite specific: ask the barracks sergeant how Robert was doing, and tell his father. “Sarge, I—”

  Was that how Duhaney had put it? I strove to recall his words. “Talk to the barracks sergeant, make sure everything’s all right and give Boland a call.”

  Did I dare? Was it outright disobedience? I knew what the Admiral had meant. Was I turning into a sea lawyer, at this late date? On the other hand, for the boy’s sake ...

  I smiled. “Is everything all right, Sarge?” Ibarez stammered, “I, um, I don’t ... Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, then. Carry on.” I walked with jaunty step to my office, looked up Senator Boland’s number.

  Walking back to my apartment, I grimaced. My fatuous reassurances still rang in my ears. I’d pointedly ignored the Senator’s hints about speaking directly with his son. He hadn’t been satisfied, but had chosen not to press me.

  I buzzed Tolliver. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes, sir. The Navy never sleeps.”

  “Belay that. You wanted to discuss your report?”

  His tone became businesslike. “Are you in your apartment? I can be right over.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Quite all right, sir. By morning you might be in a mood to hang up again. I’ll be right there.”