Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thorne punched the cadet’s shoulder. “Aye aye, sir, you meant. Don’t forget your training just because you’re so nervous you’re wetting your pants.”

  Ravitz said indignantly, “I’m not wet—”

  “Shhh. Seafort, you and I will breach the enemy’s hull. I’ll get plates and find the ice cream, you look in the coolers for the pie. Can you find it in the dark?”

  “It’s not that dark, sir. The safety lights are on.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  While Justin Ravitz crouched behind the rail we slipped through one of the two entryways between galley and mess hall. Thorne grinned. “Scared?”

  “No, sir.” My pulse throbbed.

  “Liar. So am I. You think I want to be knocking at Mr. Zorn’s hatch?” First Lieutenant Zorn was custodian of the barrel. Thorne squeezed my arm, whispered, “Hey, that’s what makes it fun. I’ll get the plates.”

  I pawed through an unlocked cooler, found only vegetables from the hydroponics chambers below. I closed the cooler door harder than I’d thought; the resounding clunk brought Thorne racing over. He hissed, “Keep it down, you idiot!” I nodded, trying to apologize with a placating smile. I’d never heard that tone from Thorne; his nerves must be taut.

  The pies were in the third cooler. I took two, put them on a tray while across the galley Thorne fished in the freezer for ice cream.

  A sound. I looked to Thorne; he hadn’t heard. I slid the tray onto the counter.

  The sound came again; fingers snapping. Thorne was just turning from the freezer. The snap of fingers, one more time, lower. Ravitz must be beside himself: Thorne was still unaware; I raised my hand, snapped my fingers once.

  Thorne looked up. I pointed desperately at the rail and beyond. His eyes widened; he nodded, beckoned. I scuttled across the deck while Thorne made for the other doorway.

  A voice, outside in the mess hall. “Who’s under there? What are you—hey!” Running feet. “Come back here!”

  Thorne disappeared into the far doorway. I ducked behind the mess-hall counter.

  “Anyone in here? What’s going—”

  A crunch, as if someone had caromed off a piece of furniture just outside the galley. A yelp, a crash, a cry of pain. Racing steps. Thorne, making a’ bid for safety. Steps fading into the distance.

  The lights snapped on. I huddled behind the counter. Footsteps, approaching the cooler. Could I crawl out unnoticed? I huddled low, padded forward. The intruder muttered, “God damn frazzin’ cadets, I’ll have their balls in a—you!”

  I scrambled for safety. The voice roared, “You, Cadet!”

  I dashed for the hatch.

  “Freeze! Stand to attention!”

  Perhaps he hadn’t seen my face, and all cadet uniforms were alike. But I couldn’t help it; he’d given a direct order and I couldn’t disobey. I stumbled to a halt, froze to attention, a few steps from the unattainable hatch.

  “Don’t you move!” He came closer. My back twitched. Who had been my undoing, my ruination? They’d cashier me, surely, if not worse. Theft of Naval stores? Breaking and entering? Could they shoot me?

  At last he came into my field of vision. A rating, a mere seaman. Were I a middy I could disobey him with impunity, but as a cadet, every adult in my universe was my superior. My eyes flicked to the hatch. A puddle of water, an overturned mop bucket. Was that what Thorne had encountered?

  His fists bunched, he stepped back. For a moment I thought he was going to strike me. “Name!”

  “Cadet Nicholas Seafort reporting, sir!” My voice wavered.

  “Stay right here, joey. Understand?” He walked to the caller. I could dash for the hatch, but to what point? He’d seen my face, knew my name. I stood rock solid at attention, awaiting my fate.

  A few moments later the rating pulled up a chair, sat, leaned forward, grinning. “You’ll get it now, boy. Maybe they’ll let me watch.”

  I said nothing. It hadn’t required a response, and I knew if I spoke my voice would break. The sailor smiled, showing gap teeth. “Anytime, now. You just wait there at attention.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Hungry, were you?”

  “I—no, sir.”

  “God, I hate you snotty little grades. Well, this time you uppies’ll get what’s coming to you!”

  Sweat trickled down my sides. I was saved from a reply by steps at the hatch. I looked up. Oh, no. Oh, God, no.

  Sergeant Trammel growled, “What’s going on here?”

  The seaman came to his feet. “Look at this mess! I found this boy in—”

  “I asked the cadet.” Sarge hadn’t bothered to raise his voice, but the seaman’s whine halted instantly. A sergeant could do that.

  Lamely, I said, “Cadet Seafort reporting, sir!”

  “I know who you are; tell me why you’re in mess hall!”

  Still held to attention, eyes on the bulkhead across the hall, I groped for an answer. On a mission? Being hazed by Midshipman Thorne? Sleepwalking? I took a deep breath. “I was getting pie, sir.”

  “In the name of Lord Christ!” Sergeant Trammel’s voice held such loathing that I flinched. “I thought you’d learned something by now, Seafort. Back to barracks.”

  “Aye aye, si—”

  “He weren’t the only one, Sarge. There were three, maybe four others. It was a regular raid. They kicked over my bucket and everything!”

  Sarge wheeled on me. “Is that true?”

  “I—yes, sir.”

  “What were you up to?”

  “Stealing pie and ice cream, sir.”

  “I din’ get a look at the others, Sarge. It was dark, and they were under tables and things. But this joey knows who—”

  Sergeant Trammel wheeled. “Your name?”

  “Lewis, sir. Elton Lewis.”

  “Go about your business, Lewis. I’ll handle this.”

  “Yes, sir.” The rating’s voice held unmistakable malice. “My business is to clean up in here. Now I gotta clean up the mess they made too. The chief petty officer oughta know—”

  “Yes, he should, and I’ll tell him. If I hear anything more from you, there’s some other things I’ll mention as well. Get moving!”

  Grumbling, the man picked up his bucket, swabbed at the mess. Sarge glowered. The rating finally dropped his eyes.

  “As you were, Seafort! Into the corridor! Move!” Sarge propelled me forward, slapped the hatch closed behind us. The moment it shut he grabbed my lapels, thrust me against the bulkhead. “You useless excuse for a plebe! Thanks to you, I have to toady to the damned CPO!” I’d never seen him so angry.

  “I’m sorry, Sarge. I didn’t mean—”

  “Bah! Special duties, the rest of the term. Six demerits! And that’s just the start. When I—” He broke off. “Who was with you?”

  “What? A couple of other cadets, and—”

  “Names, Seafort!” He cuffed me. It didn’t hurt, but I wanted to cry. “Who was responsible for this?”

  I bit my lip. Please, God. Could you transport me home to Cardiff? Give me a miracle, just a small one.

  “Please, sir!” How could I tell him—

  “Their names!” He cuffed me again.

  I screamed, “I’m thinking!”

  Shock registered in his eyes, but he gave me a moment. “Well?”

  I took a deep breath. It didn’t seem enough. I took another. “Orders received and understood, Sarge. I—I won’t tell you!”

  The enormity of what I’d done took a moment to sink in. I flinched, expecting a devastating blow. Instead, Sarge released my jacket. “Very well, you’ve made your bed; now you sleep in it. Return to barracks, joey. I’m writing you up.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” I saluted. He gave no response. I fled down the corridor.

  In the morning I was forbidden to join the others for breakfast. Instead, Robbie Rovere brought a tray to barracks. He lowered his voice. “I’m not supposed to talk to you. What happened?”r />
  I swallowed. “I’m in bad trouble. Do what Sarge said.”

  “You didn’t come back ’til way after Lights Out. They say you wouldn’t tell him what you did.”

  I nodded. “We were—just go back to mess hall, Robbie.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I got to.” Seeing no one, he pulled me into a quick embrace. “Tell them what they want, Nick. I want you next to me reading the graduation list.” Embarrassed, he hurried out. two hours later Corporal Tolliver came in. By that time, I’d worked myself into such a state that even he was welcome. “Straighten your tie, Seafort. I’m taking you to the Commandant’s office.”

  “What for?”

  “So he can stuff you out the airlock? How would I know, you twit?”

  I sank back onto my bunk, legs trembling. I’d never seen Commandant Kearsey’s office, and I had no desire to. My heart pounded.

  “Move, Seafort. I’m not getting in trouble over you.”

  I closed my eyes, reached for an elusive calm. “Yes, Mr. Tolliver.”

  I followed Tolliver to the Administrative warren, damp with fear. He stopped at the Commandant’s outer hatch, knocked politely, brought himself to attention. “Cadet Corporal Edgar Tolliver reporting, Ma’am. I’ve brought Cadet Seafort as ordered.”

  The dark-skinned woman tapped at her console. “Send him in. Dismissed.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am!” Tolliver saluted, spun on his heel, marched out the corridor. He pointed me toward the hatch. “Hey, Seafort ...

  I paused. “What?”

  Tolliver scrutinized the bulkhead. “Good luck,” he said at last. Then he was gone.

  “Sit there.” She indicated a row of stiff-backed chairs. I chose the farthest seat from her desk. It was against the bulkhead of the Commandant’s inner office.

  Hands on my knees, I sat stiffly, waiting for my execution. The duty sergeant checked her watch, buzzed the caller. “I’m going below for a moment, sir. The cadet is here.”

  “Very well.”

  Without a further glance she was gone. The console hummed in the sudden hush of the outer office. I shifted, rested my head against the bulkhead.

  Voices. Ashamed, I sat forward, but after a moment leaned back again, pressed my head to the partition.

  “... could have handled it in barracks, but twice he refused to answer me. A direct order!”

  Commandant Kearsey’s voice was acid. “Well, Sergeant, what did you expect?”

  A pause. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Don’t you see what you’ve done?” His voice faded. I strained to listen. “... teach these youngsters to hang together, to look after each other! That’s what the Navy’s about, isn’t it? We’re shipmates. We handle ... problems, first within the barracks, then within the Base, ultimately within the Navy. We don’t go running to outsiders for help.”

  “It all starts ... obeying orders, sir.” Sarge’s voice was stubborn. “That’s what I was taught.”

  “Of course it does, Trammel, that’s why you’ve fouled up so badly.”

  “Begging your pardon, I don’t see where—”

  “What did you expect from the lad, ordering him to inform on his mates? Of course you wanted to find out who was behind it. You had every right to. But the last thing to do was ask him outright! How do you think he’d feel if he’d obeyed your order? What would his bunkmates think of him?”

  I wiped at my eyes, overcome by feelings I hadn’t known I had. I wasn’t sure why I’d refused. I just knew ... it was as if Father had been watching, through the hatch.

  “How else could I find the other culprits, sir? I’m not Lord God, you know!”

  “Careful there, that’s close to blasphemy. You could have asked the others to step forward and admit their guilt.”

  “And if they hadn’t? We’d be worse off than ever.”

  “Yes. So you could have forgotten about his cohorts, dealt with the miscreant you had collared. But asking him to commit treason—”

  “Good Lord. Treason, you call it?”

  “Yes, Sergeant, or something damn close. By asking him to betray his bunkmates for your sake, you gave him an impossible choice.”

  “But we’re all the Navy, together, sir. Even you and I!”

  Commandant Kearsey said quietly, “How would he know that yet? We’re so far above them, we’re on another plane. For now, the Navy is his bunkmates. Later, he’ll understand the rest.”

  “I—It’s just that ... I was angry, sir, or I’d never have asked. The overturned bucket, that loutish sailor sitting there grinning. I knew he’d spread it all over, belowdecks.”

  “And you wanted the boy to act nobly in front of the swabbie. Well, in his way, he did.”

  A long pause. “So you’re going to let him off, sir?”

  “Eh? No, of course not. I can’t, now that you’ve made an issue of it. I have to back you up.”

  “You won’t expel him, will you?”

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t mind cadets thinking me an ogre, but you should know better.”

  Sarge’s tone was more reflective. “Seafort’s not a natural leader, sir. It couldn’t have been his idea. I’d really like to get my hands on the ringleader, but now we’ll never find him.”

  “It was Thorne, if you must know.”

  “But, how—”

  “He turned himself in this morning, when he heard Seafort had been caught. He said he’d ordered the cadet to take part. I didn’t believe him for a minute.”

  “I’ll never trust that little bugger again.”

  “Oh, don’t go that far. He’ll straighten out, most likely. I sent him to Zorn.” A chair scraped. “Next time, use your common sense.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Is that all?”

  “Send him in.”

  The hatch opened. Sergeant Trammel came out, saw me sitting bolt upright, hands pressed to my knees. “The Commandant will see you now.”

  “Yes, sir.” I stood, adjusted my cap, marched in. Commandant Kearsey, seated behind his desk, fixed me with a steely eye.

  “Cadet Nicholas Seafort reporting, sir.” I saluted, came to attention.

  “So. You’re the insolent pup who refused a direct order from your sergeant.”

  My sides were clammy. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m always disappointed when a cadet is brought into this cabin. It means we haven’t done our job, that we’ve failed to communicate the basics. Or that the cadet is a failure who never should have been admitted.”

  Some response seemed to be called for. “Yes, sir.”

  “I won’t belabor the point. Instead, I’ll endeavor to teach you that orders are to be obeyed, without exception. If you graduate, you’ll be in a position to give orders to sailors. You must first know how to obey them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take off your jacket and cap, and place them on the chair.” I complied. “Bend over my desk. Put your hands on the desk, under your chin. Lean forward.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He hadn’t touched me, but already the humiliation was excruciating.

  Commandant Kearsey rolled back his chair and stood. Taking his time, he walked to the corner, picked up the wooden cane leaning there. “Have you ever been sent to the barrel?”

  “No, sir.”

  “A caning isn’t pleasant. However, as only a noteworthy offense causes you to be sent here, my punishment must be more persuasive than the first lieutenant’s. Cadet, remain still until you’re given permission to move.”

  “Aye aye, si—” The cane landed with the crack of a shot. I shrieked. My head jerked upward.

  “You were told to be still.”

  “Yes, sir!” I thrust my head onto my hands, hoping to pin them in place. The cane came down again, and again.

  When finally it was over I lay against the desk, exhausted from the effort to hold my position, wracked with sobs. Commandant Kearsey replaced the cane, picked up my jacket. “Stand.”

  I straightened carefully. He helped me slip into the
jacket, turned me to the hatch. “Every act has a price, Mr. Seafort. You’ve just paid yours. The debt is extinguished.” Gently, he propelled me forward. “Continue to do your best.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Like a toy soldier I lurched out of his office, scarlet with mortification, my buttocks on fire. The young woman at the outer console paid no heed. I tottered through the outer hatch, closed it behind me. In the corridor, I sagged against the bulkhead and wept.

  In my Captain’s blues, I gently stroked the bed on which I sat. It had been a bitter lesson. Sarge himself had brought my meals to the barracks, until I was able to march to mess hall without pain.

  A sound.

  I looked up, startled. “Who are you?”

  The gray-clad boy jumped to attention. “Cadet Johan Stritz reporting, sir!” Wiry, muscular, a young face, worried eyes.

  I snapped, “How long have you been watching me?”

  “I’m sorry, I—I came in, sir, and you were sitting there. I didn’t know what to—I’m sorry!”

  “You come to attention, whether I see you or not!”

  “Yes, sir. Aye aye, sir.”

  “Stritz, you say? You’re the young fool who raised his hand against an officer?”

  He gulped. “Yessir.”

  “If I hadn’t been groundside I’d have ... I’d—as you were!” I stalked out.

  The steward poured our coffee and left the conference room. I eyed each of my officers gathered around the table. “How do we start?” It was my first staff meeting at Farside.

  For a moment no one spoke. Then Sergeant Obutu said with diffidence, “In the past, we’ve just gone around the table, sir. Usually starting with Maintenance.”

  “Very well. Proceed.”

  Lieutenant Crossburn switched on his holo, skimmed his notes. When at last he looked up, he addressed the others rather than me. “For some reason supply deliveries are slow, despite my repeated calls to Lunapolis. We’re supposed to get fresh vegetables every couple of weeks, to augment the yield from hydroponics. Nothing’s come in for two months now.” He waited for a response.

  “Well?” My tone was short.