“Why?”
“You know why! You’re a hero!”
“So they say. Why?”
“How brave you are. The things you’ve done.”
I snorted. “I was so scared I wet my pants.”
“But that didn’t stop you.”
“When I called you to the shuttle bay, where were you?”
“At Lieutenant Paulson’s cabin, sir.”
“Waiting to be caned.” He nodded. “Were you afraid?”
“It hurts!” He twisted away, stared through the porthole. “Of course I was.”
“But you’ve been caned before. You know you can stand it.”
His voice was small. “Yes, sir.”
“When I’ve had enough of your idiocy and dismiss you, what then? Will you kill yourself?”
“What?” His jaw dropped.
“Will your father ever speak to you again? Will your life be over?”
Adam’s tone was tight. “Yes, sir, he’ll speak to me again. He’ll love me as he does now. And my life won’t be over.”
“So. You know the worst I can do, and you can stand it. Now you too can be a hero.”
The boy’s anger dissolved into bewilderment. “I don’t understand, sir.”
“That famous incident in Challenger, when I rammed the fish. All I did was decide to act, and the rest followed. It was a throw of the dice, do you see? Or when I nuked Orbit Station. Was that heroism? I didn’t dither, that’s all. I made up my mind to commit treason to get rid of those damned fish, and I did it.” I looked away, too ashamed to meet his eye.
After a moment, I forced myself to continue. “It’s ridiculous that you’d need heroism to speak to me without babbling, but here’s how you do it. Open your mouth, say what you intended, and shut it. From the moment you asked if you could speak, you were committed.”
“I wasn’t sure if ... I mean, I thought you might be angry.”
“Then keep your mouth closed in the first place. But you can’t speak, apologize, and be silent all at the same time.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
I wanted to slap him. “You still don’t get it? To have any respect at all, either from me or yourself, you had to finish asking your question. If you can’t understand that, the Naval Service has no place for you.”
He twisted at the flaps of his jacket, whispered, “You don’t understand. I—I was afraid.”
“Adam, we’re all afraid! Fear has nothing to do with how you act!” I turned away. I’d failed, and in the process revealed more of myself than I could abide.
Let him stew in his juices, then. When we got back I would send him groundside, with unsatisfactory ratings. I fished in my duffel, took out my holovid.
Adam Tenere slumped in misery against the porthole. When he thought my attention was elsewhere, he wiped away a tear.
I tried to spot the Training Station against the points of light blazing like pinpricks in a black cloth. Of course I couldn’t find it. I had no idea even where to look. “How long now, Pilot?”
“Nineteen minutes, sir.” He pointed to starboard. “It’s in view.”
I grunted.
“Wait, I’ll light it up.” He keyed the caller, tapped in a code. A moment passed, and lights sprang to life in the distance.
The Academy Training Station bore hardly any resemblance to Earthport, the colossal terminus that served as our gateway to the stars. Earthport’s warehouses bulged with the ores and foodstuffs from our colonies that fueled the Terran economy, and from her bays colonists and administrators even now poured outward to the settled worlds, despite the recent menace of the fish.
Our Training Station was but a single disk, and a small one at that. Though eleven Fusers were moored alongside, the Station’s two bays could dock only two boats at a time.
Designed for simplicity, the Station carried no hydroponics and had only primitive mess facilities. Its few cabins were crowded with bunks, where cadets slept as tightly packed as in a ship’s wardroom. The Station was powered only by solar cells.
I’d been here just once in my life, for eleven days, along with my squad and two vigilant instructors. It was an odd feeling to return on my own, but I was unlikely to run into trouble. The Station was conceived for just one purpose; to accommodate squads of cadets while they trained on the Fusers, and then to shut down again.
Pilot Trayn maneuvered us closer. For a moment I watched, then went back to my seat, waited for us to come to rest relative to the Station. At last the outer locks kissed; the seals pressed tightly against their Station counterparts.
I stood again. “Suit up, Mr. Tenere.” I climbed awkwardly into my gear, while the boy slid into his, with a lithe grace. Though the Station would be pressurized, I checked my helmet clamps with care and made sure my oximeter dial was in the green.
The Pilot, already suited, cycled the lock shut. Expecting full pressurization on the Station side, he didn’t bother to pump to vacuum, but grasped the safety grip firmly just in case. Our outer hatch slid open, as did the Station’s. He fastened our steel safety line.
Just short of the hatch I turned the middy by the shoulders, checking all his clamps. As I expected, they were secure. It was an officer’s responsibility to look after his own safety, yet I felt better for the precaution.
We cycled through the lock into the Station. The Pilot keyed his radio. “Shall I wait while you check things out, sir?”
If the Commandant couldn’t figure how to power up the Station, who could? “No, return to base. We’ll call when we’re ready for you.”
“Aye aye, sir. I’ll cast off in a few moments, then.”
“Very well.” The Station lock cycled shut. I warned Adam, “Stay on suit air until we’ve checked every cabin.”
Power-up first; lights and heat would follow. We’d find plenty of Q-rations in the coolers, I could bunk in the instructors’ cabin and let Adam sleep where he wanted.
The boy cleared his throat. “Sir?”
“Not now, Mr. Tenere.” According to the holo I’d reviewed back at Farside, I’d find the command console in the station-master’s cabin near the instructors’ quarters. “Come along.”
I passed vaguely familiar cabins, then the aft lode It wasn’t until we’d nearly circled to our starting point that I came upon the stationmaster’s cabin.
The console had an oversize keyboard, to accommodate suited fingers; they’d thought of everything. I tapped in my ID code, waited until my clearance flashed. While Adam Tenere watched over my shoulder I typed, “Oral communication, please,” and waited for my suit radio to crackle.
Nothing. I tapped, “Command response.”
“READY FOR RESPONSE.”
“Terminate alphanumeric only.”
“ALPHANUMERIC ONLY NOT IN EFFECT.”
“Puter, respond, please.” I swore under my breath. “Why can’t I hear you?” Communications were glitched, and I’d let the shuttle leave us. Unless I could power the Station, we might have no way to call it back.
Adam Tenere coughed. “Sir, pardon me, but—”
“Quiet, I’m busy.” If only I hadn’t been so impetuous as to send the shuttle away. I tried to think through the puzzle. My radio worked; Adam could hear me. Again, I tapped, “Command response.”
“READY FOR RESPONSE.”
Well, at least I could communicate alphanumerically, and that wouldn’t be so bad, once we checked atmosphere and desuited. But somewhere in the puter’s—
“Sir, you’re on—”
I spun round. “Two demerits! Make that fou—”
“—shuttle approach frequency! Switch your radio!”
The room was silent a long moment. I keyed my suit’s caller, said tentatively, “Hello?”
“Puter D 1004 responding, Commandant.” A firm tenor voice.
“Yes. Well. Commence power-up.” I was careful not to look at Midshipman Tenere.
Console lights flashed. The standby bulbs brightened.
“A
tmosphere check.”
“Breathable air in all compartments.”
I had to get rid of the middy. “Mr. Tenere, check all cabin air gauges on the double.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He left me to my mortification.
By the time he was back, power-up was completed; corridor and cabin lights transformed the Station to welcome familiarity. “All gauges at normal, sir.”
“Desuit.” I undid my clamps, glad to be free of my own nervous sweat. I hung my suit on a rack. “Put your gear in a cabin.”
“Which—”
“Any of them. Now!” I rested my head in my hands. God, what a mistake, bringing a midshipman to witness my debacle. The tale would be all over Farside. I’d be a laughingstock thanks to a blunder even a cadet would know to avoid.
“Reporting for orders, sir.”
I searched for a way to keep him out of my presence, to lessen my humiliation. I could have him check stores, establish radio contact with Farside ...
With effort, I raised my head. Whatever the embarrassment, I’d earned it. “Mr. Tenere, thank you for correcting me. Ignore what I said about demerits.”
“I’m sorry if I—” He broke off short. Then, with resolve, “You’re welcome, sir.”
“I’ll put my gear in the instructors’ cabin. Call Farside, tell them we’re here safely.” I stood to make my escape.
“Aye aye, sir. Pardon me, may I speak?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated but a second. “Would you tell me why we’re here, please, and what duties I’ll have?” He waited only a second before blurting, “I mean, if you don’t mi—I’m—Lord God damn it!” He rushed on, red-faced. “You don’t know how I rehearsed that, sir! I was determined not to run my mouth!”
My voice was cold. “Two demerits are reinstated, Mr. Tenere, for taking His name in vain.” That I wouldn’t have.
“Yes, sir.” He sagged. “Am I dismissed?”
“No. Try your question again.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He licked his lips. “Pardon me, but why are we here? What do you want me to do?”
“Very good, Mr. Tenere. I’m here to familiarize myself with the Station after twelve years absence. You’re here to make yourself useful. One way is to run a comm check with Farside every few hours.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“That’s all. You’ve been accumulating demerits at an alarming rate. Start working them off; I’ll log them for you.”
“Aye aye, sir. I’ll set up a relay with Farside and do a demerit before we eat.”
“Very well.” I carried my gear to my cabin.
After a Q-ration dinner I went back to my cabin and pored through chips of reports and memos I’d brought along, while young Tenere tackled another demerit. Though his subsequent appearance left no doubt that he’d been exercising, I’d of course have taken his word. A midshipman, like any officer, was a gentleman whose pledge was to be trusted. Were he to be caught lying about a demerit, he’d be cashiered on the spot.
I decided I should visit the Training Station more often; it was an excellent place to work without interruption.
The next morning, after breakfast, I lounged on my bunk trying to memorize cadets’ faces as I’d seen Sergeant Ibarez do. Adam knocked politely to report he’d worked off another demerit. I ordered him to desist for a few hours. Demerits were intended to punish, not to abuse.
In the mess cabin at lunchtime, I made the coffee while the middy popped the tabs on two Q-rations and set them out to heat. When the chemical reaction between the inner and outer skins was complete, he brought them to the table and sat carefully, with a sigh.
I tore open my lid and fell to. To break the quiet I asked, “What are your plans for this afternoon, Mr. Tenere?”
He grimaced. “I’ll run a comm check with Farside again, on schedule. Then another demerit. Maybe two.”
“No, you’re overdoing it.”
He shrugged bitterly. “It’s the only way I have to keep up, sir.”
“Was that a complaint?”
He looked up, astonished. “No, sir. I know it’s my own fault.”
“They say humility is the first step to improvement.” For a moment I debated. “Instead of demerits, help me check out the Fusers.” It would give us both something to do. Though I was hardly finished with my self-imposed deskwork, I was thoroughly tired of cadet dossiers.
He perked up noticeably. “Aye aye, sir.”
After the meal we suited, trudged to the empty forward lock. I made sure the hatches were set to standard codes, then cycled us through. Moments later, we stood on the outer rim of the disk.
“Fuser One is closest,” I said.
We clambered with our magnetic boots across the hull. The Fuser floated meters from the Station rim, moored by a line from its lock. Without a line, even the inertia of an instructor kicking off from the hull would send the boat on a slow unpowered journey that would end only when she settled into a new elliptical orbit, or drifted off into the void.
“You jump first, Adam. Be careful.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He reached down, turned off his boots. If he’d been a cadet, he’d be tethered to a lifeline, but any middy knew how to launch himself properly.
Adam took care not to kick off with too much force. He floated slowly across to the trainer, switching his boots back on in midflight. His landing was awkward, but his boot made good contact with the hull.
I decided I’d made a fool of myself often enough for one expedition. Before jumping, I switched on my hand magnets. A smart precaution. I landed on all fours and would have bounced back into space had my glove magnets not gripped the hull. I brought my knees down, made boot contact, switched off my gloves. “Open the lock.”
Moments later we were inside the tiny vessel. I walked to the cramped bridge, looked back to the main cabin and the two cramped wardrooms that would house cadets during their training. It all seemed laughably small. “Ever been on a ship of the line, Mr. Tenere?”
“My father showed me through Freiheit, sir, just after I graduated. I know she was just a sloop, but compared to this ...
“Yes.” I sat in the Pilot’s seat, gestured for the boy to take his place alongside. I stroked the silent console. Much could happen, even in a Training Fuser ...
“Listen up, you cretins!” Sergeant Garver floated in the center corridor, hands on her hips. “You’ve watched the holos, so you know a Fuser is a hybrid, built especially for the Naval Service, useful for nothing but training dimwitted cadets. It has no galley, no hydroponics, no recycling, no cargo hold, no disk. No main engine either, just thrusters so we can maneuver to and from our mooring. That’s why we call her a boat, not a ship.”
I watched Sarge dutifully, making sure I seemed to be paying rapt attention. Even if I could parrot back what she’d just said, roving eyes or fidgets were good for extra duties if not a demerit. Excited beyond words at finally boarding a real vessel, I didn’t want the burden of her displeasure.
“And of course, she has a fusion drive, which is the main reason you’re here.”
The Trainers’ fusion drives operated just like those of a ship of the line, with two important differences. First, puters could carry out many Fusion calculations performed by crew on a larger vessel, so a day’s training could be concentrated in one aspect of the Fusion process.
The other difference was our size.
Many lives were lost before it was fully understood that fusion drives didn’t work properly near a gravitational mass. The larger the vessel, the farther it had to be from a source of gravity to Fuse. A U.N. starship could Fuse from within a couple of hours thrust of Earthport, but a loaded ore barge, whose mass was colossal, would have to journey much farther to reach Fusion clearance.
On the other hand, our Training Fusers were so small their drives could be ignited safely almost anywhere in the Solar System. Except, of course, within the B’n Auba Zone, so close to the sun that regardless of mass, Fusion was impossible. At
times, in our training, I cursed the Saudi astronomer and his demanding formulas over which we struggled.
Sarge waited for our attention. “Fusion is nothing to be afraid of, despite the nonsense you see on the holos. There’s no sensation of blacking out, no eerie tingling in your spine, no crackling ions. In fact, you won’t feel a thing, you won’t even know we’ve Fused unless you look out the porthole and see—Seafort?”
“Yes, ma’am, I—” I struggled to recall what she’d been saying. “See nothing, ma’am. No stars, no light.”
“All right, but if you poke Cadet Sanders once more you’ll spend the cruise as chief officer of the head. I don’t care whether she started it.” Ms. Garver looked away, at last. “By now you joeys should be interchangeable parts, but I won’t tax your resources. Three of you will go to the engine room, three to the nav room, and two to the bridge. She nodded to her fellow instructor. “Mr. Reese and the cadets on the bridge will maneuver the vessel clear of the Station, and the nav room will calculate a Fuse.”
Please, Lord, let it be the bridge. I hated Lambert and Greeley’s Elements of Astronavigation with a passion. The nav room would mean endless hours of calculations under Sergeant Reese’s unflagging supervision. The engine room was even worse. Fusion was a dimly comprehended principle, good for hours of sweat, agony, and fear.
“We’ll make several jumps, and I’ll probably shift some of you twits to different positions, but don’t get your hopes up.” Over the next week, the Fuser would flicker from one lonely spot to another. In the process, we’d get infinite and nerve-wracking practice, both at Fusion calculations and at Nav. Each time the boat Defused, perspiring cadets would have to identify our positions with painstaking accuracy.
I knew the trickiest calculation would be the one that brought us back home to Station. On a long cruise, a ship merely Defused several times for nav checks. On quick trips like ours, that wasn’t an option.
Nonetheless we’d have to emerge near the Station when we Defused. Even though Fusers were equipped with oversize propellant tanks, unskilled cadets would be at the controls during docking, and prodigious quantities of propellant would be wasted.
Arlene Sanders caught me a good one in the ribs. I flinched, but kept my eyes glued to Sarge. Later, there would be time for retribution.
Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4) Page 18