Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  A waste of propellant, but the Navy was well stocked. Were a few saved hours worth the trouble? Probably not, but in that case, why was I rushing home in the first place? Either I believed Tolliver, or I didn’t.

  “We’ll need our gear from inside.” I ignored the delight in Adam’s eyes, “Suit up, run back for our duffels. Do I need to go with you, or will you be careful?”

  “I’ve been Outside on my own, sir. Many times.” As an officer on Farside, he’d had ample opportunity.

  While he was gone I called the Station yet again, made arrangements for the shuttle to meet us.

  When he returned, we cast off. I gently fired our thrusters, rocking the ship to break us free. Watching me, Adam’s face fell. I said nothing, rocked harder. The seals parted.

  We drifted slowly away from the Station. I’d have to turn the ship so the auxiliary engines would bear. The boy watched, yearning.

  I sighed. “All right, take over. Head us home.”

  His manner was almost reverent. “Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.” He eased his hands onto the controls. Two squirts with the port thrusters, after a moment another with the starboard. He tapped the keys, calling up preprogrammed coordinates.

  I watched from the first officer’s seat. At the conn, all the middy’s gawky hesitation had disappeared. His eye flickered from console to viewport and back, accomplishing both the navigation and the positioning of the ship with graceful competence.

  “Ready to fire main thrusters, sir.”

  “Proceed.”

  His hand tightened on the throttle, but his eye never left the positioning grid on the console. At exactly the right moment he brought up the power. Slowly at first, but steadily faster, the Station receded.

  “With your permission, fifty minutes burn, sixty-seven minutes cruise, fifty minutes retro, sir.”

  I tapped at my console, repeating his calculations. They seemed right, but then, Nav had never been my best subject. “Very well.”

  Adam set the alarm, leaned back, one hand ready to pull back the throttle if an engine shuddered. “I had another idea, sir. I could take you directly to Earthport Station, have the shuttle meet me there.” His eyes were on the console. A vein in his temple throbbed.

  “No.” Docking at the shuttle was one thing, approaching the Earth’s busy commercial hub was quite another. Even if we avoided disaster, a clumsy mating would reflect badly on the Navy.

  “But we—I just meant—Aye aye, sir. I didn’t mean any—” His mouth tightened.

  I snapped, “Show that sullen face again and it’s two more demerits.”

  He whirled. “Sullen? Sir, I—” He bit off his words, was silent a long moment. Finally he spoke with resolve. “Sir, excuse me, but you misunderstood. I was disgusted with myself because I can’t get out even a simple sentence without stammering.”

  My anger melted. “Why, Adam?”

  He studied the console. “I wish I knew. I can talk to Mr. Keene or Guthrie Smith, or the cadets. Maybe it’s ... He trailed off. I waited. “I want so much to impress you,” he muttered.

  “Because I’m Commandant?”

  “No, sir. Because you’re Captain Seafort.” He reddened. “I wanted to be able to tell my father I’d served under the great Mr. Seafort. Now I can tell him I knocked you down, babbled every time I saw you, and earned more demerits in two weeks than I did in a year as a cadet.”

  “No, you haven’t.” I cleared my throat, spoke gruffly. “All remaining demerits are canceled, including the ten for which you were sent to Mr. Paulson.” It was bad for discipline, but the boy’s pilotage deserved reward, and his idea had saved me several anxious hours.

  “You mean that? Really?” His eyes held wonder. Then, realizing what he’d said, he blushed. “I’m sorry, that sounded, of course you—” He shook his head. “See? I meant, thank you very much, Captain.”

  “Very well.” I closed my eyes, pondering. After a time, I said, “Mr. Tenere, for the next month, when I or any of the lieutenants speak to you, do not answer for at least five seconds. Every time you fail to do so, report yourself to the duty officer to be logged a demerit. I’ll log this order so they won’t accuse you of insolence. Is that clear?”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “One demerit.”

  A long pause. “Aye aye, sir.”

  I leaned back, wondering if it would help.

  While waiting for the shuttle to mate with us I had Sergeant Obutu put through a call to Devon.

  In a few moments she came back on the line. “Sir, I can’t get through. All incoming lines go to a recording. ‘Circuits in use for training exercise.’”

  My hackles began to rise. I said slowly, “Sarge, I think Tolliver may have lost his mind. Arrange for a squad of Marines to meet me at London Shuttleport, just in case.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Are you sure that’s necessary?”

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Do you intend to shoot your way in?”

  I grinned mirthlessly. “With that joey, there’s no telling.” If Tolliver had indeed gone glitched, only Lieutenant Bien, Sleak and the drill sergeants were around to stop him.

  I passed through the Earthport Station lock.

  “Captain Seafort? Please follow me, sir.” A tech, from Naval Transport. We strode through the busy corridor to the shuttle departure bays.

  Though I normally disregarded the perks of rank, this time I was glad my standing allowed me a special shuttle. I could imagine explaining to some lieutenant at Transport that I needed to rush groundside to see if my staff lieutenant had carried out a coup on the Academy grounds. Would I care for a few tanks while I was at it? A couple of laser cannon, perhaps?

  When we finally set down at London Shuttleport, my nerves were raw with worry. If Tolliver were no longer firing on all jets, he might kidnap or even kill me when I appeared. On the other hand, if I stormed Academy gates with an armed force when he had a valid reason for what he’d done, it would be all over the holos. I’d no doubt end up in a rebalancing ward next to Annie.

  As dusk fell I met with the lieutenant of Marines, still undecided. In the end, I compromised: if I didn’t call within two hours, the Marines were to enter the compound and sort things out. I boarded the waiting heli. Minutes later we put down on the Academy pad.

  While the guards approached I jumped out, ducked under the moving blades. “Stand to! Where’s Tolliver?” The guard aimed his light at my face.

  “Aye aye, sir.” He switched off his flashlight. “Just making sure it was you.” He came to attention.

  “What in blazes is going on?”

  “Mr. Tolliver’s on his way, sir. I rang Admin when your Pilot called for clearance.” So much for surprise.

  “Very well.” I stood fuming until three figures hurried toward the pad. Tolliver, Sergeant Ibarez, First Midshipman Sandra Ekrit.

  Tolliver snapped a brisk salute. “Lieutenant Edgar Tol—”

  “Belay that! What’s this about?”

  “Lieutenant Sleak is dead.”

  “He’s what?” I felt shock, instinctive fear, but it wasn’t followed by a sense of personal loss. I hadn’t known the man well. I took a slow breath, relaxed my taut muscles. No coup, no crazed Tolliver. “Damn it, why couldn’t you have told me over the—”

  “He shot himself.”

  I gaped.

  “In his quarters. The Branstead boy found him after morning run.”

  I stood stunned. “But ...why? It makes no sense.”

  “I agree.”

  My relief turned to anger. “Why did you seal the base? I thought you’d gone out of your mind!”

  “Yes, sir. That’s always a risk.”

  Sergeant Ibarez and the middy watched the byplay with fascination. I snarled, “Damn you, Toll—”

  “I did it to give you time. To keep your options open.”

  “Time? Options?”

  His tone was patient. “I didn’t know how you wanted to handle this, sir. Once the zines g
et hold of it—”

  “They don’t care about a poor lieutenant on a shoreside—”

  Sergeant Ibarez cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, sir. It’s you, not Mr. Sleak.” He smiled apologetically.

  “Have you two lost your minds?”

  Tolliver. “If you blow your nose it’s news, sir. Oh, I know you don’t like it, but glaring at me won’t change a thing. Once they hear that your second in command killed himself without motive, they’ll camp outside our gates snapping at anything that moves.”

  Damn his insolence. The fact that he was probably right did nothing to lessen my annoyance. My mind spun. “Did Sleak talk to anyone? Who found him?”

  “Jerence Branstead, sir. The cadet.”

  “What was he doing there?” I sounded petulant.

  Sergeant Ibarez. “I batonned him on morning run.”

  I swung to Sandra Ekrit. “Why are you here, Middy?”

  She replied with dignity, “Because Lieutenant Tolliver ordered me here, sir.”

  Her manner brought me back to my senses. We were all four of us standing under the heli blades, arguing within sight of the guards. It wouldn’t do. “Very well, to my office.” I stalked down the path.

  Tolliver matched my pace, ahead of the rest. “You’re right, it was probably the middy’s fault, or Cadet Branstead’s. I’m glad you’re taking charge.”

  “Shut your mouth.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  I increased my stride, ablaze with fury. Not only had I lost a good lieutenant, I had to rely on an erratic, insolent dolt like Tolliver. Anything I said, he twisted with sardonic humor. Nonetheless, I needed to know more. “Even if Sleak killed himself, why seal the base? What am I supposed to do about it, bury him at midnight under the mess hall?”

  “The flower beds would be a better—sorry, sir. Look!” I took another pace before I realized he’d stopped abruptly, waiting for my attention. He thrust hands on hips. “I can’t second guess you, Captain. Would you prefer I’d radioed a message on open circuit? Very well, next time that’s what I’ll do. At least this way you can release the news yourself, the way you want to. Excuse me for trying to cover your arse!”

  I swallowed as his rage dissolved my own. “You’ve had time to think about it. What should I do?”

  We resumed our walk. “It probably depends on why Sleak killed himself. If it was for personal reasons, perhaps a brief, dignified announcement. If it was connected to Academy, I have no idea how to handle it.”

  “Connected? How?”

  “How the devil should I know! Maybe he was buggering a plebe, or fixing admission tests. All I intended was to give you time to find out!”

  Presently I said, “Sorry.” We walked in silence to the steps. “Where is his body?”

  “I had him moved to the sickbay. It seemed ... indecent to leave him where he was.”

  “You’re sure he killed himself?” A murder would be ... unthinkable. And catastrophic for morale.

  “Quite sure.” He held the door. “You’ll see.”

  In my office, I waved to chairs for the sergeant and Midshipman Ekrit. “Why you three? Are you acting as a committee?”

  Sergeant Ibarez shook his head. “Not really. After Branstead found the body he ran and got me. I took a look, sealed the door, and called Mr. Tolliver. I put Branstead on special duty, away from the other cadets, and I’ve been acting as a sort of liaison with the other staff. They know something’s up, but not the details.”

  Tolliver said, “I had Ms. Ekrit post a middy guard at Mr. Sleak’s door. Middies outrank the sergeants and anyone belowdecks. Technically, that is.”

  Sandra Ekrit smiled resignedly at the reminder of her status. “Yes, sir, technically. I’ve set boys in shifts to guard the door. Thayer and Tsai brought the body to sickbay.”

  I turned to Tolliver. “You said you’re sure he committed suicide.”

  “Yes.” Tolliver inserted a chip in my holovid. “Let me warn you, sir, this is not—”

  I flicked it on. Darwin Sleak’s gaunt features stared into the lens. His hands reached forward, became distorted, picked up the holorecorder. The walls floated past, as he scanned the empty room, circling back to his starting point. With a lurch, the recorder settled back on his desk. He sat in front of it, reached into the drawer, his eyes still riveted on the camera.

  His hand came up with a gun, an ancient one with lead shells. He checked the clip, paused, put the gun to his temple.

  “This is suicide,” Lieutenant Darwin Sleak said to the holo. “I’m alone, and no one else is involved. Commandant, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I never imagined—” He closed his eyes. “Trusting in the love and mercy of Thy Spirit ... He pulled the trigger.

  I jerked back in my chair, the shot ringing. His head ... “Jesus, Lord Christ!”

  “Amen. I warned you.”

  My stomach heaved. I tried not to retch. The holovid remained focused on what was left of Sleak’s head. With unsteady hand, I reached to turn it off, took a deep breath. “Very well, it’s suicide. What did he mean, he was sorry?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I drummed my fingers on the desktop. “How long do we have?”

  “To do what, sir? His body is in the cooler, that’s no immediate problem.”

  “Before word gets out.”

  “The ones who know he’s dead are Branstead, those of us in this room, the middies and the med tech. Sarge says the tech can be trusted.”

  Ms. Ekrit said, “The whole wardroom knows, of course. We can’t keep that kind of secret from each other. No one will say a word, sir. I’ll vouch for that.”

  I smiled. A first middy could be very persuasive, if occasion arose. “Very well. We have until tomorrow, at least. Edgar, does Ms. Bien know?”

  “No, sir. I’m senior, and I pulled rank on her. I don’t think she’s speaking to me.”

  “Tell her. I want the two of you to go through Mr. Sleak’s cabin tonight. Sarge, you help them. We can have a middy cover your barracks.”

  “I already have one, sir. Mr. Thayer.” The redheaded child I’d found tossing pillows in glee, only months before. I stood. “Report to me when you’re done, regardless of the hour. I’ll be in my quarters, after I have a bite. I haven’t eaten since—I don’t know when.” I paused at the door. “Have Mr. Branstead report to me at mess hall.”

  I was wolfing down a home-made sandwich when Midshipman Diego marched young Jerence into the empty hall. I took their salutes, dismissed the middy. “As you were, Mr. Branstead.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Not knowing what to do with himself, he assumed the at-ease position. After a moment he blurted, “I’m—I’m sorry, sir. For whatever I did.”

  He’d been a cadet long enough to know he should speak only when spoken to, but I let it pass. “Sit down.”

  His eyes widened at the unexpected familiarity. “Aye aye, sir.”

  I studied his reddened eyes, his huddled and sunken posture. “You must have had a fright.”

  “I’m all right, sir.” His reply was immediate.

  “I know that. Still, I saw the ... He wasn’t something to come upon, unexpected.”

  Jerence shivered. “I knocked, like we’re supposed to. The door swung open, and I thought he’d meant for me to come in. He was slumped behind—behind the ... He spun away.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t touch him, or even offer words of consolation. He was as any other cadet, and I was his commanding officer.

  “I’m all right.” His tone would have been persuasive but for his eyes.

  “Yes, well.” Many months past, I’d promised Harmon Branstead to keep his son safe. If that were not enough, he was my legal ward. Still, I hesitated.

  My baby Nathan might have been a boy like this, given a chance to survive.

  “Come with me.” The boy followed me to the serving rail. I opened the gate, went into the darkened galley, put my hand on his shoulder to guide him. “Don’t tell anyone, Jere
nce. We’re not supposed to be here.”

  “No, sir.”

  “They gave you dinner?”

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Tsai brought a tray to the suiting room.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Inventorying, sir. Checking off serial numbers.”

  I sighed. Ibarez could have found something more credible for makework. I opened the cooler, peered in. A large sheet of chocolate cake; that would do. I brought it out, found plates, dished out two portions. “Carry these, please.”

  I went to the freezers, hunted for ice cream. I gave him a generous dollop, took a smaller one for myself. I hoisted myself onto the gleaming steel counter, motioned for the boy to do likewise. “Go ahead, Mr. Branstead. Your dinner tray couldn’t have held all that much.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He made no move to eat. “Mr. Seafort, I mean, Commandant, sir, what did I do wrong? Should I have stayed outside? Why can’t I go back to barracks tonight?”

  “You did nothing wrong. The rest is none of your concern.” My tone was harsh, and Jerence looked to his shoes. “Eat your ice cream.”

  Dutifully, he took a spoonful. “I’m sorry, sir. Forgive me.”

  I sighed; I knew better. We’d been shipmates, he and I. “Jerence.” He looked up. “We don’t know why Lieutenant Sleak killed himself. If word leaks before we find out, it will be a great embarrassment.”

  “That’s why Sarge is making me sleep in the closed barracks? So I won’t talk to the others?”

  “Yes.” The melting ice cream held no appeal. I put down my plate. “He thought you wouldn’t be able to keep the secret.” I hesitated, threw caution to the winds. “But I know better. When you’ve finished eating, I’ll take you back to Valdez. You’ll help us keep things quiet until we learn what happened.”

  “Of course, sir.” His shoulders straightened. “I won’t tell anyone, even my bunkies. I promise.”

  “Eat up, before the cook’s mates find us.”

  “Yes, sir.” He smiled, tentatively at first.

  “It must have been awful, finding Mr. Sleak.”

  “It was, sir.” He took a bite of cake. His head lifted. “But I’m over it now.”