Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “No table, thanks.” I turned toward the door. “I thought one of my lieutenants might be ... I trailed off. “Never mind.”

  “There’s a young man in the vidroom.”

  It wouldn’t be Thorne. Still, I poked my head in. Someone was in the Arcvid helmet, surrounded by admiring teens. The uniform was unkempt, the body flabby. A drink teetered on the console.

  “I’ve got the bastards!” The young man spun the thrusters savagely, rotating his ship in the enhanced sensory environment of his helmet. A replica on the blue console screen followed his motion. He slapped at the fire control; three of the enemy ships disintegrated. The console flashed a bright green. “Level sixteen! Prepare for attack!”

  The teen nudged me. “No one ever gets to sixteen!”

  I watched, drawn into the game despite myself. Despite Jason’s avid encouragement, I’d always crashed at level four. The player in the helmet spun and fired at his attackers with consummate skill. In moments he was at seventeen. By eighteen, the attackers’ speed was simply too great; he went out in a blaze of unreturned fire.

  The player slid off his helmet.

  “Jeff?” Dismay rose from deep within my throat. Thorne blinked in the light of the vidroom. “Ah. Our Commandant.” He brought himself together in a mockery of an Academy salute. “Lieutenant Jeffrey Thorne reporting, sir.”

  His shirt was awry; he needed a shave. I stared, at a loss for words.

  Thorne chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound. “I’m a bit hungover. Had rather a good time last night.” The watching joeys poked each other and grinned.

  “Drinking?” Fatuous, but I couldn’t help it. He met my gaze. “Oh, yes. But off base, on my own time. It’s never been more than that.”

  “I wasn’t accusing—I just wanted to say hello.”.

  “Hello, then.” A silence stretched. At last he said grudgingly, “I have a table.”

  “It’s not—perhaps another time.”

  “I don’t mind.” His smile was sour. “Those joeykits want the console. I tie it up for hours.” He led me to the dining room.

  We sat.

  “Sorry, I should have changed clothes. On Callisto Base it didn’t seem to matter.”

  “Here it does.” My tone was blunt. “You’re supposed to set an example for the cadets.”

  “I don’t hold myself out as an example, Commandant.”

  “Once, you did.”

  Silence. He swallowed. “A long time ago.”

  “What’s happened since?”

  “I grew up.”

  A waiter came with menus. I shook my head; Thorne waved his away. “Another gin.”

  I said, “Mr. Thorne, what’s wrong?”

  His expression was faintly hostile. “Nothing. In a few months my enlistment runs out and I’ll be off.”

  Enough was enough. I stood. “What you do on your free time is none of my business. But on duty you will conform to Academy standards. And there’ll be no more switching watches!”

  “Aye aye, sir, fair enough.”

  “Mr. Tolliver will show you the ropes. Have you any questions?” Hearing no answer, I turned for the door.

  “Just one.” For a moment he sounded like the Jeff Thorne of old. “What other revenge will you take?”

  My fists bunched as I wheeled about. “You’re speaking to a superior!”

  His voice cut like a knife. “Don’t I know! You transferred me to gloat over it!” Conversation hushed; the waiter took a hesitant step our way. Thorne waved him off.

  “How could you think such a thing?” My voice was unsteady.

  “Why else take someone with my record?” His eyes bored into mine.

  “What record?”

  “Oh, you’ve learned deceit, now? As a cadet you were the boy who wouldn’t lie!”

  “As a middy, you were the boy I revered!” I could have bitten my tongue off, but it was too late. My ears flamed. I managed to meet his eye. “What’s on your record, Mr. Thorne?”

  “All right, we’ll pretend you didn’t look. Sit down; I don’t mind humiliating myself.” He kicked out my chair. Everyone’s eyes on me, I sat again.

  He said, “I served two years as Academy middy, you remember. Just as you were leaving they posted me to U.N.S. Targon. Another year, this time as first middy.”

  He swirled the liquor around the rim of his glass, drank it all in a gulp. “It wasn’t a bad time. Good training, and I made friends.” His eyes wandered to the starched tablecloth.

  “They rotated me to Lunapolis, to Admiralty. Running petty errands for Captains on leave. It went on month after month. Accommodations detail, they called it. Unambitious middies and bootlicking lieutenants. My requests for transfer were ignored.” His mouth twisted. “You know what happened then.”

  “I don’t, Jeff.” I felt a chill.

  “Lieutenant Tryx was transferred out. It was too much trouble to break in a replacement. They promoted me. Not because I’d earned it, but because it was ... convenient.” He spat the word. “Higbee, in BuPers, told me so himself.”

  The bastard. “Go on.”

  “I’d trained as an officer in the U.N.N.S., not as a bloody hotel concierge! Sure, aboard ship, when a Captain asks you to do a favor, no one minds. But this went on for months. Years!” He swilled the dregs of his drink, waved for another.

  “What happened?” My voice was soft.

  He leaned into my face, said thickly, “I’m no procurer!” He watched my face, as if he expected me to contradict him. His eyes fell to some fold of the cloth. “U.N.S. Vespa came in, with Captain Reegis. I made the usual offer, anything I can do to be of service, et cetera. Where the hell is my drink? Waiter!”

  “You’ve had a lot, Mr.—”

  “And I’ll have more, if I choose.” Thorne looked about, subsided when he saw the waiter hurrying with a fresh glass. At length he said, “Reegis wanted a woman, preferably blond, and uninhibited.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t the first time I’d been asked, and I always accommodated. This time ... He sought refuge in the clear cold liquor. “You see, they wouldn’t give me a transfer; I was too good at my job. I felt ... trapped. So instead of making the usual call to a seedy hotel, I rang Mrs. Duhaney. I knew the Admiral was groundside. I told her Captain Reegis was having a party, and sent her to Reegis’ hotel room. Mrs. Duhaney’s hair happens to be blond.”

  “My God, Jeff!”

  “I figured they’d cashier me. Well, that was fine if they wouldn’t let me in the real Navy.” He sipped his drink once more. “Instead, they sent me to Callisto.”

  “The most remote—”

  “You have no idea, Nick.” His troubled eyes met mine. “There’s ... nothing at all.” He brooded. “Except Arcvid.” He flashed a twisted smile. “I took to the Arcworld immediately. It embraced me, whenever I got another lousy rating on my fitness reports. I’m—I was the base champion.”

  “Jeff, I’m sor—”

  “Arcvid’s just like life, Nick. You can’t win. Sometimes you evade defeat for a long, long time. Once I reached level twenty-three.” When he looked up, his expression was bleak. “But Arcvid always gets you, in the end.” His eyes lost their focus. He whispered, “Always.”

  The waiter approached; I waved him back. “He’s had enough. Come, Mr. Thorne, I’ll take you home.”

  He stood uncertainly, leaned on the table for support. “Home is where the heart is. Where’s that, Captain Seafort?” He laughed.

  I threw money on the table, got his arm over my shoulder.

  No taxi in sight. I resigned myself to a long walk supporting my half-conscious lieutenant, but the cold night air seemed to brace him. Once, as we neared the commons, he said, “I read all the zines they sent. Saw your pictures.”

  “Watch where you put your feet.”

  “Callisto was hell.” He stumbled, caught himself. “Knowing you made it much worse.”

  “How?” I maneuvered him past a tree.

&n
bsp; “An example to the cadets, you called it? There I was, consigned to that abyss, and always your holo accusing me, an example of what I could have become. I hated you.”

  “They wasted you.”

  “Did you hear what I said? I hated you.” I could find no reply. A moment later he dropped to his knees and was sick. After a time, he wiped his mouth, got unsteadily to his feet. “Sorry.” He lurched on. “With luck I won’t remember any of this in the morning.”

  I saw him to his apartment. He closed the door without a word. I went to bed, and lay unsleeping until well past dawn.

  “Sergeant Serenco reporting, sir.” The quartermaster marched in smartly, came to attention in front of my desk. Edgar Tolliver stood at my left, hands clasped behind his back.

  “As you were, Sergeant. Please be seated.” My tone seemed too formal; I tried to sound more relaxed. “We’ve been running some equipment checks, Sarge. All routine, but a few gaps need correcting.”

  “Gaps, sir?” Serenco’s guileless blue eyes met mine. “I don’t quite understand.”

  “For example, the training suits.” I punched up the figures. “Look, inventory numbers don’t match.”

  “With what, sir? This is the first I’ve heard of suit numbers.” He turned to Tolliver. “Is that why you’ve been going through my manifests, Lieutenant? Why didn’t you come ask me, like any—”

  “Because it’s—”

  “Be silent, Tolliver! Sarge, I told him not to.” So much for the tactful inquiry I’d intended. “Purchasing and inventory are a shambles. I wanted an investigation.”

  Serenco’s blue eyes flashed as he got to his feet. “You may have my resignation. I won’t have my honesty questioned just because I’ve done things the way the old Commandant—”

  I shouted, “I didn’t give you permission to stand!” I slammed my fist against the table. “You’ll obey orders like everyone else! Sit!” When he’d complied, I forced my tone to be calm. “No one questions your honesty. I had Mr. Tolliver check on procurement and inventories. A few minor matters have come up and we—”

  “Minor? Hauled before the Commandant and his first lieutenant like an errant—”

  “Interrupt again and I will by Lord God have your resignation, or worse!” I got to my feet. “I run this place, Serenco. I’ll do what I want! Now, how soon can you check on these figures?”

  “I have no idea.” His fury was barely under restraint. “First, I need a copy of what you found. Then, maybe—” He saw my expression. “Two days, three perhaps. I may have to ask our suppliers.”

  “You have until I’m back from Wellington. By then Mr. Tolliver will have a list of other questions. Dismissed.”

  When he’d gone, Tolliver crossed to the chair he’d vacated, dropped into it without permission. “Yes, I’m glad I waited. You handled him much more tactfully than—”

  “Belay that.” I paced, fuming. “I don’t give a damn about suit numbers, but his manner ... interrupting the Commandant! Quarreling! What’s happened to discipline?”

  “You’re shoreside, sir. Shipboard discipline is much more—”

  “And he’s a Marine sergeant!” I threw myself on the couch. “He’s as insolent as you are!”

  Tolliver raised an eyebrow. “Bad night, sir?”

  “Don’t patronize me.” Slowly, my anger abated. “I didn’t sleep well.” I brooded. “The damned impudence.”

  “Don’t complain; you’re his role model.” He withstood my glare. “Which reminds me: I called BuPers. Higbee is ... irked.”

  I sighed. “I would imagine.” In obtaining Eddie’s transfer I’d been, um, inflammatory.

  “What was it you said to him? No, it might give me ideas. Anyway, I arranged an orderly for you.”

  I sat upright. “I told you when we first took this job I didn’t want—”

  “Yes, but you changed your mind.” He raised a hand to forestall me. “How else would you like to explain Mr. Boss, if someone asks?”

  “Lord God.” I’d forgotten.

  “You had pull enough to yank him groundside at short notice, but if he’s to be assigned here permanently, he needs a regular berth.”

  “Very well.” I smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

  “All part of the job, sir.” He stood. “Anything else, before I go?”

  “No. Yes, one thing.” I sat behind my desk. “Why did you call Jeff Thorne my favorite?”

  “I withdraw the remark. I was—”

  “Answer!”

  Tolliver hesitated. “It’s the only explanation that came to mind, considering what I’ve seen of his attitude.”

  “Damn it, Edgar, you knew him!”

  “Oh, yes. Thorne despised me, though I doubt he even remembers.” He shrugged. “Was there something more to him, or did time soften your memories?”

  “He had—” No. Tolliver could never understand. “We were friends. Not the way it sounds. I admired him greatly. He had a way about him. I thought he’d inspire the cadets.”

  “Yes, I’m sure the cadets will appreciate Arcvid lessons instead—”

  “DISMISSED!”

  This time, he didn’t argue.

  “Be seated.” At every table, chairs scraped. I took my place at lunch. Jeff Thorne sat across, next to Midshipman Sandra Ekrit. His expression was carefully neutral. Whether it concealed a hangover, I couldn’t tell. His hair was well brushed, his uniform clean and pressed.

  Between bites I studied the florid face, searching for the young Thorne I remembered. Not yet thirty, he bore twenty extra pounds and a manner from which all gaiety had been extinguished.

  I was ragged from sleepless hours interspersed with nightmares. Father had been in some of them. The morning’s conversation with Sergeant Serenco had left a foul taste. Still, I made an effort to draw Thorne into conversation. At length, defeated, I lapsed into bitter silence, wishing I had never sent for him. Edgar Tolliver watched with barely concealed amusement.

  A cadet hurried toward me, out of breath. “Cadet Kyle Drew reporting, sir. Mr. Kinders says, a call, from Cardiff.”

  I threw down my napkin, strode to the door, willing myself not to break into a gallop. “Annie?”

  “It’s me, Captain. Eddie Boss.” The line whistled and crackled; the voice seemed light-years distant.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Today’s the second day. She won’t eat, just lies in bed cryin’.” He sounded anxious, “I dunno—don’t know if I should let her be or not.”

  “No, take her—” I paused. Where? To a hospital? Back to the dreaded clinic? “What does she want, Eddie?”

  “Lie around all day feelin’ sorry for herself, what she want!”

  “She’s had a rough time, Mr. Boss.”

  “Yeah, sir, but she not the only one. Time to think ’bout other stuff. Move on.” He didn’t sound sympathetic.

  “Well ... I sighed. “Is she taking liquids?”

  “Lotsa tea. Thassall she want.”

  “Wait another day. If she doesn’t start eating, call a taxi and bring her to Academy. You know how to use the trains?”

  “I ain’ no—I’m not glitched, Captain.” His voice betrayed injured dignity. “I can find out the schedule.”

  “Very well. Call if you need—want help.” I rang off.

  Tolliver raised an eyebrow. I shook my head. Nonetheless, I was worried. If Annie grew malnourished—

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  “What is it, Ms. Ekrit?” My tone held an edge.

  “As you ordered, I’ve been tutoring Cadet Stritz. His biweeklies are up.”

  “Very well.” I tore at a roll.

  “I was hoping, uh, that is ... She braced herself. “You confined me to base until his grades improved, sir. I thought ... I mean, would you consider...

  “Don’t we teach middies how to finish a sentence?” I shook my head. “Jeff, you had my nose against the bulkhead for an hour when I did that.”

  Thorne’s voice was soft. “Yes, sir, but y
ou weren’t speaking to the Commandant at the time.”

  I scowled at Ms. Ekrit. “Until the cadet’s grades improved, I said, and your manners.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ask after his next biweeklies.” Two weeks on base was nothing. Aboard ship, she might be confined to a tiny wardroom. “If his scores hold I’ll let you off.”

  “Thank you, sir.” If she felt any disappointment, she wisely concealed it.

  After lunch Jeff Thorne casually pushed back his chair. “May I walk with you?”

  “If you wish.” We set out across the compound to Officers’ Quarters.

  He was silent awhile. “About last night, I seem to remember an awkward conversation.”

  “You hoped you wouldn’t.”

  “If I was rude, I’m sorry.”

  “You were, but it was the liquor talking.” I tried to sound agreeable.

  “Let me tell you what wasn’t the liquor.” Thorne stopped, faced me. “Did BuPers mention that I’m up in five months?”

  “Yes, but I knew you’d reenlist.”

  “I won’t.” His eyes met mine. “Time for a career change.”

  My tone was harsh. “Because you blew a chance at advancement?”

  “No. Because—” His eyes clouded. “Never mind.”

  “Belay that!” I startled a passing cadet. “Why, Mr. Thorne?”

  His tone was defiant. “‘Reenlistment is at the sole decision of an individual officer, and no superior may attempt to force or influence his choice.’ Section one hundred two, paragraph—”

  “This is me! Nick Seafort!” A gaggle of cadets approached.

  His expression soured. “Yes, the hero of—”

  I shouted, “Do I look like a bloody hero?” The cadets gawked. I wheeled on them. “What do you joeys—”

  Thorne’s voice was brisk. “Run along, lads. This is a private conversation and you shouldn’t be overhearing!”

  “Aye aye, sir!” With hurried salutes they detoured and scurried off.

  “I’m a fraud, Thorne! I blundered my way as Captain of Hibernia. On Challenger, a fish saved us. At Hope Nation I committed treason!” I slammed my fist into my thigh. “I hear enough of that guff in the holos, I won’t have it from you!”