Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “Steady, Commandant.” He spoke quietly.

  “I won’t have it!”

  “All right, you’re no hero.” Seeing no one, he took my arm and led me off the path. “Easy, Mr. Seafort.”

  His voice was so like the middy I’d worshiped at Farside, I bit back a sob. “Sandra Ekrit, back there. She didn’t like dining with cadets, so I grounded her. I have no restraint, Jeff. I need you to do what I cannot!”

  He snorted. “She’ll manage a couple of weeks confined—”

  “You have no idea the bridges I burned to get you! Higbee will never forget. I actually threatened him, and he’s my superior!”

  “Good, he deserves it.”

  “You don’t understand.” I turned away once more.

  “I understand you’re near a nervous breakdown, sir.”

  My eyes darted to his, away again. “I’m fine. Never mind that.”

  “Come to my apartment, Mr. Seafort.” It might have been an order. Numb, I let him lead the way.

  Inside, he closed the door to his bedroom, but not before I saw the clothes strewn about. He rummaged in a cabinet, emerged with a bottle.

  “Don’t drink now, Mr. Thorne. Please.”

  “Not for me. For you.” He poured a stiff shot of gin, added ice from the tiny cooler. “Sit.” He handed me the glass.

  I swirled it, took a sip, grimaced. “I’m all right.” I waited for him to take a chair. “All right, I have no legal right to ask why you won’t reenlist. But ... I brooded. “I need to know.”

  His wave took in himself, the untidy apartment. “I’m no good as an officer. Those stories we were raised on, of honor, gallantry. They don’t describe the real Navy. I don’t fit.”

  I said, “You were the finest officer I’ve ever known.”

  “That’s goofjuice!”

  The drink spilled over my hand as I slammed it on the table. “Do you have any idea what you meant to me?”

  “All right, so you looked up to me. Misplaced hero worship. How can you forget the caning I got you?”

  “The galley raid? What does that matter?”

  He got to his feet, his expression bitter. “I’ve regretted that idiocy for years! I took you where I couldn’t cover for you, betrayed you to—”

  “Don’t be a fool, Lieutenant.” I busied myself blotting the table with a napkin, sipping what was left of my drink.

  “Nick, whatever inspiration I offered you is long gone. My foolishness with Mrs. Duhaney proves that. So do my ratings at Callisto.”

  I nursed my drink, wondering how to reach him. “Outside, with the cadets just now. Why did you interrupt me?”

  “You were going to—sorry, it’s not my place to say.”

  “Say it.”

  “You were about to lash out at them, and they’d done nothing”

  “So what? They were just cadets.”

  “You can’t believe that!” He studied my face.

  “Neither can you.” I swallowed the dregs of my gin. “That’s why I want you.”

  We sat in silence. After a time he stirred. “I wish I’d served with you, sir.”

  “You might have stopped me from damning myself. No, don’t ask, I won’t talk about it.”

  He leaned back, his voice tired. After a time he said, “What happened to our hopes?”

  “They’re victims of maturity.” I stood. “Thanks for the drink. As you can see, I’m at my wit’s end. I need you, Jeff.”

  “It’s too late. Even if I wanted, I could never get another decent posting.” He saw my eyes, went red. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. A posting with you is all I could ask for. But I truly thought you called me down to retaliate for that old galley incident. I—it seems I was wrong.”

  “Please reenlist.”

  “I’ll think about it, sir.”

  For once I knew to leave well enough alone.

  Chapter 17

  RESTLESS, I PEERED OUT the porthole. At least two other shuttles waited ahead of us for access to Wellington’s locks. I sighed, dreading the endless conversation I’d face with politicians and brass, all denizens of Admiral Duhaney’s “other” Navy.

  Behind me the cadets fidgeted. Midshipman Tenere whispered to Johan Stritz and giggled. I fixed them with a laser glance, and they quieted instantly. “If I come to regret I brought you, I’ll make you sorry!”

  Robert Boland sat up straighter, still pale from his recent bout of nausea. Stritz and Arnweil stared at their laps. Jerence Branstead blushed. After a moment, Adam beckoned, and they slipped out of their seats to wander back to the large porthole.

  I took a slow breath, tried to relax. It wasn’t the middy’s fault we were delayed. I tried to concentrate on my holozine, gave it up.

  Why had I brought them to such an important ceremony? Had it really been necessary to give such a munificent reward to Branstead and Boland, our high achievers? A few words of praise, a week’s freedom from kitchen and barracks chores, would have sufficed. What would my colleagues think of including untrained children in a state function?

  No matter. My accepting the Commandancy had been a mistake. If I could figure how to abandon my post without disgracing the Navy, I’d resign in an instant. All I wanted now was to help Annie heal.

  Our shuttle’s turn came at last. As we crowded into the mated locks I tugged at my dress whites, straightened my tie. The hatch slid closed behind us.

  This was a formal occasion; I cleared my throat, said into the speaker, “Captain Nicholas Seafort and party request permission to come aboard.”

  “Permission granted, sir. Welcome to U.N.S. Wellington.” The hatch slid open. “ATTENTION!”

  A double row of sailors stiffened at their lieutenant’s bellow. Several other officers resplendent in crisp whites came to attention, saluting smartly. Cadet Boland sucked in his breath at the spectacle. Jerence Branstead was less impressed; he’d spent nine months aboard Victoria on the way home from Hope Nation. He knew what lieutenants looked like.

  “Lieutenant Hollis, sir. Welcome aboard.” He gestured to the ladder. “Captain Pritcher will stay on the bridge until the last of the mediamen board. Admiral Duhaney is with Senator Boland and the other guests in the lounge. Where shall I escort you?”

  Not to the lounge, and the politicians. “I’ll pay my respects to the Captain, if he’ll see me.”

  “I’m sure he will, sir.” He eyed Adam Tenere and the unexpected cadets, but his tone remained polite. “And, the rest of your, er, party?”

  I couldn’t risk sending them to the lounge; Lord God knew how the cadets might embarrass me, or Academy. And if Adam took it in mind to scamper around a corridor bend ... “They’ll come with me.”

  We trailed the lieutenant along a spotless corridor. The silent machinery, the unblemished decks, the hint of fresh oil in the recycled air all testified to Wellington’s recent departure from Lunapolis shipyards. She’d completed her deep-space trials only two weeks ago.

  While Hollis knocked at the bridge hatch I lined the cadets along the corridor bulkhead, out of the way. “Wait here until I’m through.”

  “Captain Seafort, sir.” Hollis stood aside as I entered.

  Captain Pritcher rose, a cold smile flitting across his sallow face. “Dismissed, Lieutenant. Captain Seafort, a pleasure to meet you.”

  I saluted; he was senior to me by a number of years. “Good afternoon, sir.” My eyes greedily roamed the bridge. The huge simulscreen on the fore bulkhead blazed with the lights of a billion stars. The consoles blinked their steady reassurance.

  “A rough trip aloft, Mr. Seafort?” He stared at the bruises that marked my encounter with the Crypsnbloods.

  I blushed. “No, sir.” Best not to say more.

  His voice was flinty. “We’ll start the speeches in an hour or so; everybody wants to have their say. Deputy Secretary-General Franjee will do the commissioning, but first we’ll put the ship through her paces for the civilians.”

  “I’m sure they’ll
be impressed,” I said.

  “They’d better be, for what Wellington cost.” His smile was bleak. “I have the crew drilling as smartly as can be expected, considering every man aboard is transferred from another ship.”

  Pritcher must have his hands full. Breaking in new hands was hard enough, but familiarizing an entire crew with the quirks of a new ship was a task I didn’t envy him.

  I searched for something to say. “Where will they send you, sir?” I already knew.

  “We’ll join the Home Fleet.”

  A coveted assignment. Pritcher and his officers would avoid the stultifying tedium of a long Fuse to a distant colony, and they’d never be more than a few days from shore leave.

  “She seems a good ship, sir.”

  “Six banks of midships lasers, the latest model fusion drive. We’ll be conducting a tour as part of the ceremonies.” His unsmiling eyes met mine. “I suppose I could have someone escort you through the ship now, if you like.”

  I gave the expected reply. “No, sir, though I appreciate the offer. I’ll wait.”

  “Very well. There are refreshments in the Level 2 lounge.” It was a dismissal.

  “Thank you, Captain. Good luck, and congratulations.” He didn’t bother to return my salute.

  Now I had no choice but to join the politicians. Trailing a middy and cadets, I made my way down to the Level 2 lounge. Outside the hatch I paused. “Are you recovered, Mr. Boland?”

  He blushed scarlet. “Yes, sir. The gravity helps a lot.”

  “Very well.” I frowned at each of them in turn. “You’re about to mingle with the top brass, so speak only in answer to a direct question. Don’t offer any opinions, don’t interrupt, and behave yourselves as gentlemen. Adam, keep them in line.” I smoothed my jacket and went in.

  “Ah, there you are, Nick.” If Admiral Duhaney was put out by my recent escapades it didn’t show in his tone. Then again, the drink in his hand may have been a mellowing influence. Though alcohol was contraband aboard a U.N.N.S. vessel, a major ceremony such as commissioning was an exception. After all there were civilians present and, more important, the media.

  “Hello, sir.”

  “Let me introduce you to the Deputy SecGen. He’s got a lock on the top spot if De Vala ever retires.” He looked over my shoulder. “Cadets, hmm? Peculiar idea, bringing them.” He squinted. “Is that Boland’s son, by the wall? Now that’s smart thinking, Nick!” He clapped me on the shoulder. “His father will be pleased.”

  My tone was stiff. “The boy earned it. His grades were—”

  “Of course.” Duhaney smiled. “That’s the way.” He patted my shoulder again.

  A familiar voice, behind me. “Excuse me, sir.”

  I flared, “Now what?” Adam Tenere should have the sense not to bother me when I was with the Admiral.

  The middy took a step back, forcing me to follow. His voice dropped. “Cadet Boland is nauseous again. I can escort him to the head and leave the others, or send him off by himself, or leave with all of them. I didn’t know what—”

  “Don’t annoy me with—” I caught myself; it was a reasonable question. “I don’t want you marching out with a flock of cadets, and you can’t leave them unattended with the brass. There’s a head just off the corridor, point Boland toward it and stay here with the others.” I turned back to Admiral Duhaney. “The Boland boy scored first out of—”

  “Oh, come along, let’s meet Franjee. Over there, with McPhee from Holoworld, and the others.”

  I had no choice but to follow the Admiral to the cluster of civilians at the far bulkhead.

  “Mr. Secretary, may I present Captain—”

  “Seafort. I’d know you anywhere, even without your famous scar.” The short, dark-skinned Deputy SecGen extended his hand. “Thanks to your exploits we should have met long ago, but I understand you’re shy of publicity.”

  “Yes, sir, I—”

  “Not that you managed to avoid it; you were plastered across the holos yet again, when you brought Victoria home. So, young man, tell me: when are we going to steer you into politics?” Others in his clique smiled. Several gave me appraising glances.

  Not during this lifetime. Self-contempt or no, I wouldn’t sink so far. I struggled for a polite answer. “My duty is to the Navy, sir.”

  “Yes, but enlistments end, and life goes on. When you’re ready, talk to me, or Richard here. The Supranationalists could. use you.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Desperately, I seized on Senator Boland. “Good to see you, sir.”

  “And you, Commandant.” As we moved away his eyes met mine, revealing nothing of his feelings.

  I flushed. When last we’d spoken I’d threatened to resign if he so much as called my office. I searched for some appropriate, inane comment.

  Richard Boland saved me the trouble. “She’s a great ship, isn’t she?” His gesture took in the spacious lounge. “I’ve often thought, if chance hadn’t led me along another path, that I’d have wanted to serve in the Navy.”

  I tried not to show my scorn. Life wasn’t a matter of chance, but hard work and perseverance. I’d dedicated myself to a Naval career from the time I was ten, devouring the holozines, studying my math, dreaming and planning with Jason. Had Boland truly wanted a Naval career, he could have done likewise.

  I sought a peaceable reply. “At least you’ll achieve your ambition through your son, sir.”

  “His ambition,” Boland corrected. He smiled, but his eyes were sharp. “Quite a surprise to see him walk in with you. It would have been nice to know he was coming.”

  I stiffened. “I’m sure it would have.” I’d be happy to notify a cadet’s parents when he was assigned to travel. The day hell froze.

  Boland’s tone was still affable. “By the way, Commandant, that odd personnel matter has been settled.”

  For a moment I thought he was referring to my problems with Jeff Thorne, but that made no sense. It must be Darwin Sleak, Lord God rest his soul. “He’s had decent burial?”

  “At Lunapolis.” He hesitated. “You handled that well. A mysterious death would have catapulted you onto the front pages, though few in your position would object to that. Calling Duhaney was a smooth way to handle it.”

  It had been Tolliver’s idea. On my own, I’d have blundered into a scandal. “I’m out of my depth in such things.”

  A new voice intervened. “Ah, Richard, keeping our young hero to yourself?”

  “No, Brett, just chatting.” Boland moved slightly, made a place for Senator Wyvern.

  “They’ll want interviews, Captain,” Wyvern’s chuckle held a hint of malice. “The media can get at Franjee anytime; if they don’t call him, he seeks them out. You’re fresh meat.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Ah, but you can’t. That’s my point.” His manner changed subtly. “On that subject, I have some advice for you. Let’s step outside for a moment. Somewhere quiet.”

  I checked my watch. “They’ll be starting in a few minutes.”

  “And we’ll be done by then.” He guided me to the hatch. I would have shaken him off, but I’d already made too many enemies for Academy’s good.

  The corridor seemed inordinately quiet, after the babble of the crowded reception. We wandered toward the corridor bend. I stopped. My cadets were still in the lounge supervised only by Adam, and Lord God knew what he was capable of. I sighed; I never should have brought them. “Advice, you said?”

  “Yes.” Wyvern’s smile faded, and something hard took its place. “You know, the mediamen will press you with questions; you’ve avoided them too long.”

  “I’ll do my best—”

  “They’ll ask about your illustrious career, your amazing escapes.”

  I shook my head. What was his point? “I still don’t—”

  “They might ask about your lunatic wife slumming in New York—”

  “Senator!”

  “—and the trannie sailor she prongs while you play the m
artinet at Academy.”

  The corridor lurched. My knuckles ached. I stared unseeing, realized that when I’d missed his jaw I’d slammed my fist into the bulkhead. Wyvern waved me away as he backed off. “Don’t try that again, Seafort.”

  “You bastard!” My face was white.

  “Better prepare for it, boy. Or maybe they’ll ask why you were skulking the streets pretending you’re a transpop instead of attending to your duty. Find any nice trannie bitches down there?”

  I pinned him against the bulkhead. “Wyvern, I’ll kill you!”

  “But they’d still ask.”

  “They don’t know about those things!”

  “Ah, my boy, I agree. The point is, they will. I can guarantee it.”

  My rage withered slowly to defeat. I sagged, released his collar. “Why? What do you want of me?”

  “Hardly a thing. Just one report, discarded.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your quartermaster, and that fool of a lieutenant who won’t let the matter drop. Tell him to forget about it.”

  I gaped. “Sergeant Serenco? Tolliver? How does that concern you?”

  “That’s another matter you may forget.”

  “The man is stealing us blind! Why should I let him get away with—”

  “It’s a political matter.”

  “Tell me, damn you!”

  His voice came as a hiss. “Because he’s my nephew! My niece should never have married him, but now he’s family. I’ll see to it the loss is covered in next year’s appropriation.”

  “I won’t have a thief go unpunished!”

  His face turned ugly. “You’d damn well better, or your wife and her lover will be the celebrities of the day!”

  My fingers itched to close around his neck. Oh, Annie. For your sake, look what I must do.

  No! Get thee behind me, Satan.

  “Do your worst, Wyvern!” I turned toward the lounge.

  “I will. It will destroy you, and of course her. And Serenco will still get off; I have enough influence to fix that.”

  I stalked down the corridor, slowed before I reached the bend. Annie, forgive me. I can’t let him do it.