Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  Pritcher. “Engine Room, go to sixty-five, hold the wave line for ten minutes, then disengage.”

  The Chief took up his caller. “Aye aye, sir. Sixty-five percent confirmed.”

  I thrust through the crowd, slapped open the corridor hatch. “Excuse me. Adam, watch the bloody cadets!”

  Senator Boland gave me room to pass. “Captain, where are you going?”

  “Topside!” I strode down the corridor, increased my pace to a sprint before I reached the bend. I tore up the ladder to Level 2, circled the well.

  Abandoned on Challenger light-years from home, our caterwauling had attracted the deadly fish. On Hope Nation’s Orbiting Station I’d deliberately set disabled ships to run their drives at low power, to summon all the fish I could to our remote outpost before I blew the Station.

  Wellington was doing likewise, in home system.

  I pounded up the steps, tore along the corridor to the bridge. The hatch was sealed; I hammered on the tough alumalloy.

  The camera swiveled; after a moment the hatch slid open. A young lieutenant sat bent over her console to the right of the Captain’s chair, conferring with a middy.

  “Captain Seafort reporting. Permission to enter bridge!”

  Pritcher swiveled. “Granted.”

  Admiral Duhaney was perched on the edge of the Captain’s console. “What’s the matter, Seafort?”

  “Shut off the drives before you call the fish!”

  Pritcher’s face remained expressionless, except for one lifted eyebrow. “I beg your pardon? Was that an order?”

  Damn it, the man was senior. “No, sir, of course not.” I tried to make my words conciliatory. “Perhaps you don’t realize fish can hear your N-waves. If you generate without Fusing—”

  “Yes, I know, your report calls it caterwauling. An interesting concept. But even if it’s proved, a few minutes test won’t call Fish from—”

  I wheeled. “Admiral, for God’s sake. Have him turn off the engines! You have civilians aboard.”

  “Seafort, you’re overreaching.” Duhaney’s eyes were cold.

  “If you’d been there, seen what they can do—”

  “Behave yourself!” The Admiral came to his feet, crossed the few feet between us. His finger jabbed at my chest. “You had your chance for a ship, we almost begged you to take one! Wellington is Pritcher’s. He’s in charge.”

  “Aye aye, sir. But do you understand that the waves we’re throwing are exactly the ones I proposed in the automated bomb to attract fish?”

  The Admiral paused. “Exactly?”

  “Well, the fish respond even more violently to skewed N-waves than true. But—”

  Captain Pritcher snapped, “Our waveline is true. Look at the graph!” With an effort, he made his voice more civil. “Besides, Seafort, we’re in home system. Our ships Fuse from here to one colony or another every week, if not every day. One short test won’t make a difference. With the Deputy SecGen aboard, I want it to look right.”

  My shoulders slumped; it was useless. “Yes, sir. As the Admiral said, you’re in charge. Sorry I burst in on you.”

  He sounded only slightly mollified. “Very well.”

  Duhaney was tentative. “Harry, do you think maybe we should ...

  “I’ll wrap it up shortly, sir. I just wanted them to see how well our techs can hold a line.”

  “Whatever you say; you have the conn.”

  His authority confirmed, Pritcher could afford to be magnanimous. “Engine Room, prepare for Defuse.” He replaced the caller. “Oh, by the way, Captain Seafort, my lieutenant tells me you’ve met.”

  The young woman looked up from her console.

  I whispered, “Arlene?”

  Her voice was shy. “Lieutenant Sanders reporting, sir.” Our eyes met, locked.

  Pritcher’s dry voice cut into my daze. “Lieutenant, please escort Captain Seafort back to the lounge.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” She rose at once.

  Like an automaton, I saluted Pritcher and the Admiral, followed Arlene from the bridge. The hatch slid closed behind us.

  Her soft voice seemed hesitant. “Good to meet you again, sir.” Automatically, we moved to the ladder, started down to Level 2.

  The speaker crackled. “Engine Room, Defuse. Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes our exercise.”

  “Arlene ... I swallowed hard. “How have you been?”

  “I’ve done fine, sir, though for a while I thought I’d never get beyond middy.”

  I looked to either side; the Level 2 corridor was deserted. Tentatively, I held out a hand. Shyly, she put hers in it.

  I had been so young, so hopeful, so innocent.

  I moved closer, smelled the fresh clean scent of her hair.

  So young.

  Sergeant Swopes growled, “Full inspection this afternoon. Word is the Commandant himself may take it. One crease out of place, one speck of dust, and I’ll stuff whoever is responsible in the recycler! Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” Our chorus was immediate. Despite his warning I wasn’t worried. By now we were seasoned second-year cadets, and knew the tricks to passing an inspection. More exciting were the rumors that some hundred cadets had been chosen for promotion. I hoped against hope I would be one of them, but knew how unlikely that was.

  Academy had no set graduation date. A cadet remained under the tutelage of his sergeants until he was deemed ready, no matter how long it took. When we took the oath we’d been warned that we could stay cadets for our entire five-year enlistment, and there were rumors it had actually happened, though no one knew of such a case.

  After Sarge left, we set about the boring task of getting our dorm ready: mopping, dusting, cleaning ourselves and our environment. Corporal Tolliver strutted about giving unnecessary orders, while making sure not to neglect his own work. He would suffer with the rest of us if our dorm were cited.

  As per a long-standing arrangement I did our boots while Arlene made both our beds; I normally made my own, but we relied on her superior skills for the starched creases of an inspection, while I had the knack of turning the toe of a boot into an ebony mirror.

  Hours later, I tugged at my jacket one last time, smoothed back my hair yet again. At the hatch, Robbie Rovere called out, They just left Armstrong, headed this way!”

  “Get ready!” Tolliver’s warning was unnecessary. We took our places in two lines, waiting to stiffen to attention as the hatch opened.

  “Good luck!” Arlene made the crossed fingers sign; I grinned tightly as I replied in kind.

  “ATTENTION!” Tolliver’s bellow rang through the dorm. We jumped, backs ramrod-straight, eyes front.

  Sergeant Swopes entered first, saw us already in place, stepped aside.

  I sucked in my breath. It was Commandant Kearsey. Lord God help us if anything went wrong.

  His inspection was thorough. Running his hand over Donover’s locker, he rubbed his fingers as if brushing off dust, but said nothing. The inspection party disappeared into the head, reemerged shortly.

  Kearsey nodded to Sarge. “Very well, Mr. Swopes. Passed.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The Commandant paused at the hatch. “Some of you may have heard scuttlebutt that a promotion list is out. It isn’t.” A collective, almost inaudible sigh swept the room. “And it won’t be, until Free Hour this evening. You’ll find it in the corridor.” With that, he left.

  Silence held for a full half minute. Then the barracks erupted with cheers. Robbie pounded my shoulder, hugged Arlene. “Some of us have to be on it! Maybe me, or you. We’ll be out of here!”

  “Don’t get your hopes—” It was too late. Robbie cartwheeled down the aisle, narrowly missing Tolliver, who aimed a halfhearted kick in his direction.

  The day passed in an agony of anticipation. I dreamed through Nav class, earned a sharp rebuke from Mr. Reeves. After that I did my best to concentrate; even if my name was on the list it could easily be removed.

  Dinner came
and went. If I ate at all, I had no recollection. Milk, perhaps. Or possibly the napkin.

  Sergeant Swopes appeared not to notice our odd behavior. It must have taken effort, as Donover dropped a cup of coffee on himself, and Robbie Rovere tripped noisily over his chair.

  “Think it’s posted yet?” Arlene matched her step to mine.

  “Free Hour. Another hour and a half.”

  “I know when Free Hour is,” she said, nettled. She moved on ahead.

  “Dumb, Seafort.” Tolliver’s tone was mocking. “You blew it. Maybe she had the hots for you!”

  I whirled, shoved him against the bulkhead. “Watch your mouth! She’s a bunkie!”

  “Get your hands off—”

  Robbie’s voice was cold. “I heard that, Tolliver. You’re disgusting.”

  Tolliver’s look swiveled from one to the other of us. “Easy, joeys. I didn’t mean it.” He pushed my hands away. “Watch it, or Sarge’ll see you.”

  I didn’t care if I took demerits for disrespect to a corporal. Even by barracks standards, Tolliver had been obscene. Arlene Sanders and I were bunkmates, closer than even brother and sister. The thought of pronging her made my stomach churn. How could I? We shared a dorm, even a shower.

  Slowly my anger dissipated. I smiled sourly, sought a reply. “Forget about Sarge. Just hope I don’t tell Sanders.” Arlene’s prowess at hand combat was formidable.

  Back at the dorm we spread out our homework, as usual preferring our beds to the study rooms. By unspoken understanding, Sergeant Swopes didn’t disturb us during study hour, and we were free to assume whatever relaxed posture we wished. I usually curled up on my side, holo in front of me. Some sat cross-legged on their bunks, others lounged on the deck. Robbie Rovere usually lay on the deck, legs up across his bed.

  Though all was quiet, I doubted that much study actually took place. For my own part, I gave up after half an hour, switched off the holo.

  I knew I wouldn’t be graduated just yet; I hadn’t scored well in the last round of tests. But even if I stayed, it meant new bunkmates, perhaps even a new sergeant, as depleted dorms were consolidated and merged.

  At last the bell chimed, signaling Free Hour. Two cadets dashed for the hatch. Others stood more nonchalantly, stretched, wandered out to the corridor as if for a walk.

  I lay on my bunk, arm over my eyes, depressed. Sooner or later I would pass the postings on the way to class, take a look. There was no hurry.

  “Coming, Nicky?”

  I uncovered my face. “You go ahead. Maybe later.”

  She sat on my bunk, slipped on her crisp gray jacket. “I’m scared. Let’s look together.”

  I snorted. “You scared? Right.” Arlene Sanders took no guff from any joey in the barracks. Still, once, back in the Training Fuser, she had lost her nerve. Maybe it was possible. “Okay.”

  I got up, joined her in a stroll to the list posted on the corridor bulkhead. Cadets from several barracks pushed and shoved their way through. Someone whooped.

  We shouldered into the crowd. I peered at the two columns, too far away to see anything useful. Someone jostled. I lashed out with my elbow.

  “Easy joeys, take your turn!” Midshipman Thorne’s voice commanded obedience, and the pushing and shoving lessened. By unspoken agreement we formed ourselves into lines; those in front scanned the list, turned away crestfallen or with unconcealed joy.

  Corporal Tolliver was several places ahead of us. He reached the list, ran his finger down the column. He froze, turned slowly. I tried to read his face. He took off his cap, flung it down the corridor against the bulkhead. His grin made him seem almost human. “Yes! I’m out of here, Seafort!”

  Arlene’s voice was flat. “Congratulations.”

  Tolliver didn’t seem to hear. He ran to the bulkhead, scooped up his cap, flung it again. It sailed past Mr. Thorne’s nose, but the middy just smiled. “Careful, Tolliver. You still have Last Night to get through.”

  “Yes, sir.” The prospect of the traditional hazing didn’t seem to phase him.

  The boy at the head of our line turned. Robbie Rovere. His lip trembled. He made a manful effort, lost his battle. Quickly he wiped a tear with his sleeve. “I didn’t make it.”

  “Oh, Robbie.” I sought a consolation. “We’ll be together, anyway.”

  “Yeah.” He scuffed the deck. “Maybe next time, huh?” He turned away abruptly, but Arlene’s hand darted out, pulled him close. She threw an arm around his shoulder. “You’re okay, joey. Kearsey’s a blind old fool, everyone knows that.”

  Lord Jesus. I jabbed Arlene in the ribs. If anyone heard ...

  “You’ll make it next time,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Robbie twisted loose, hurried toward the dorm. He almost blundered into Midshipman Jenks, come to watch the comedy. Annoyed, the middy thrust him away.

  Only two cadets separated us from our fate; we pushed forward until it was our turn. Arlene’s finger ran down the list, reaches the S’s. A small sound escaped her.

  I said, “You made it!” I threw my arms around her, danced for joy.

  She whimpered, turned it into a laugh. “Oh, Nicky, I was so frightened!”

  “I’ll bet you were the first they picked.” I pounded her back, grinning like a fool.

  “Move it, you two!” Someone yanked at my arm.

  I retreated, but Arlene held me back. “Aren’t you even going to look, Nicky?”

  “What’s the point?” To please her, I searched the list again. There’s no way I—”

  My name.

  Dumbfounded, I fell back from the list. “I’m—Lord God, I made it!” No, it had to be a mistake. I thrust back into the crowd, looked once more. “Seafort, Nicholas E.” I scanned it again, unbelieving. What miracle was this?

  “I made middy.” It sounded preposterous. I eased my way out of the crowd, passed Jeff Thorne. As I did so Midshipman Jenks stuck out his foot, and I would have gone down if Thorne hadn’t caught me.

  Back in the dorm I fell onto my bed, raised my hand, inspected the gray wool of my jacket. Now I would trade it for blue. I propped myself up on an arm. “Hey. What was the effective date?”

  Sanders grinned. “Go back and look for yourself. I made your bed, what else do you want?” I sighed, swung my feet off the bed.

  “Tomorrow, noon.”

  “Really?” I hadn’t imagined it would be so soon.

  Her tone grew wary. “It means tonight is Last Night.”

  All midshipmen and officers hazed cadets; it was part of the system. But hazing on Last Night could be merciless. I swallowed a foreboding. Whatever they did, by tomorrow it would be over.

  Nine in our dorm were to graduate, but the mood was subdued. Friendships would be broken, familiar bunkies exchanged for the unknown. I found myself wishing my name weren’t on the list. I felt shame for my cowardice.

  They came for us after Lights Out.

  Flashlights searched out our faces. Led by Jenks, the middies hauled Reston and Lorca out of bed, ordered them into the corridor. We waited, most of us awake, straining to pierce the silence of the night. Perhaps, in the distance, I heard someone cry out. I couldn’t be sure.

  An hour passed and I began to doze.

  Arlene screamed. I flung myself upright. She thrashed in her bunk, trying to free herself from the drenched sheets. Chunks of ice skittered across the deck. A grinning middy kicked the bucket across the aisle, pulled at Arlene’s soaking top.

  “You bastards!” I jumped out of bed, shoved the middies aside. “Leave her alone!” I was wearing only my shorts.

  Someone caught my arm. I swung and missed; the middy twisted my arm behind my back.

  Arlene sobbed in fright and humiliation. I lashed out with my bare foot, caught Jenks in the shin. “You frazzing asshole!”

  “What a mouth on that one!” Jenks picked up the empty bucket, plopped it on my head. I shook it off. “Let’s teach him manners.” The middy glanced around. “Into the head.”

  Some b
rave soul muttered, “Leave him alone!”

  Jenks wheeled, his flashlight searching. “Louder, please?” No one answered.

  Two middies dragged me kicking into the head. They were bigger and heavier; I couldn’t pull loose. Pinned against the sink, I awaited my fate.

  Jenks paused at the hatchway. “Corporal Tolliver, join us.”

  Hazing or no, it was an order and Tolliver had no choice. He appeared in the hatchway, tugged at his shorts. “Yes, sir?”

  “Just a moment.” Jenks was curt. “Hold on to little Nicky,” he told my captors, turning on the sink tap full blast. “Manners, Seafort. You can’t be a middy without knowing manners.” He held the bar of soap as they forced my head down, pawed at my mouth.

  My struggles did me no good. Finally, bruised and humiliated, I held still, tolerated the foul rasp of the soap.

  Jenks was thorough in his ministrations. He paused only when two of his henchmen appeared in the hatchway with a hot water bottle. He pointed to Tolliver, whispered to a crony. They seized the cadet corporal, dragged him unceremoniously into a toilet stall. I gagged, tried to spit soap, had my head dunked for my pains.

  Behind me there echoed a cry of anguish.

  My new uniform seemed strange and out of place, though nothing but the color had changed. They moved us immediately to a new dorm; naturally we middies couldn’t bunk with mere cadets. Youngsters who only yesterday were our friends saluted self-consciously; we responded with equal embarrassment.

  Few middies were assigned to Academy itself; most of us were to be posted elsewhere. We waited our destiny with trepidation, and as days passed more of us left for coveted ships of the line. Arlene and I were among those who remained.

  Jeff Thorne stopped by one day. As a middy posted to Farside, he bunked in the wardroom, not with us. “You survived Last Night.”

  “Barely.” At times I could still taste the soap.

  “I’m sorry. Jenks is an ass, but he’s a senior ass.”

  “It’s not your fault, sir.”

  “Jeff, now.”

  I grinned shyly. “Yes, si—it’s hard to change.”

  “I remember.” He put out his hand. “Tomorrow, I’m off to Jargon. I came to wish you luck. You too, Sanders.”

  I shook hands. “Thanks. You—” I hesitated. It didn’t matter; Arlene was a bunkie. “You meant a lot to me, Mr. Thorne.”