Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “Where are the civilians? Franjee, the Senators?”

  “We moved them to Level 2 mess hall. I have a detail guarding them.”

  “Very well, keep me posted.”

  “Laser Room reporting. Two fish amidships destroyed!”

  I glanced at the screen. If no more came, we might just make it. My hand eased off the Fusion control.

  “Harlan, are any more Defusing?”

  He sniffed. “I’d tell you if there were.”

  I bit back a reply; no point in arguing with a puter.

  I snapped off the caller, and paced.

  All I had to worry about was decompression in section three, two aliens roaming our corridors, and four fish maneuvering Outside. No cause for alarm. My teeth bared in a travesty of a grin.

  I was ready to order the master-at-arms to unseal the section three hatch and attack, when the outriders saved us the trouble. They burned through to section four, where withering fire from the master-at-arm’s company turned them to smoking stains on the deck.

  “Class A decontamination in effect! Every man to the sickbay for inoculation the moment he’s desuited!” I rekeyed the caller. “Continuous fire at remaining fish!”

  While we disposed of the last four fish, I tensed for new alarms at any moment.

  But the screen was quiet.

  Admiral Duhaney sat in the chair I’d vacated. His fingers worked the fabric of his jacket.

  After half an hour with no new fish, I began to breathe easier. In an hour, I stood down from Battle Stations. The crew needed a rest; before the skirmish, Captain Pritcher had worked them for hours drilling for the brass.

  “Pilot, plot a course for Lunapolis.” Wellington remained functional, but her damage needed repair.

  “Aye aye, sir.” His fingers worked the keys. The moment coordinates were confirmed I had him fire thrusters at full power, heedless of the waste of propellant.

  Chapter 18

  I TOOK UP THE caller. “Attention, passengers and crew. Wellington has beaten back an attack by some fifteen fish. We sustained hull damage, decompression of one section, and three dead. We are returning to Earthport Station for repairs. Admiralty has been notified. Lieutenant Hollis, report to the bridge.”

  My eye fell on Duhaney. I looked away. One more duty, before the ignominious end to my career. I said into the caller, “U.N.S. Wellington has proven herself a proud ship of the line. With Secretary Franjee’s permission, commissioning will be held on the bridge in two hours.” I replaced the caller in its socket.

  As my adrenaline ebbed, I became conscious of the electric silence of the bridge. Finally, I stood. “Ms. Sanders, I surrender the ship to lawful authority. Lieutenant Hollis will take the conn. Admiral, what is your wish?”

  He barked, “Say what you mean.”

  “I face court-martial. Shall I report to the brig?”

  “I—God!” He hesitated. “Yes. Wait, not until the commissioning. Christ, what a position you’ve put me in.”

  I waited.

  “You went too far, Seafort. Not just with Pritcher. You refused my orders, in front of the others. It was mutiny.” He raised his eyes to mine. “Yes, we’ll try you. As quietly as we can, for the Navy’s sake.”

  Good. Better that than Wyvern’s way. “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Just a moment, please.” Arlene Sanders’s voice was soft, but its edge compelled our attention.

  “This doesn’t concern you, Lieutenant.”

  She stood. “Begging your pardon, Admiral, it does. Think twice before court-martialing Nick.”

  Duhaney’s eyes flashed dangerously. “That sounds close to a threat, young lady.”

  “No, sir, just a fact. Even if you’re so morally low as to execute him after he saved you, I’m a witness. They’ll interrogate me under drugs, so I can’t lie to protect him. But I don’t have to.”

  Duhaney raised an eyebrow, said only, “Go on.”

  “You dithered after Mr. Pritcher became ill. I was the ship’s officer at hand, so Nick asked me to relieve my Captain. I couldn’t. I’m a coward, and now I know it.”

  “Arlene—”

  “Shut up, Nick. I mean, Captain, sir.” She faced Duhaney, her jaw set. “In desperation Nicky asked you to take the conn, and you also refused. That left him senior officer present, and he took over. True, he wasn’t a member of the ship’s company, but that’s a technicality, and you know it.”

  “Are you finished, Lieutenant?”

  “Nearly, sir. With Wellington’s Captain in a funk, you pestered Nick to make wrong decisions. That’s what I’ll testify. At the trial I won’t be under drugs. I’ll tell the truth, but my manner will say all that’s necessary about your behavior, as well as Nick’s.”

  What in God’s heaven was Arlene doing? Challenging the Admiral just to save me? I couldn’t allow it. I opened my mouth to speak.

  No. To save herself. She faced death for concurring in my mutiny. I closed my mouth, held my breath. Lord, help her save herself, at least.

  Duhaney shook his head, as if amused. “You dare threaten me, Lieutenant?”

  “Not threaten, sir. Warn. Yes, I dare. I don’t want to be part of a Navy that destroys Nick Seafort.” She turned away quickly, ran her hand across her eyes. My brow wrinkled. Could it be for me, after all? She turned back. “Make your choice, sir. We’ll both have to live with it.”

  I clutched the chair, my knees weak. Perhaps the aftermath of action.

  Duhaney seemed more curious than outraged. “What would you have me do?”

  “Cover for him. He effectively relieved Pritcher, and you made no objection, therefore you concurred. You’re Admiral of the Fleet, and have authority to authorize it.”

  “So your bargain is, I leave Seafort be, and—”

  “No, sir, no bargain. You do as you wish. I’m advising you of my testimony.”

  Glowering, he wheeled on me. “She’s another of your ilk. You trained her?”

  “No, sir. With her. Ms. Sanders always had the makings of a fine officer.” I knew my endorsement was worse than silence, but I couldn’t say less.

  Lieutenant Hollis knocked at the hatch.

  The Admiral growled, “Get out, both of you. I’ll think it over.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The bridge hatch slid closed behind us. After the frenzied action of our engagement, the corridor seemed strangely still. Arlene strode ahead of me to the ladder.

  Thanks to her preposterous defense, I might escape the death I merited. But only because Duhaney was a politician, not a fighting sailor like his predecessor, Admiral Brentley. The Admiral had heard Arlene’s threat as an offer to deal, and responded accordingly.

  So now I could go back to Academy,’ saddled with my superior’s displeasure, but with no other penalty save that of Lord God. I would concentrate on training my cadets for battles such as we’d just survived.

  No. I’d forgotten about Senator Wyvern. My career was still done. For a moment I mourned its loss, then remembered Wellington’s three crewmen who’d died fighting the aliens. Compared to their sacrifice, mine would be nothing. I closed my eyes, offered prayer for their souls.

  At the foot of the ladder I paused, said lamely, “Arlene—Lieutenant—you shouldn’t have antagonized him for me. I didn’t need—”

  “For you?” Her eyes reflected loathing. “For me, Captain Seafort. As penance.”

  “I don’t—look, however you see it, I’m grateful beyond words. Seeing you today meant ... Tentatively, I put out my hand.

  “Don’t touch me! Even as Captain you haven’t that right!”

  I pulled my fingers back as if burned. Her eyes blazed. “I don’t want ever to see you again. What you did to me was unspeakable!”

  “What did I—”

  “Asking me to relieve my Captain, in front of an Admiral? I’m not the wonderful Nick Seafort; they’d have hanged me without a moment’s thought!” She stamped her foot. “You forced me to make the wrong choice between d
uty and death. We’re not all heroes! I can’t help my cowardice. You should have known when you put me to the test that I couldn’t choose to die!”

  “That’s not—why would I think that of you?”

  “Remember the airlock that malfunctioned in the Training Fuser? That day, I turned to jelly.”

  “Arlene, please. I never thought—”

  “From now on, when I face you, I have to face myself! Get out of my sight, Nick Seafort. Get out of my life!” Without a salute she ran down the ladder, and out of view.

  Stunned, I sagged against the bulkhead. I’d meant no harm. Meeting her again had been a ray of hope in the darkness of my soul. And now ...

  After a time I roused myself to join the others in the Level 2 mess hall. As I crossed the hatchway, conversation stopped cold. A barrage of flashes blinded me. Within seconds, half a dozen mediamen surrounded me, holocamera whirring, recorders thrust in my face.

  “When did you realize Captain Pritcher lost his mind?”

  “How does it feel to—”

  “Look this way!”

  “—a hero yet again?”

  “Are the fish after you personally? Did you—”

  “Should Pritcher be court-martialed? Will you testify?”

  “—warn Pritcher about the caterwauling?”

  “BELAY THAT!” My bellow stopped them in their tracks. I swiped at a holocamera. “Get that recorder out of my face!”

  For a moment it worked. Senator Boland’s eye held a glint of amusement. Then they pressed forward as if I hadn’t spoken. “Was Pritcher glitched before the cruise? Did he—”

  I turned in disgust, but they danced around me in full frenzy. “Was he crying when—tell us how it felt to—know you were sailing with a coward?”

  I spun on my heel. “Captain Pritcher is a fine officer! He reacted to an unexpected fright the way any of you would. He’s no coward!”

  “Then why take over? Wasn’t he disabled?”

  I looked to Boland for sympathy, got a shrug, and glared at the nearest mediaman. “Ghouls! Captain Pritcher is ill and miserable. What will your headlines do to him? You’re here to cover the commissioning; make your report out of that!”

  The holoreporter grimaced. “Hey, joey, this is a bigger story. We can’t ignore it.”

  “You’d destroy Pritcher for a day’s story?”

  “I’d do anything for top of the hour!” The others nodded agreement.

  By relieving Pritcher I’d virtually ruined him; if there was any chance to salvage his career I had to divert the vicious publicity. My thoughts whirled. If they had something else to focus on, something of equal interest ... But what could compare to the spectacle of a Captain cracking under fire?

  I tried to contain my revulsion. “What about me?”

  “You’re the hero as usual, joey, but you’ve ducked every question we’ve ever asked. What can we write about you?”

  “I’ll trade. Me for Pritcher.”

  The mediaman perked up. “An interview? When?”

  “Now, and again after the commissioning, if need be.”

  One of his colleagues intervened. “Not a five-minute jam. You’d have to open up.”

  “We’ll be hours heading back to Lunapolis; I’ll give you as long as you ask. But only if you kill the Pritcher story.”

  The second reporter looked to the others. “What do you think?”

  I saw skepticism, nods of agreement. “It’s all or none,” I said. “Make up your minds.” I poured a cup of hot coffee, turned a chair to face them. It was the least I could do for Pritcher. I, too, was locked in my cabin, sick and afraid.

  One by one, they gathered round. The silent cameras spun. A mediaman cleared his throat. “What happened on the bridge today, Captain Seafort?”

  “I assisted Captain Pritcher in a skirmish against the fish. We prevailed.”

  “Tell us your feelings about the fish.”

  I swallowed bile. A small payment on the punishment due me. “The fish? Well, obviously they’re a great menace. What I’ve found odd about them is ...

  The ceremony was an anticlimax, but I found it moving. If there was any doubt the Navy needed battlewagons such as Wellington, the attack had dispelled it.

  Secretary Franjee spoke earnestly for the cameras; the mediamen dutifully recorded the commissioning. When it was over and the symbolic toasts drunk, I rounded up Adam and the cadets and took them to the lounge.

  Walking the Level 2 corridor I marveled anew at the Navy’s resourcefulness. Barely three hours after the attack, emergency hull patches were in place, the Level 2 corridor scrubbed and decontaminated, and shipboard life almost back to normal.

  Almost, but not quite. Captain Pritcher lay sedated in his bunk, and three young seamen were no longer among the ship’s company.

  The risk of infection was too great to allow the bodies to remain in sickbay; Wellington’s dead sailors were jettisoned from the aft airlock with little ceremony, and the lock itself decontaminated. The viral epidemics that had decimated Portia and other ships after invasion were taken seriously now; passengers and crew alike had lined up for inoculations.

  In the lounge, Jerence Branstead piled his plate with delicacies. I repressed an urge to rebuke him; in perspective, it mattered not a bit. The other cadets clustered eagerly at the buffet.

  “A word, sir?”

  I turned, found myself face-to-face with Secretary Franjee. “Of course.”

  “I’m no tactician, Mr. Seafort. They send the fleet here, order it there, and I have no choice but to concur. But I’d like your opinion. Was it wise to gather so much of the top brass several hours from Lunapolis and the fleet’s assistance?”

  “I’m not part of—”

  “Just between us, Captain, to go no further. Tell me.”

  I hesitated. Admiral Duhaney was no strategist, not a man to direct the fleet’s operations. He’d proven that again on Wellington’s bridge. And Lord God only knew how Pritcher had passed the psych tests; perhaps he too was someone’s nephew. Or perhaps the tests couldn’t calibrate the horror of a clash with the fish. On Challenger’s bridge I’d yearned to close my mind to them as Pritcher had done. Now I had the ear of a politician with power to change the policies that had led to today’s tragedy.

  I took a deep breath. “As I said, sir, I’m not keyed in to fleet tactics; I’m just Academy Commandant. Still, it would seem ... Across the room, my eyes caught Duhaney’s. He shifted his gaze.

  I need have no loyalty to men like Duhaney. Ships might founder, sailors die, due to their fumbling and foolish decisions. I owed it to my compatriots to prevent that. Yet again I hesitated.

  I was Navy, Franjee was not. That was all I need remember. “Hindsight is too easily mistaken for wisdom, sir. Naval decisions are made by men such as you and myself. We’re fallible, but we do our best. Wellington was to take her place in the Home Fleet; it made sense to have the ceremony near her assigned post.”

  He searched my face. “And the risks?”

  “Only three fish have ever been seen in home system. As a society, we’ve made the decision to combat them, not to cower and hide. There was no reason to think Wellington would be in greater danger here than moored at Earthport Station. Except ...

  “Yes?”

  I could have bitten off my tongue, but it was too late. Well, I’d already made my thoughts more than obvious, racing from the engine room to the bridge. “Except for caterwauling. I think that was unwise, and I’ve always said so. I’m sure fleet policy will be modified, now that we’ve had a graphic demonstration.”

  “Is that all you’ll say?”

  I felt almost at peace. “Yes, sir, it’s all I know to say. If the Navy has problems, it also has procedures to correct them.” Procedures like the court-martial I so richly deserved. In any event, I wouldn’t wash the Navy’s linen in the sight of civilians. Whatever foul crimes I’d committed, at least I was above betrayal.

  Franjee let it be. After a few words of p
raise on my handling of Wellington, he drifted away. Within moments his place was taken by Richard Boland. The Senator made no pretense at small talk. “Captain, I have a request.”

  I waited for him to continue, yearning for a drink.

  “Since our, ah, conversation a few months ago you’ll notice I’ve done as you asked. I haven’t inquired about Robert, either directly or through Admiralty.” Yes, I’d noticed, assuming almost daily that his restraint would end, and I’d be forced to resign. I braced myself for another interference.

  “Mr. Seafort, please don’t interpret this as pressure. But, considering the nightmare we’ve all been through, and the fact that my son is no more than twenty feet away, would you take it amiss if I spoke to him?”

  My hostility vanished. “For as long as you like.” My tone was gruff. “He probably needs it more than you do; he’s had a rough day.”

  “I’m grateful.” He seemed to mean it.

  “He’ll relax more if I leave the room.” I moved toward the hatch.

  “No, if anyone deserves drinks and a peaceful meal, it’s you. We’ll wander outside, if you’ll let him.”

  “Thank you.” I snapped my fingers, beckoned to Adam Tenere, gave orders to let Robert Boland go with his father. I closed my eyes. Would that I could go with mine.

  Hours later, we docked at Earthport Station.

  I allowed the mediamen one last round of photos—a deal was a deal—and booked a shuttle groundside. Only my letter of resignation awaited.

  It was early the next morning when we reached Devon. I saw the exhausted cadets to their dorms, gave Robert Boland an extra clap of assurance. Adam walked me back to Officers’ Quarters. For most of the way we were silent.

  “Is that how it is on a ship of the line, sir? Mostly quiet, then the alarms?”

  He had no business speaking to me, unbidden, but now we were comrades in battle. “Some sailors can’t take the boredom of Fusion,” I told him. “Other than stand watch, there’s nothing to do except what you make for yourself. But it’s not a peaceful boredom; you never know when the siren will shriek, or why. Decompression, engine failure, the fish ... The Navy’s not for everyone.”