Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “It’s for me.” He spoke with certainty. “Sir, the speakers were broadcasting most of the time you were on the bridge. Your orders—we all heard them.”

  “So?” I reeled with exhaustion.

  “I—nothing, sir. I mean ... someday, if ...” He pounded his side. “On the bridge. I want to be like that.” His voice grew embarrassed. “Like you.”

  I wheeled. “You may be stupid enough to think that, Mr. Tenere, but don’t ever say it again in my presence!”

  “But—aye aye, sir!”

  “Go to bed!” I stalked off.

  In my apartment, I flipped on my console while I undressed. No word from Eddie Boss; presumably that meant Annie was well. I’d call him later, to confirm. I glanced at the other messages, but the screen wavered. I flicked it off, fell into the dark.

  Chapter 19

  I DRESSED SLOWLY FOR my last day in the United Nations Naval Service. Every act, even combing my hair, seemed fraught with significance. I selected a fresh-pressed jacket, resisted the temptation to don dress whites. Before leaving my apartment I thumbed the caller. “Page Mr. Tolliver to my office after breakfast.”

  I left to take a final walk around the grounds. The sun was barely above the treetops, but squads of ruddy-faced cadets were already concluding their morning exercises. I strode briskly to the gate, paralleled the long fence through the tree-shaded lawn. Not far from here, I’d sat with young Jerence Branstead during changeover. Once, I’d promised his father Harmon that I’d watch over him. After today I could do nothing to keep the pledge. In any event Jerence needed little help. He’d earned the second highest scores on the base.

  I followed the track south to the classroom quadrangle. Many years ago, I’d left, thinking I was seeing them for the last time. Now, at last, it was to be so. I’d leave in ignominy, but I’d have time for Annie. Perhaps, in Father’s house, I could repair the ruin of our marriage.

  I stopped at an empty classroom. On the spur of the moment I stepped in, peered at the hallway pictures. Here, on my visit during Final Cull, I’d encountered two nervous young cadets, and met Sergeant Ibarez. What a hash I’d made of things since.

  I checked my watch, and left. Today, it wouldn’t do to be late.

  I swung open the mess-hall door, and two hundred fresh-scrubbed cadets stood as one. “You may be seated!” I strode to my table.

  Adam Tenere and the two lieutenants held their salute until I returned it. I pulled out my chair. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, sir.” Jeff Thorne stared down at his plate.

  Sandra Ekrit half ran to the table. “Sorry, Commandant. I was delayed.”

  “No problem. One demerit.”

  Tolliver regarded me with curiosity. “I hear there’s a special issue of Holoworld this afternoon.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Odd, since you’re on the cover.” He passed me the rolls. “You never stop, it seems. Congratulations on your latest exploit.”

  “Change the subject.” My tone allowed no argument. “What was the Code Two you left on my console last night? I was too tired to decipher.”

  Tolliver glanced at the middies and the staff sergeants sharing our table. “Yes, I used the cipher. It wasn’t for general distribution.”

  “But I no longer care.” I realized I’d spoken the words aloud. Well, no matter, “Go ahead.”

  “I have a reply from the, ah, sergeant regarding that inventory question. A great deal of verbiage. Everything is as it should be. His reply completely ignores the serial numbers. Meanwhile, I ran some estimates on food purchases based on the figures from five years ago.”

  “Drop it.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Sorry, I always seem to be one command behind.”

  Jeff Thorne bristled. “Mr. Tolliver, would you have me answer you in the manner you speak to Captain Seafort?”

  Tolliver rose to the occasion. “Certainly. I should get as I give.” Nonetheless, he looked abashed.

  Across the table, Sandra Ekrit toyed at her food, her expression sullen. I said with malice, “Perhaps two more demerits would improve your attitude, Ms. Ekrit?”

  Her tone was reckless. “Perhaps they would, sir. I have no way to please you.”

  I gaped at the two lieutenants, astonished at her audacity.

  Tolliver said, “I’ll handle it. Middy, report to my cabin after the meal!”

  “Aye aye—”

  “Edgar, I’ll need you at my office. Let Jeff instill sense and manners in this—this person. Ms. Ekrit, leave my table! Wait for Mr. Thorne outside his quarters. Regardless of what he gives you, six demerits.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Her rebellion doused, she fled to her fate.

  I wheeled on Tolliver. “That’s a result of your insolence. Blame yourself, not her.”

  “Regardless, she’s still a middy talking to a Captain! The nerve—”

  Jeff Thorne’s voice was as oil poured on troubled waters. “She’s having a bad day.” His eye held a glint of humor. “We all do, at times.”

  I subsided, grumbling. Whether or not Thorne chose to cane Midshipman Ekrit, her manner would improve. Jeff had the knack. Once, when I’d been surly, he’d stood me against a bulkhead and ... I blushed at the memory.

  Downing a tasteless breakfast, I brooded on Sandra Ekrit. After a time I shrugged. It was no more than we could expect, demanding adult behavior and judgment from adolescents. Would the Navy be better to enlist its officers at a later age, as once had been the norm?

  No, Britannia had ruled the waves for two glorious centuries, and they’d enlisted midshipman younger than ours. And there was the risk of melanoma T that demanded early exposure to N-waves. What was the answer, then?

  Musing, I sipped my coffee.

  “Midshipman Lea, sit up. One demerit.” Billy jerked upright. Furtively, I straightened in my seat, kept my eyes glued to my holovid as if in rapt attention. I hated Law and Regs, but it was part of continuing education, now that I was a middy on Helsinki.

  Lieutenant Jarewski paced the confines of the comm room, favoring his weak leg. “Brewster, chain of command. Detail.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Midshipman Tommy Brewster jumped to his feet. “The chain of command runs from the highest ranking line officer to the lowest. It—”

  “And if it’s broken? By death, for example.”

  “It automatically relinks, sir. Until the dead officer is replaced, the subordinate reports one link higher.”

  “That’s obvious.” Jarewski passed his bleak eye over each of us in turn. “And what if communication is lost?”

  “Then the highest—”

  “Not you, Mr. Brewster. Seafort, who’s dreaming about leave in Earthport with a holo star.”

  I jumped to my feet, frantically trying to remember the question. “Yes, sir. If, uh, communication is lost the highest available rank takes command.”

  “Such as a doctor.”

  “I—” It was heresy to contradict a lieutenant, but I’d learned better than to agree with Mr. Jarewski’s false postulates, however casually stated. “Pardon me, no, sir. A doctor isn’t a line officer. I should have said, the highest available line officer.”

  “Such as yourself, Mr. Seafort?”

  “A lieutenant at least, sir. I’m a midshipman.” Resentful and reckless, I added, “Just vermin.”

  He’d been about to call on someone else. Now, he just smiled. “And I imagined you were an officer and a gentleman. Do explain your remark.”

  I wasn’t going to get away with it. I did the best I could. “I’m sorry, sir, I was repeating what I’d been told. I assumed a superior officer must be correct.” I put on my most innocent expression.

  Billy Lea shook his head ruefully, aware that I’d sent myself to the barrel.

  The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed, but he said only, “An admirable supposition, Midshipman. Yet, what if your superior isn’t correct? What if he’s dead wrong?”

  “I still have to obe
y him, sir.”

  “Why? He might get you killed.”

  “He’s my superior officer. I have no choice but to obey.”

  “Ah.” Jarewski limped back to his desk. I waited to sit down, marveling at my good fortune.

  Not quite yet. “Always, Cadet Seafort?”

  “Yes, sir.” I waited for dismissal, realized my trap, blurted just in time, “Unless I’m prepared to relieve him.”

  His mouth closed, opened again. “On what grounds, Cadet?”

  It had become an interrogation. “Mental or physical disability, sir. Those are the only grounds.”

  “Cite.”

  I wracked my brain. “Section One hundred and ... I was lost. “I can’t remember the number, sir, but I can quote it, more or less.”

  With a smile that sent a chill down my damp back, Jarewski sat on the edge of his desk. “Do so.”

  “An officer may be relieved of command by his superior for any reason, and by a co-equal or subordinate officer under his command when observed disabled and unfit for duty by reason of mental illness or physical sickness or injury.”

  “You’re referring to Section one twenty-one point four. Are those the only grounds?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, Mr. Midshipman Vermin. Or rather, Midshipman Seafort.” Off the desk now, approaching my chair. “Three demerits. One for insolence, one for being silly enough to provoke me without need, and one for not reading the chapters I assigned. Sit down.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  He wasn’t done with me. Tomorrow I’ll expect you to correct your error.”

  My encounter had left me with nine demerits. The next one would send me to the barrel; I had to work at least one of them off immediately. I sweated over the exercise bars, knowing I’d been foolish to call Mr. Jarewski’s attention. But, nearly seventeen, I’d begun to chafe under the wardroom’s unyielding restrictions. I was filling out, my voice deepening, and was reaching for some station, I knew not what.

  First Midshipman Arvan Hager found me in the exercise room. He lounged against the bulkhead while I worked. “Who’d you piss off, Nick?”

  “Lieutenant Jarewski.” I was into sit-ups at the moment, and found it hard to talk.

  “How?”

  I told him.

  “That was notably stupid.” His tone modulated the sting his words might otherwise carry. “Even considering the chip on your shoulder.”

  “I don’t have—yes, Mr. Hager.” I was in enough trouble as it was.

  My sullenness earned a momentary frown. After a moment he said, “What’s bothering you, Nicky?”

  “Nothing.” I finished the series of sit-ups, lay back with a sigh. I was allowed a full minute. His question nagged at me.

  Suddenly I battled raging resentment. “Nothing, except people calling me ‘Nicky’ and treating me like a child.”

  “You are a child!” His voice had a snap. “You’re proving it even now.”

  “Yes, SIR, Mr. Hager.”

  He didn’t waste time with words; instead he crossed the cabin, hauled me to my feet, and slapped me, hard. I yelped. “Seafort, I like you, but at times you’re a total ass!”

  To my shame, I found myself crying. I spun to face the bulkhead.

  I hoped he would leave, slamming the hatch behind him. But after a moment of quiet, he came to my side. “Sorry, Nick—Midshipman Seafort. Perhaps I overreacted.”

  “You’re first,” I mumbled. Any midshipman was subject to the discipline of the senior middy, who ran the wardroom. It had always been thus. I couldn’t object, unless I was prepared to offer the traditional challenge. I wasn’t ready for that, yet.

  “It’s just that your sullenness gets under my skin. Have they been riding you?”

  I said tightly, “I’m fine, sir.”

  “No, you’re not. Tell me about it.”

  I wiped at my eyes, trying not to lose control yet again. “There are times I hate this place. I have no freedom, no choices ...

  “Helsinki’s like any ship.”

  So I’d heard, and was regretting my choice of career.

  “Who called you vermin?”

  I hesitated, not wanting to carry tales. “Mr. Jenks.” Alfred Jenks, nephew of an Admiral, had been promoted from Academy midshipman to lieutenant and posted to Helsinki. Mr. Hager was stuck with the situation, as was I. Somehow, that made it all right to tell.

  Hager shrugged. “Consider the source,” was all he said. I smiled weakly. “Come find me after your shower, Nick. We’ll talk.”

  Later, ashamed of my outburst, I tried my best to be congenial with him. I had few enough friends.

  “Are you ready for Law tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t looked it up yet.” If I had to scan the whole manual ... Well, there was always key word search.

  Hager looked about, made sure we weren’t overheard. Try Chapter Six.”

  “Thanks.” I’d skimmed it, and couldn’t remember anything about ... “Oh!”

  “You’ve got it now?”

  “Yes, sir. But that just restates one twenty-one point four.”

  “God, don’t tell Jarewski that.” It was a mark of Arvan Hager’s sense that he left it for me to untangle.

  “We’ll begin with Mr. Seafort.” The Lieutenant rested his bad leg across the other.

  “Aye aye, sir.” I got to my feet. “Yesterday I forgot about sixty-four point three. I thought it just restated one twenty-one point four. The difference is that to relieve under one twenty-one you have to be in the presence of the commander, and under sixty-four you do not.”

  He looked surprised. “Very good, Cadet.” I blushed, treasuring the unexpected praise. “Right to the heart of it. In fact, under sixty-four, you MAY not be present. It’s designed for a different set of circumstances.” He waved me to my seat.

  Limping back and forth, Jarewski described sixty-four as a relief valve, in case a dreadful error by a distant commander was consigning the fleet to disaster. The penalties for misuse were draconian, but they were also theoretical.

  In the history of the Navy, no one had ever sixty-foured a superior.

  Arvan Hager found me on the way to dinner. “How was class, Nick?” Not “Nicky.” I noticed the change.

  “Jarewski wants a paper on when sixty-four might be used,” I said, my tone resigned.

  That’s easy. Never.” His vehemence set me back. “It’s an incitement to mutiny. If I’m ever on a sixty-four court-martial board, I’ll vote guilty, regardless of the circumstances.”

  “But—”

  The Navy is about obedience, not rebellion. No one has a right to take over the fleet. Hasn’t discipline taught you a thing?”

  This time I knew better than to argue.

  The next day Mr. Jarewski tore my defense of my paper to shreds. Nonetheless, he graded it an A. Who could figure a lieutenant’s mind?

  When class was done, I waited until the others had left. “About the other day, sir. I apologize for my attitude.”

  “Thank you.” He eyed me, said not unkindly, “Will you take some advice, Seafort?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Be patient,” he said. “Adolescence ends.”

  Breakfast over, I crossed the compound to my office, perhaps for the last time, ignoring a lump in my throat.

  I skimmed files until Tolliver arrived. He flipped a salute, headed for his accustomed chair. “Now that we’re private, let me show you what I found. Mind if I turn on your console? That thieving son of a bitch took—”

  “I told you to drop it.”

  “When do you want to discuss it, then? Serenco’s response is goofjuice; we’ve got enough to go to the Solicitor Gen—”

  “Forget the whole matter. Destroy the records of your inquiry, and mention it to no one.”

  For a moment he was still. Then he rose, leaned on my desk, studied my face. “By God, they got to you.”

  “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  He turned to go, made it as far
as the door. Still inside, he slammed it shut, stalked back to my desk. “What did they offer you? Flag rank? Or was it the old ‘No scandals during wartime’? I thought if anyone would see this through, it was you!”

  I came out of my chair. “How dare you!” With an effort I controlled my rage. “Acknowledge your orders!”

  “Why? At least in a court-martial the drugs will bring out the truth!” He made a gesture of appeal, cut it short. His expression was bitter. “God, I’m a fool. I keep wanting to trust you.”

  The caller buzzed. I ignored it. “No need. I’m resigning, as of today.”

  “All your talk about setting an examp—you’re what?”

  “I called you to help draft the letter. No discussion, Edgar.”

  He sank slowly in his chair. “You mean this, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t.” His voice held something I’d never heard before. Entreaty.

  “I must, and I won’t explain. The stated reason will be that I’m ill from overwork. I want it sent this afternoon.”

  A knock. Sergeant Kinders, through the door. “Sir, you have a call—”

  “No calls, Sarge.”

  “Aye aye, sir. It’s Admiral Duhaney.”

  “Christ.” For a moment I reveled in the blasphemy. “Sorry. Amen.”

  “Shall I leave, sir?” Tolliver.

  “No need.” I put the call on the speaker. “Seafort here.”

  The Admiral’s voice was brisk. “Just wanted to tell you the official line. Pritcher was suffering from dehydration and flu, and he’s recovering. That’s it. He won’t keep Wellington, of course. Perhaps another ship, later on.”

  “I hope so. It was his first sight of the fish, and they—”

  “Don’t tell me my job, Commandant Seafort.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “That’s all.” He hesitated, then rushed on. “No, by God, that’s not all. I haven’t slept since I got back to Lunapolis. I kept thinking about those monsters, and how you handled them. And about your insolence.”

  “Sir, I’m sor—”

  “Be silent! I tossed half the night realizing what a fool I was, lecturing you. Two Navies, I said, thinking you were an innocent at politics. Ha! You put us pros to shame.”