Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Tolliver stood, whispered, “I’d better leave.”

  “Sit.”

  “Seafort, I don’t care what the Sanders woman said; what you did was mutiny, plain and simple. I may have been mistaken but I was the Admiral; you owed it to me to obey!”

  “Sir, I—”

  “And you knew it too, so you hurried below to put your face on the cover of every bloody holozine on the racks. The hero of Wellington, they’re calling you! You know damn well I can’t court-martial you now. Well, you got away with it, laddie. For the moment. And what I think of you won’t bear repeating.”

  “Sir, that’s not the way it was. I did it for Capt—”

  The line went dead.

  Ears flaming, I sat with my head in my hands.

  Edgar Tolliver said softly, “I don’t know what happened, but he’s wrong.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. You just said you feel the same way.”

  “Oh, belay that. You are an innocent. You’re the only person I know who cares nothing for self-advancement. You’re so undevious you should fall flat on your face, but somehow you don’t. You make it hard for even me to hate you.”

  “Why, thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “Sorry, it’s no time for my—for sarcasm. Why must you resign?”

  “I won’t discuss it.”

  “It has to do with Wellington, that much is obvious.” He studied me. “The Admiral tried to stop you from dealing with Serenco. You should have spit in his eye, but didn’t, so he must have something on you. But, what? You have no pride in yourself.”

  “Tolliver—”

  “So instead you resign. What does that solve? Now Serenco will rob the coffers with impunity.” He bit his knuckle, frowning. “It all comes down to what they have on you.”

  He was too close, and his blundering would do untold damage. “Not Duhaney.”

  “Who, then?”

  “I can’t tell you. And the reason ... I hesitated, threw caution to the winds; we’d been through too much together. “Annie.” I started to say more, choked.

  “Sir ...

  After a moment I found my voice. “It doesn’t matter. I should have retired long ago, when we brought Victoria home.” I cleared my throat. “Now, about the letter. I won’t allow my resignation to create a scandal; that’s the last service I can do the Navy. How do I handle it?”

  “Is there any way to change your mind?”

  “No.”

  He brooded. “Be elsewhere when it’s released. Where the mediamen can’t get to you.”

  “Hide?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that. Send the letter from Farside.”

  I shook my head. No point in going aloft just so that ... Still, it made sense. I could leave for Lunapolis or Earthport Station whenever I chose. If necessary, I could even lie low at Farside Base until the publicity ebbed. And I’d avoid frenzied mediamen jumping the Academy fence for a picture or a story.

  “It’ll look strange, my running up to Farside without notice.”

  “We ship almost a hundred cadets aloft day after tomorrow. What would be more natural than going with them?”

  “It would delay my letter two days.”

  “You send it now, effective Wednesday.”

  “Very well.” I leaned back. “As a courtesy I should address it to Duhaney.”

  “After the way he spoke to you? Send it to BuPers.”

  I allowed myself that small satisfaction. “From: Nicholas E. Seafort, Commandant, U.N.N.S. Academy. To: Captain Francis Higbee, BuPers. This is to inform you ... It took me no more than a moment. When I was done Tolliver snapped off his holovid, his expression somber.

  The caller buzzed. I snatched it. “Now what?”

  Sergeant Kinders. “You said to hold your calls, but I thought you’d want me to put Senator Boland through.”

  I grimaced at Tolliver. “Should I bother?”

  “Are you still Commandant?”

  “Unfortunately.” I thumbed the caller. “Seafort.”

  Senator Richard Boland’s voice echoed in the speaker. “Good morning, Captain. You’re recovered from our adventure?”

  I snapped, “Is that what you call it?”

  “Well, whatever. Congratulations, by the way. They just delivered my Weekly Holoreview. You handled them well.”

  “I’m quite busy, Senator. Is there anything else?”

  He sounded jovial. “No, not really, I’ll let you go. Oh, one other matter. That topic my colleague brought up with you aboard Wellington. It’s settled.”

  “What in hell does that mean?”

  Tolliver raised an eyebrow, but I ignored him. It no longer mattered; in hours my resignation would be in Higbee’s hands.

  Boland’s voice sharpened. “I’m trying to tell you to disregard his threats. Go ahead and nail your quartermaster’s hide to the wall. I’ll handle Wyvern.” Too late, I dived for the speaker switch and transferred the call to my handset.

  “How did you ... there are things I can’t talk—I mean—” Tolliver watched me sputter, with avid interest.

  “Nick, don’t worry about that oily son of a bitch. He found your pressure point, but he has a few of his own. As far as you’re concerned, he’s out of the picture.”

  “I made a—a bargain,” I said quietly.

  “Yes, I know. I have his authority to tell you the deal is void, and Mrs. Seafort will be left alone. Go about your business as you would have.”

  I put down the caller, laid my head on the table. Tolliver ... the letter ... Annie ... My office spun slowly about me.

  Tolliver said, “Sir, are you all right?”

  I bestirred myself, took up the caller. “Are you sure, Senator?”

  “He won’t breathe a word, Seafort. Trust me on this.”

  “Mr. Boland, why are you helping me? Is there a favor—”

  “Because I want to.” He chuckled and rang off.

  “Jesus, Lord Christ.” I found myself on my feet, paced, blundered into the end table. “It seems ... seems ...

  “That’s all right, sir. I’ll leave you alone. Ring when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you.” It was all I could manage.

  “And my holovid must have malfunctioned. That letter is destroyed, whatever it was.”

  I could only nod.

  After he’d left I walked the office, my legs inexplicably shaky. How did the Senator find out, and why had he intervened? I returned to my desk, sat staring out the window.

  The caller buzzed once; I ignored it. After a full hour of wracking my brain, I had the answer.

  As I reached for the intercom I sighed, hating what I had to do. “Mr. Kinders!” The sergeant came to the doorway. I gave him his orders, paced with growing impatience until a knock came.

  The youngster marched in, identified himself, stiffened to attention. His uniform was crisp, as it should be. The shoes gleamed. I’d expected no less. The boy’s ears still stuck out, he still had the lankiness of an awkward puppy, but his face held confidence and pride. I’d have to be careful.

  I studied him. “The Commandant doesn’t involve himself in cadet discipline unless the offense is appalling, as is yours.”

  “Please, sir, what did I do?”

  I slapped him; he yelped. “Don’t speak unless you’re bidden, or have you forgotten even that?”

  “No, sir! Aye aye, sir!”

  “Cadet Boland, do you know why you’re here?”

  “No, sir!”

  I forced myself to ignore the tear that trickled down the boy’s cheek. “In the Navy, tradition is all. Beyond the regs, some matters are so ingrained as to be universally understood. Wardroom etiquette, shoreside customs, honor, the legacies of those who’ve gone before. It was Sergeant Ibarez’ job to teach you, and he’s failed.”

  I waited, but he didn’t dare speak.

  I said quietly, “Robert, how did you find out?”

  “About what, sir
?”

  I slapped him again. The boy gave up all pretense of standing at attention; he hugged himself, crying silently.

  “Answer!”

  “I was sick from the free fall, even after we boarded Wellington!” A torrent of words. “Mr. Tenere sent me around the corridor to the head. When I came out, I heard your voice. I intended to excuse myself and go past, but you sounded so angry, I...

  “You snooped to listen.”

  “I thought I’d go back into the head until you were done, but then I heard Senator Wyvern. He’s been in Dad’s house lots of times.” The boy swallowed, wiped his face. “I couldn’t help it, I was afraid to open the hatch to go back in, you might hear me. So I just—I listened.”

  “That’s despicable.” My mind flashed back to a time, eons past, when I’d skulked in Hibernia’s corridors to overhear the whispered conversations of my crew. I thrust down the memory. It was my task to make my cadets better than myself.

  I perched on the end of my desk, spoke quietly. “Robert, you violated the Navy’s honor as well as your own. No, not by listening; though that was bad enough. Your offense was in going to your father.”

  He whispered, “I only wanted to help. Wyvern was hurting you so.”

  “You took a Naval affair to outsiders. That’s unforgivable, no matter what the circumstances. You’ve disgraced yourself.”

  “It was for you.” He looked away, eyes streaming.

  “That excuses nothing. I handled the matter in a way I found acceptable, and you betrayed me. It’s the worst offense I’ve seen since I became Commandant. I’m prepared to expel you this very afternoon, unless I have your solemn word as a prospective officer that you will never do such a thing again. Naval affairs are for the Navy to handle.”

  He blanched, and his lower lip quivered. “Sir, I—”

  “Take your time, Mr. Boland.”

  “I promise.” His words were barely audible.

  “Very well; I’m pleased with your decision. Now, your punishment. Hang your jacket over the chair.” I waited. “Bend over my desk. Cross your hands under your chin.” I grasped the cane lying against the corner wall, stood behind the anguished cadet. “Mr. Boland, this is for dishonoring the Navy.” My cane lashed down on his buttocks with the crack of a shot. His body jerked.

  When at last I was finished I sent the sobbing boy back to his barracks. I set down the cane, viewed it with distaste.

  Surely there was a better way. What was gained, flogging children for their indiscretions? Had we slipped back into barbarism? Still, the Rebellious Ages had brought such horrors that society had recoiled, determined not to lose more generations to sin, sloth, dissipation.

  But why couldn’t a child be raised with love rather than pain? Wouldn’t I have been the better, had I been so cherished?

  Father’s visage floated before me. “The Book, Nicholas.”

  I know, sir. “Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell.”

  I sighed. I was no freethinker, and such matters were beyond me.

  Edgar Tolliver and I walked the close trimmed path as the sun beat down with dazzling brightness. I said, “It’s hard to make the transition.”

  “It must be like a second life.” He was still on good behavior.

  “Edgar, don’t misunderstand. I want to resign, to live quietly with Annie. It’s just—”

  “You wanted to do it with honor.”

  “Yes, I—no, not honor, I have none left. There’s no vileness to which I haven’t stooped. But if I resign, it should be in such a way the Navy isn’t besmirched.”

  “Well, if you wanted to resign, putting yourself on the cover of eleven holozines wasn’t a great start.” Back to his normal self. I felt better.

  “So, now what?”

  “Finish what you started with Serenco.”

  “And then?” Absently, I took a midshipman’s salute.

  “Carry on. Go aloft to Farside.”

  “That was so I could resign quietly!”

  “Don’t forget the Naval Affairs Committee visits soon. You might want to start getting the base ready.”

  Not only that, but I had the majority of my cadets at Farside, and by tomorrow less than two hundred would be left at Devon. My duty was aloft.

  In silence, we neared the mess hall. Regardless of Tolliver’s advice, I was free to run Academy as I wished. I’d send Jeff Thorne and Tolliver to Farside, stay here with the remaining cadets. Walk in the spring sunshine, instead of scurrying through cold Lunar warrens. Visit Annie whenever I wanted.

  I sighed, as my dream faded. “When do the transports leave?”

  As Commandant I’d gone aloft several times, but I’d never organized a shift of plebes from Devon to Farside. Traveling alone, I had only to order a heli to London and fly a shuttle to Earthport Station, where transport would meet me.

  Resettling a gaggle of cadets to Farside was organized havoc. Eventually I gave up, and stayed out of the way to let the experienced drill sergeants do their work. They began with rigorous dorm inspections, followed by extra laundry call so the youngsters’ duffels would be filled with clean clothes.

  In each dorm, a sergeant demonstrated how to pack. After his excited charges had filled their duffels, he opened them one at a time, liberally sprinkling demerits. Then the duffels were repacked to his satisfaction.

  Meanwhile, Sergeant Kinders and Ms. Obutu at Farside scheduled the fleet of transport helis that would airlift a hundred cadets to the spaceport.

  Letting a throng of boisterous youngsters mingle with civilian passengers at London Shuttleport would be asking for trouble. We had to make prior arrangements with the shuttleport for a private gate.

  A hundred cadets and their vigilant sergeants were too great a load for even the largest civilian shuttle; that meant arranging one of U.N.A.F.’s military craft. Here, interservice rivalry raised its head. Glad I could finally make myself useful, I contacted the colonel in charge of U.N.A.F. transport. My name was enough to assure that the shuttle would arrive when needed.

  And that was just groundside.

  By the time everything was double-checked to my satisfaction my nerves were raw. Late that evening, I sat wearily at my desk with Edgar. “Farside has enough food on hand?”

  “For the third time, yes. And oxygen, and toilet pa—”

  “Tolliver!”

  “Yes, sir, enough food, though it isn’t easy putting through indents when your quartermaster is in the brig. I had to—”

  “When do they come for him?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. You sent Serenco to formal court-martial, so they’ll take him to Portsmouth, where they’ll do the polygraph and truth drugs.”

  “Serves him right.” The drugs left one dizzy and nauseous for days, but the truth would emerge. I thrust it out of my mind. “What have I forgotten?”

  “Nothing.” He stretched. “Ibarez says moving four hundred at a crack is the real fun. Actually, I don’t think you’ll have much to worry about; they all have their serg—whoops!”

  I flinched. “Now what?”

  “The special cadets. They’re supposed to be your personal charges. Do you want them traveling with the others, or—”

  “I’m not a nursemaid!”

  “Of course not, you’re Commandant of Academy. It’s not your job to worry about a few mere cadets, even though you said you’d—”

  I sighed. “What do you suggest, First Lieutenant Tolliver?”

  “Take them with you, or give up the ridiculous pretense that they’re your personal wards.”

  “It wasn’t ridiculous, just the only way I could think to ... oh, all right. Book seats on our shuttle.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Do you want Tenere along?”

  “No, let Adam help with the main flock. If you and Jeff Thorne aren’t enough to tend three runny-nosed cadets, I’ll fire the pair of you.”

 
; “That might help. Anything else?”

  I growled, “Good night.”

  The next morning we fed the cadets a light breakfast and set on our way. Casual inspection wouldn’t reveal any difference between the cadets we took aloft and those we left behind, though test scores and training evaluations would tell a truer story.

  After a few last-minute instructions to the Devon staff I boarded the heli with my officers. My eyebrow lifted. “What are you doing here, Mr. Keene? You’re supposed to be on a transport with Sergeant Radz.”

  The boy blushed red to the tips of his ears. “Yes, sir. He told me to, ah, go—come with you.”

  I strapped down; we lifted immediately. “Were those his words?”

  Keene looked unhappy. “No, sir. Not quite.”

  “Pray continue.”

  The boy’s face fell. “He said to go annoy the Commandant the way I was bothering his cadets.” Passively, he awaited the inevitable demerits.

  Johan Stritz nudged Kyle Drew; the two exchanged glances in which glee was barely suppressed. I ignored them; it wasn’t often cadets got to see a middy squirm.

  “I see.” Two thousand feet below us the hills drifted past. “Begin annoying me, Mr. Keene.”

  “Aye aye, sir. I was just trying to be helpful.”

  “I can imagine.” I let him be.

  We landed at London just ahead of our first transport, as I’d intended. Sergeant Ibarez seemed almost nonchalant as he directed his charges to the waiting area. Among them I noticed Robert Boland. His gait was stiff from the caning I’d administered. If he saw me, he gave no sign.

  I gave in to Tolliver’s urging and waited in the Naval Liaison lounge, though I had no idea why my presence might make it harder for cadets to follow instructions. Sometimes Edgar could be quite irrational.

  Tolliver, as senior lieutenant, sent Jeff Thorne from time to time to see if embarkation was going according to plan. I was glad of the respite. When I’d asked Thorne if he had come to a decision about reenlistment, his manner had turned surly.

  At length Tolliver suggested we board our shuttle.

  “The cadets are safely out of my sight?” I didn’t feel gracious.

  He was at his most bland. “You could have overruled me. I thought a comfortable lounge, a drink—”