A man chose his own fate. “Very well. So be it.”
“Johan Stritz, sir.” He stood proudly. Behind him, Kyle Drew and Kevin Arnweil waited their turn.
Why, Lord? They’re my special charges. Could you not spare ...
I made my voice hard. “Very well.” One by one, I accepted all three.
“Loren Reitzman, sir.” I frowned, then recalled. The boy who’d balked at the oath of enlistment. He’d had a week of misery, then buckled down to the business of being a cadet. We’d had no further trouble. Would he crack again?
“Very well.” The cadet trotted off to the suiting room. A tall, gawky girl raised her hand tremulously, gave her name. I nodded; she ran off.
“Jerence Branstead, sir.” His bruised features appealed.
I swallowed. I accepted the Boland boy, and all the others. How could I not take him?
No. Lord help me, I could not. I’d sworn to his father to keep him safe, when he’d entrusted the boy to my care on Hope Nation. Even though my word was without value, I would spare at least one child.
I raised my gaze. “No. Refused.”
He blurted, “Sir, I know what I’m doing! Please let me come!”
“BE SILENT! I FORBID IT!”
Shamefaced, Jerence crept from my sight.
“Elena Von Siel, sir!”
I nodded heavily. “Very well.”
A black-haired dark youngster. “Omar Benghadi.” The girl at his side raised her hand tentatively, brought it down. She looked away.
I knew him from somewhere. He fidgeted while I stared through him, racking my brain. Nothing. “Very well. Go with the others.”
The girl watched him disappear, her fists clenching. Abruptly her hand shot into the air. “Alicia Johns, sir!”
So young, so vulnerable. I made my voice flat. “Very well.” Who were they?
I had it. The young pair I’d met on an idle visit to the Devon classrooms a few days before my appointment; the meeting had led to my chat with Sergeant Ibarez.
I turned to my work.
When the last hand was acknowledged forty-three cadets had volunteered. Were they enough? I could draft just a few, for—
No. That was too great an abomination, even for me.
My voice rang out. “You other cadets! Return to your barracks. Your officers will be along shortly. Dismissed!”
Some sheepish, others relieved, they herded toward the hatch.
I couldn’t leave on that note. I called, “Those who didn’t volunteer need have no shame. I wish you well.” I bit off the rest; it sounded too like farewell.
“Midshipmen, step forward!”
Self-consciously, the seven young officers clustered around. Thomas Keene, Adam Tenere, Sandra Ekrit. Others I hardly knew: Guthrie Smith and Tommy Tsai. Red-haired Anton Thayer. Eduard Diego.
“You’re all coming with us. Mr. Keene, have your joeys report to the shuttle immediately.” Should I have given them a choice, like the cadets?
No. They were officers.
I was proud that their discipline held. No questions. First Midshipman Keene said only, “Aye aye, sir.” He turned to the others. “Let’s go.”
In a moment no one was left in the hall but the shuttle Pilot, my two lieutenants, the drill sergeants, and a few techs. I beckoned them close.
“Pilot Trayn, you’ll take us to the Training Station. Get the shuttle ready. The rest of you, listen carefully. As I told the cadets, there are fish in home system.” The Pilot paused at the hatch to listen. “They’ve done great harm, and it’s possible they’ll come here. Keep the outside lights off, stay off the radio. Lord God willing, help will arrive.” Pilot Trayn nodded, went out to the corridor.
“Lieutenant Thorne is in charge until ... while I’m gone. You sergeants, follow his orders. If the fish come ... Something seemed wrong with my throat. “Get your joeys suited, try to keep them alive as best you can. Perhaps the fish will do their destruction and leave.”
“What about you, sir?” Ms. Obutu.
“I’ll be at the Training Station.” I was careful to say no more; someone might still obstruct me. “That’s all. Dismissed.”
Sergeant Radz hesitated. “Commandant ...
“Yes?”
“Godspeed, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He snapped a parade-ground salute, turned and strode out. My eyes filled. Kina Obutu lingered for a word; I shook my head.
“Am I relieved?” Tolliver.
“What?”
“You put Thorne in charge. What will you have me do?”
“Go with me.”
His tone was bitter. “I thought so. I’m at your orders.”
I said gently, “It wasn’t an order, First Lieutenant Tolliver.”
“What are you up to this time?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“The last time you said that you nuked a bloody Station!”
“There’s none here to nuke.”
“I’ll go. We started together. It’s fitting that we end together. I’ll meet you at the shuttle.” I wondered how much he’d guessed.
I checked and rechecked my suit. Though earlier I’d been ready to welcome decompression, now I had to stay alive until my task was done.
I tested my helmet clamps one last time, looked to Ibarez. “Is everyone boarded?”
“Yes, sir. Am I to come along?”
He was an experienced hand, but he had a barracks, and his flock mustn’t be abandoned. “No. Go back to your joeys.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He hesitated, gestured to the lock. “Odd mood they were in. Even though they sense something’s wrong they were jostling like puppies to go aboard.”
“Children think they’re immortal.”
“Yes.” His expression sobered. “That’s why we’re here. To protect them until they learn otherwise.”
I stepped into the lock.
Outside, all was still. I tried to adjust my vision to the pinpoints of a billion stars.
I loped across the Lunar dust, waited impatiently while the shuttle lock cycled. Every moment meant lives lost on Earth.
Inside, I brushed past Tolliver and strapped down in the front row. I keyed to suit frequency. “Edgar, tell the Pilot we’re ready for liftoff.”
“He’s not here, sir.”
“He’s had plenty of time to get ready!” I keyed to base frequency. “Find Mr. Thorne.” I fretted while the precious minutes passed.
“Lieutenant Jeffrey Thorne repo—”
“Get my Pilot suited and out here!”
“Isn’t he with you, sir? I haven’t seen him any—”
“Find him! Move!”
“Aye aye, sir.” The line went dead.
Tolliver took a seat across the aisle. “You seem in some haste.” His tone was dry.
“None of your lip, Tolliver!”
“No, sir. Of course not. Is there a schedule we have to meet? I only ask as your second in command.”
No need to explain; he’d find out all too soon. “We’re sitting ducks if the fish come!” I drummed on the seat arm. “Where’s the bloody Pilot?”
As if in answer my radio crackled. “Thorne, here. Mr. Trayn is nowhere to be found. We can roust the cadets and search cabin by cabin until—”
“When he shows, brig him! Tolliver, let’s go!” I scrambled out of my seat, launched myself toward the cockpit. I took the copilot’s seat, waited for Tolliver to buckle in alongside. “Help me lift this bucket.”
He said mildly, “We’re not rated for—”
“Remember the Venturas shuttle on Hope Nation? Compared to that, this is child’s play. You have to work to foul up a Lunar launch.”
“I see. In that case, would you take the Pilot’s seat?”
I ignored him and flicked switches, waited for the puter to self-check. The vessel was fully fueled, as I knew it would be. I pumped a few liters of propellant through the fuel tubes, watched the gauges wiggle.
A dry, mechanical voic
e. “Beginning preflight checklist. Port thrusters indicate full tanks. Starb—”
I glanced skyward though the porthole. “No time. Cancel the checklist.” A methodical check would consume almost a half hour.
Console lights shifted. “Discontinuing launch at your order.”
“No, damn it, prepare to launch!”
“Beginning preflight checklist. Port thrusters indicate—”
I cursed silently. “Puter, prepare for launch without checklist.”
“Standing orders require checklist prior to—”
“Cancel standing orders! I’m the Commandant!”
“Only the Pilot may do that. I’m a U.N.A.F. shuttle, not subject to Naval command.”
I slammed my gloved fist on the console. “What are you laughing at, Edgar?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Puter, log me on as Pilot.”
“U.N.A.F. authorization code?”
“As Base Commandant I relieve the Pilot and appoint myself. Tolliver, is there a manual shutoff to this idiot?”
“I have no idea.” He bent to the dash. “Don’t see one.”
“Power down!” I flicked the switches. One by one the console lights extinguished.
Tolliver said mildly, “It’d take less time to let him run his—”
“We don’t need the puter to turn on power.” I switched on the engines.
“We need him to plot a course to—”
“Not to lift off.” The hell with regs. “All we need is orbital velocity, and the nose pointed away from the ground.”
“Right. I’m glad we’re doing this by the book.”
“By the way, you have the conn.” I leaned back. “Oh, don’t gape, we both know you have a surer hand.” I braced for the mild acceleration.
There was no reason a U.N.A.F. shuttle couldn’t launch manually. I recited that, as a mantra, while our engines shuddered and the frustrated pull of the moon thrust me into my seat.
At last Tolliver silenced our motors. I peered out at the Lunar surface far below.
“If you see the Training Station, let me know.”
“Don’t be silly, it wouldn’t be—” I realized he was in one of his moods. Though I’d warned him not to lapse into insolence, I felt oddly relieved. “Turn on the Station beacon by remote.” I watched the radar screen, half expecting fish to Defuse at our side.
“Is there a chance the puter would tell us the way?”
“I’d rather walk.” Nonetheless, I switched the puter on, waited for its circuit check. “Plot a course to the Naval Training Station.”
A pause of at least a second. “Voice ID indicates you are Nicholas Seafort, U.N.N.S. Do you confirm?”
“Yes.”
“Who is the Pilot?”
“I am.” Another few seconds and I’d do the plot by hand.
“Your name isn’t in my Pilot registry.”
“All right, have it your way. There’s no Pilot aboard.”
“A licensed Pilot must be in the cockpit of a U.N.A.F. shuttle prior to launch.”
“But we’re aloft, and he doesn’t seem to be here. Will you plot our course, or does your bloody program call for us to starve until our orbit decays?” Dosmen are all alike. They never program flexibility.
The puter’s voice took on a firmer note. “Emergency procedures now in effect. I’m plotting course to Naval Training Station, will initiate automatic course corrections.”
“Why, thank you.” I knew I ought to recheck the figures by hand, but for once I let it go. My mind was too full.
Figures flashed across the screen. A moment later our side thrusters fired briefly, orienting us toward the Station.
“You’re welcome,” the puter said. “On return I will file a complaint with U.N.A.F. Transport concerning your violation of regulations, Base Commander Seafort.”
By then I wouldn’t care. Still, I wasn’t about to take any bilge from an animated circuit board. “Puter, on our return I will file a complaint with U.N.A.F. Transport concerning violations of regs by this shuttle.”
A puff of propellant; our turn eased. The main engines ignited. “My files show no record of a complaint ever being filed by a human against a puter.”
“Then this will be the first. Tolliver, duck back and make sure everyone’s all right. Don’t be long. I need you to watch for fish.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He ducked back into the cabin.
Silence, for several billion nanoseconds. A slight hesitation in the mechanical voice. “Query: what would be the consequence if a puter were found in violation of regs?”
Ah. “I’m Navy, not U.N.A.F., so it’s not my decision. I would expect complete power-down, and personality dissolve.” Heartless, but I was irked. Time and again, on ship or Station, a snotty puter had aggravated me beyond endurance.
Tolliver slipped back into the cockpit. “No one’s gravsick, at any rate.”
“Good.” Perhaps I could let the cadets unclamp their helmets, even walk around. They’d be a long time in suits. But a fish might Defuse alongside without notice, and if it threw, we’d decompress faster than our clumsier youngsters could resuit.
“Commandant Seafort, no violation of regs was intended.”
“Be silent, puter. Use your circuits to scan for fish. Alert us for anything within five hundred kilometers.”
“Acknowledged, Captain.” He subsided.
I flicked on the caller, scanned Naval and emergency channels. To my surprise, the U.N. was broadcasting bad news as well as the occasional good.
In some aspects the situation had worsened. More ships had been lost, more rocks hurled at our cities. On the other hand, we’d reestablished a clear chain of command, and banks of groundside lasers had burst several rocks hurled by the fish into Earth’s gravity well.
Though the Admiralty warrens of Lunapolis were devastated, many decompression hatches had slammed shut in time. It appeared most of our brass had survived, though communication was sporadic. Admiral Duhaney, through a multiship relay, had transferred fleet command to London. It was for the best; he was no battle commander.
Until we reached the Station there was little to do but listen. I switched frequencies back and forth.
“U.N.A.F. lasers on the outskirts of Beijing are gone. Nonetheless Beijing command reports—”
“—landed outside Kiev—”
“—locked in the comm room! The hatch is smoking! For God’s sake someone help us it’s coming—”
“—thirteen settling over Brasilia. Groundside lasers have—”
U.N. military command reported two hundred fifty kills. Yet some six hundred fish continued to Fuse in and out of home system, attacking our fleet, raining destruction on our cities.
Tolliver. “We should report to Admiralty, sir.”
“It would serve no purpose.” If I told them where I was headed, they’d ask why.
The puter came to life. “Seven encroachments, at outer limit of search zone. Presumed hostile.”
My mind snapped back to the shuttle. “Where?”
“Coordinates two five two—”
“Never mind that, just tell me where!” What did I want him to do, point?
“Just short of the Lunar horizon, Captain.”
“What’s in that direction?” I peered.
“Aliens, as I’ve said. And Earthport Station. I can contact Station Control and inquire what other objects might be in their zone of—”
“No.” I tried to gnaw at my knuckle, bumped my hand against my closed helmet. “How far is the Training Station from Earthport?”
“Calculating. Assuming no orbit corrections by either body, eleven hundred point five one kilometers as of this moment.”
Too close for comfort. No one knew what else the fish could sense, in addition to N-waves. If they learned of our presence, how long before they showed up to annihilate us?
I thrust the thought aside. Nothing I could do about it.
“Bolivar to London Command! They�
��re Fusing away by the dozen! We’re winning!”
“—lost our tubes, but otherwise we’re all right. Only seven of them out there and—”
“—urge you to let us disengage from over North America. There’s so many fish we’re not doing a damn bit of good. Earthport needs us, so does—”
I flicked to another frequency.
“Deputy SecGen Franjee has landed in London to establish an alternative command in case U.N. Headquarters is, uh, disabled. UNESCO Director Johanson has issued an advisory warning against any public gatherings during the next month due to the risk of virus ...
I muttered something.
“Pardon, sir?” Tolliver
I repeated, “No need to worry about virus. We don’t have a month.”
“How do you know? They’ve only hit a few cities, even if the death toll—”
“Didn’t you hear? They’re Fusing out in large numbers, for more rocks.”
“You can’t be sure—”
“I know. The bastards have found a weapon that works.” I switched back to fleet channel. “I thought that rusty chipboard told us we’d only be an hour!”
The puter spoke with injured dignity. “Forty-seven minutes since I gave you our ETA, Base Commandant.”
“We dock in thirteen minutes?”
“In thirteen minutes we begin docking maneuvers. Estimate ten minutes of fuel-conservative maneuvering for close approach, five for mooring and airlock mate.”
“No time. Just get us close enough to throw a line; we’ll go hand over hand. And don’t waste time saving propellant.”
“Regulations prohit—”
“Did you hear me, puter?”
Another full second. “Acknowledged, Base Commander.” He seemed anxious to avoid further quarrel.
“—masses of fish Defused over Bombay, with an asteroid. A few minutes ago they dropped it on ... dear Jesus, all we can see is a fireball; there must be hundreds of thousands dead—”. The voice broke in a sob.
“You were right, sir.”
I made no answer.
Despite the agony of Bombay, Earth had so far been lucky; no other great city had been hit. If New York or London were targeted, deaths would be in the millions.
All I could do was wait. And plan ahead. “Mr. Tenere and Mr. Keene to the cockpit!”
Moments later the two middies appeared, clinging to the bulkhead straps in free fall.
Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4) Page 45