Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “Acknowledged, Cadet.” I grabbed a boy’s arm. “Next!”

  “A FISH!” Adam’s shriek almost deafened me. The midshipman stabbed wildly with his gloved finger. An alien form drifted just within the horizon of the disk.

  “Move, boy!” I put a cadet’s hand on the line, thrust him into space.

  He grabbed the line with his other hand, kicked as if fighting nonexistent gravity. All that it did was disorient him.

  “Hold still! Swing one arm across and—”

  The boy tried to comply, missed with his right hand after he’d already let go with his left. The momentum of his lunge propelled him from the line. He snatched at it and missed. Ever so slowly, he drifted away.

  He began to scream.

  I strained to reach him, but he was too far from the airlock. If I swung onto the line, reached out with my foot—no, the bloody line was too loose. No way to lever myself round.

  “I’ll get him, sir!” Adam Tenere launched himself across, swinging like a monkey.

  “Tighten the line!” I reached for it, forgot I was in free fall, almost propelled myself out of the lock. I grasped Tolliver’s shoulder, steadied myself until I got hold of our end of the line. Together, hanging on to the safeties, Tolliver and I hauled the line tighter.

  “Easy, sir! We’ll pull in the Fuser!”

  “Too much mass!” The Fuser was more likely to yank us out of the lock, or pull my arm out of its socket.

  “Base Commandant—”

  Adam swarmed across the line.

  “—do I calculate correctly that your intention is to avoid contact with the fish?”

  “Shut up, puter!”

  “I could assist.”

  “Shut—how? Adam, hurry!”

  “With thrusters at full, my inertia would be greater than that of the fish.”

  “So? Cadet, stop that infernal noise, the middy’s coming for you!”

  “I could”—a millisecond pause—“muscle the fish aside, as it were.”

  I glanced at the fish, saw a tentacle form. Adam neared the frantic cadet. At what would the fish throw? The Fuser? Adam? The Station?

  “Shuttle, the acid may melt your hull.”

  “I’m aware. As long as my thrusters are untouched, hull breach will not affect my operation.” The puter sounded quite calm.

  “Do it!” I felt a flash of guilt.

  “Coming around.” The shuttle’s bow was blunted, unlike that of a starship. The puter couldn’t skewer the fish, but he could ram, unless the fish Fused to safety.

  Adam gripped the line, forced his legs up and out to the wind-milling cadet.

  I peered into the night. Had the shuttle’s lights grown closer?

  “Got him!” Adam pulled his knees tight as the boy swarmed up his body. The moment the cadet’s hand touched the line Adam swung back, straddled the line, closed his legs across it. The cadet lapsed into blessed silence, punctuated by gasps for breath.

  The fish let go. The mass of protoplasm sailed across the void.

  Toward the Station.

  It would miss the lock, miss the Fuser. Adam shoved the hysterical boy toward the trainer’s waiting hatch. I thrust another cadet out my lock. “Grab hold!” The youngster did so. I couldn’t make out his features. Or hers. “The rest of you, get across before that beast throws again!”

  Two cadets dived simultaneously for the line. I hauled one back, catching a glimpse of blond hair, dampened from the humid suit. Jacques Theroux, the Parisian I’d added at Final Cull. I let go of his arm after his mate had pushed clear.

  With the ease of long practice Midshipman Tenere swung himself around the kicking cadets so he was behind them on the line. “How many more, sir? I’ll help them over.”

  Four left. We’d need one on Trafalgar. I’d hoped to launch another trainer, but with the fish this close—

  I hauled a youngster to the edge of the lock, said to a cadet, “You’ll go as soon as those two are clear.”

  In majestic silence the U.N.A.F. transport sailed across the vacuum. A spray of propellant glittered in its taillights.

  The nearby fish had grown another tentacle. Slowly, it began to swing.

  “Tolliver, how far around the disk is Trafalgar?”

  “About halfway. Closer from the west. Shall I go for it?”

  “Wait until this Fuser’s clear.”

  The two cadets struggled to Eight’s hatch, helped each other aboard.

  I shouted, “Go!”

  The cadet grabbed the line and launched himself.

  Adam made to follow; I held him back for a last word. “Don’t bother sealing your lock. I’ll unclamp your line the instant you’re aboard. Thrust at full power until you’re clear of these monsters. I’ll send orders from—”

  “He’s throwing!”

  I whirled, or tried to, tangled myself in my own feet. By the time I recovered, the tentacle had broken free.

  The acid sailed toward us. For a moment I thought it would splatter against our lock. Then I realized it would not. “CADET! COME BACK!”

  The boy looked up. He froze, halfway across the line.

  The mass of protoplasm spun lazily.

  Behind him the shuttle sailed across the void.

  The cadet moaned, flinched.

  The twirling mass of protoplasm slapped him from waist to helmet, knocked him off the mooring line. A sizzle. With horror I realized the sound came through the boy’s suit radio.

  An agonized shriek, a puff of air. Silence. I gagged.

  The line to Fuser Eight parted.

  The shuttle glided across our horizon. Its prow rammed into the fish. The fish convulsed. Together they floated past the disk.

  I was exultant. “Shuttle, come around and go for another!”

  No answer.

  “Puter?”

  The shuttle’s tailbeams flickered silently into the galactic night.

  “Captain, Midshipman Keene. Permission to Fuse to safety!”

  I roused myself. “Is a fish alongside?”

  “No, sir. They don’t seem to care much about the Fusers. But two more just popped into sight alongside the Station.”

  I keyed my suit caller to broadcast across a band that encompassed all my fleet. “No one is to Fuse! Stay in the area unless you have a fish within one hundred meters!”

  “Aye aye—”

  “Shuttle, respond!” No answer. I gave it up. “Fuser Eight! Throw us another line!”

  A voice trembling with excitement. “Looking, sir! I’m Theroux. Am I allowed to answer? Mr. Tenere isn’t—”

  “Yes. Have someone take the conn!”

  Tolliver gripped my arm, pointed. A fish drifted slowly toward Fuser Eight.

  I shouted, “Belay that line, Eight! Close your lock. Fire portside thrusters, fore and aft together, five seconds! Move away from the fish!” I turned to Tolliver. “We’ve got to launch Trafalgar!”

  Adam Tenere gauged the distance to Eight. “Let me jump, sir!” He seemed on the verge of tears.

  A squirt of propellant, and the Fuser began to recede. “Too late, Middy.” Apparently the cadet helmsman hadn’t ignited both thrusters at the same moment; the tiny ship drifted in a lazy circle. I wondered if Tenere mourned the independent command he’d lost.

  Adam cried, “There’s only four of them! They’ll need help!”

  I felt a moment’s shame. “Everyone out of the lock.” I hung on to the safety bar, kicked free, twisted almost double so my boots touched the hull outside the Station lock. I let go with one hand, flicked on my magneboots.

  I was clamped to the hull, but I was bent almost backward. Surely someone could design a better way to step out of an airlock. Straining my back and leg muscles, I managed to straighten. Now I stood on the hull at right angles to the lock. I grasped a safety, took a cadet’s outstretched arm. For a moment he flailed, but quieted to let me set him on the hull. I reached down and snapped on his boot magnets.

  Tolliver hoisted himself out. Below him
Adam Tenere guided another cadet out; Tolliver handed her up to me. “Where are the fish?”

  “Everywhere.” No time to look.

  Another moment and we were all on the outer hull. Tolliver pointed. “Trafalgar’s there.” Beyond the horizon of the disk.

  Walking to the horizon on the tiny Training Station wasn’t the herculean task it would be on Earthport, or even Hope Nation’s Orbit Station. Nonetheless, a Captain often provided his middies a dose of healthy exercise by having them help with tasks on the ship’s hull. It was hard work to unclamp each boot at every step. Leading three clumsy cadets made the going even slower.

  Someone sobbed. From the pitch of his voice I guessed it was a cadet, but couldn’t tell which. I wanted to join him.

  The outer edge of the Station disk was relatively free of obstacles. We’d save distance by taking the shorter route across the surface of the disk, but the flat surface bristled with antennas, dishes, and sensing devices; our fastest route was the rounded circumference.

  None of us spoke. I grabbed a cadet’s arm, flicked off his magneboots, slogged forward as fast as I could. The youngster clutched my wrist in justifiable terror; if I let go of him he’d drift helplessly until caught, or until the fish sensed him.

  Tolliver quickly followed my example. After a moment, so did Adam. Painstakingly we made our way across the rim of the disk, each with a cadet in tow.

  “Sir, where are you?” Sandra Ekrit.

  “On the rim. Shut up!” A step, then another.

  “But—aye aye, sir.”

  “My God. Look!” Tolliver.

  The fish to our port side was no more than forty meters distant. While I watched it squirted propellant from its blowhole, floated toward the flat of the disk. Its nose touched. A gentle spray of propellant held the fish against the Station’s hull. It wiggled back and forth in a nuzzling motion.

  Lights from within, where none had been before. The hull was breached. I tried to run, almost lost my balance. Without jumpsuits or safety lines, our only means of progress was step after careful step.

  “Sir, I can walk, they showed me how.”

  I ignored the boy. Another step. “Where the hell is Trafalgar ?”

  “Fifty meters or so.”

  The fish’s skin became indistinct, began to swirl. Outriders! I spun ninety degrees to starboard, yanked the cadet after me.

  “Adam, over the side!” In three steps I was at the edge of the Station’s rim. A shape grew on the fish’s swirling skin, began to emerge. I stepped over onto the flat of the disk. Tolliver and Adam scrambled after.

  We were now on the opposite side of the disk from the fish. In free fall, up was where you wanted it to be. I oriented myself. Here, toward the disk edge, the surface was less cluttered. Farther toward the center, auxiliary solar panels spread like the wings of mounted butterflies.

  Adam screamed.

  I jerked with fear, let go my cadet. The youngster convulsed, wrapped himself around my neck.

  Adam scrambled back toward the rim. I fought to free myself from the cadet’s viselike grip. His wrist rubbed against my helmet clamps.

  “Don’t go that way, Adam! The fish!” I tugged at the cadet’s smothering arm with one hand, reached for Adam with the other.

  Tenere screamed again, eyes riveted on something past my shoulder.

  I turned.

  A cadet, his suit ragged and in places gone, floated idly. After a time I realized I was staring at what had been skin.

  “Adam, get hold—”

  The middy vomited into his face mask.

  He was in trouble. If his air line plugged he’d suffocate inside three minutes; the suit itself held barely enough air for a few breaths, and it would be so foul the boy would try not to breathe it. On top of which, he was blind.

  I clawed at the frantic cadet on my back; he paid no mind. In desperation I elbowed him in the stomach. It loosened his grip just enough for me to pry him loose. I wrenched his leg down, flicked on his magneboot, stepped back before he could seize me again.

  Adam stood frozen to the hull. His gloved hands scrabbled at his helmet. I slapped them away. Sounds of choking.

  “Tolliver, help the others!” I reached down, unclamped Adam’s boots, got a grip around his waist. Holding him under my arm like a sack of potatoes, I unclamped my own boot, lunged forward across the flat of the disk. I angled toward the rim. Clamp. Unclamp. Adam flailed.

  Beyond the edge of the disk, metal, barely visible in the dark of night. Adam’s kicks grew more desperate.

  My motion seemed agonizingly slow. “Hang on, we’re almost there!” His limbs twisted.

  The tail of a ship crept closer. The indistinct metal resolved into fusion tubes. Was it Trafalgar or another of the Fusers? Adam’s foot lashed out, caught my knee. My breath hissed in pain.

  Another step. Christ, why hadn’t I brought a jumpsuit? Adam clawed at his helmet.

  Two more steps. I clambered past the fusion tubes.

  Trafalgar’s tubes.

  Thank you, Lord. Two more steps. The mooring line was knee high. Rather than try to climb over, I shifted Adam to my other arm, transferred my boot to the ship itself. Trafalgar’s hull was laced with footgrips, much easier for an experienced sailor than clamping each boot. But I didn’t dare try them; one misstep and we’d lose contact.

  Twenty meters to the aft lock. I’d never make it in time; by now Adam barely moved. I bent, flicked off my boots, caught the boy in a scissors grip between my legs, grabbed the nearest footgrip with my free hand.

  Like a crab, I scuttled across the surface of the hull. Fifteen meters. Ten.

  Frantic with haste, I slapped open the airlock, hurled Adam inside, slammed my hand against the closer. The lock began to pump. I glanced at the gauge; ship air was at one atmosphere. No time to confirm on the bridge console. I straddled the inert middy, hands poised on his helmet clamps.

  The light flashed; the inner hatch slid open. I tore the clamps free, yanked off Adam’s helmet.

  His face was blue.

  I rolled him onto his stomach, waited for a breath. If he’d aspirated the vomit—

  Tentatively I pressed my palm against his back. A breath. Another. Adam twisted onto his side, gagged until I thought he’d never stop. Finally, another breath. His eyes streamed.

  I dragged him into the cabin, dashed back into the lock, slapped it closed. The moment the outer lock slid open I surged out, cannoned into Tolliver. I reeled in pain, marveling that I hadn’t cracked my helmet.

  “You all right, sir? Take this joey.” He thrust a cadet at me, clambered back the way he’d come.

  “Where are—” I closed my eyes, willing away the hurt. Robert Boland’s voice piped, “The other cadets are on the hull, sir. I’m sorry I hung on to you. I was—”

  “Hold on to the safety bar! Don’t touch anything!” I was gone.

  I risked the footgrips, stumbled my way across the hull. Tolliver had left his two cadets a few meters past the mooring line. With dreamlike slowness I neared them.

  From my vantage point on the hull I could look over the Station rim. A motion caught my eye. I squinted through the fog of my overworked suit.

  The metal plates of the rim seemed to ripple. My stomach contracted.

  I churned my way toward Tolliver, met him near the mooring line.

  I grabbed a cadet’s arm; Tolliver let go, turned his attention to the second figure.

  The tall, gawky cadet twisted loose from my grip. “I can do it, I know how!”

  “Hey, come—”

  She slipped her boot into a grip, launched forward, caught the next grip, slipped her first boot loose, glided ahead.

  I gave up; I’d barely catch her, much less be of help. I reached to Tolliver, snatched the other arm of his cadet. Lifting the youth like a toddler between his parents, we clambered to the lock.

  I looked over my shoulder to the Station rim. Deck plates swirled, abruptly dissolved. Something emerged, changed shape to fit the
hole. My breath hissed.

  We reached the lock.

  “Lord Christ!” Tolliver’s tone made my hair rise.

  Frantically he slapped the hatch control.

  Behind us, an alien outrider quivered on the rim of the Station. Specks and odd shapes swirled on its surface. My heart slammed against my ribs. The airlock hatch shut, blocking the view. I couldn’t get enough breath. Were my tanks running low? My gauges glowed green.

  The inner hatch slid open. Adam lay facedown on the deck. Forgetting we had no gravity, I tried to run to the console. I sailed helplessly across the cabin. I was panicking like a plebe.

  I fetched up against the far bulkhead, grabbed a handhold. I flicked on my magneboots, lowered my feet and hobbled across the deck as fast as I could. Sliding into the Pilot’s seat, I threw a strap across to hold me and jabbed at power switches with clumsy, gloved fingers.

  Tolliver peered out the porthole. “The damn thing’s sitting on the rim, quivering. Christ, we’re still moored! We—I’ll have to go out and—”

  I panted, “I’ll tear us loose.” The console lights glowed; Trafalgar had maneuvering power. I fired the port thrusters.

  “You’ll crumple the lock!” The mooring line was fed through the stanchion just outside the airlock.

  “Our stanchion’s rated higher than the line.” I flicked on the simulscreens. The beast seemed to stare at us, though I could find no eyes. Once more I fired thrusters. The line snapped taut, held.

  Tolliver punched open the inner hatch. “I’ll go out and untie us.”

  I slapped the hatch override. “No time!” My ears roared; I couldn’t breathe. “My air.” It came out a croak. “Something’s wrong with my suit!” The cabin swam.

  Tolliver flung himself to the console. He thrust my arm aside, peered at my gauges, then at my face. “Your air’s fine, you’re hyperventilating! Pull your helmet!”

  In a fury I tore at the clamps; they came loose and the helmet bounced off the deck. “Watch that demon out there!” If the outrider jumped to our hull we were done for. Again I fired thrusters at full power. The ship lurched, but the line refused to part.

  “The outrider’s moving! Break us free!”

  The alien flowed along the rim toward our mooring line.