Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  “—U.N.S. Potemkin to Admiralty. Do you want us to reengage the fish that brought the rock? We can—”

  “Negative, Potemkin. Fuse on signal with the rest of the fleet Countdown is three minutes.”

  “Mayflower to FleetOpsCinc. We got the bloody fish but one tube’s melted; I can’t join the fleet at Deimos. Is Lunapolis still under attack?”

  I pounded the console. “Why won’t the bastard answer me?”

  Cadet Robert Boland cleared his throat. “Sir, the—”

  “Don’t interrupt.”

  “—time lag.” He looked guilty. “Aye aye, sir.”

  I swallowed, loosened my death grip on the caller. “I forgot.” The words came hard. “Let that be a lesson to you. When you’re on the bridge you’ll have to calculate—” I broke off.

  “Admiral Seville to Seafort. What now?”

  I reddened; his tone said it all. “Sir, I’m trying to draw the fish by caterwauling. Please hold off Fusing the fleet.” I waited out the seconds to his reply, hoping against hope.

  “You can’t help, Seafort. Trafalgar’s unarmed. That rock we broke up may have been their last try. We’ll regroup around Deimos. And if any fish follow, we’ll—”

  “Sir, don’t call the fish to Deimos, I need them here! I’m begging you, give me a chanc—”

  “—blow them out of the Solar System. We’ll have all the concentrated firepower of—what’s that? Christ. Potemkin, engage over South Atlantic as fast as you can. There’s a squad of fish bringing a rock into—”

  “Sir, for Lord God’s sake, don’t—”

  Robert Boland said plaintively, “They won’t listen.”

  “Shut up!” If the fleet Fused, all my efforts would be in vain. I waited, clutching the caller.

  “SEAFORT, GET OFF MY CHANNEL! THAT’S AN ORDER!”

  I recoiled from his blast.

  Then I snapped.

  Before I had time to assess my folly I shouted, “Captain Nicholas Seafort on U.N.S. Trafalgar to all ships, top priority! On behalf of the Government of the United Nations I hereby relieve Admiral Richard Seville from fleet command!”

  Tolliver came thudding into the cabin, aghast.

  Now, even if I survived my holocaust, they would have done with me. I raced on, to certain death. “I hereby assume emergency command of the Home Theater of Operations. U.N.N.S. Regs Section—” Lord Christ, what was it? “—sixty-four point two. Uh, three.”

  “Oh, no!” Tolliver; a cry of dismay.

  “All ships, hold your positions, stand and fight! Maneuver by thrusters only! Ignore further orders from groundside, and do not Fuse!”

  “You lunatic, you sixty-foured him?” Tolliver. “How could you? You had no grounds! For God’s sake, why?”

  “—Captain Valdez on Iberia, to Seafort. What the hell are you pulling?”

  “Admiral Seville to Seafort. You are relieved from—”

  “Seafort to Iberia. As Theater Commander, I order you to stand and fight, or retreat by thruster. No other option for any ship in Home Theater of Operations. Ignore contrary instructions until the emergency abates!”

  As I set down the caller it took an effort to control my voice. “It’s come, Tolliver. Armageddon. For us or the fish.”

  “Christ, you’re cracking!”

  I laid my hand on the arm of the chair to still it. “No, I’m just—yes, perhaps I am. I don’t think it matters.”

  “Damn it, you always play your cards too close. This time I can’t read you! I’ve got to relieve you, or burn you for mutiny. No other option, as you put it.” His hand crept to his holster.

  The speaker crackled. Kevin Arnweil in Seven. “Sir, two dozen fish. I can’t hold them off much longer! I’ve got to send you the—oh, God that was close! Maybe another minute—”

  I reached for the caller, pulled back my hand. “Do it, Edgar.” I was panting, from exertion or lack of air. Or fear.

  Our eyes met.

  Slowly Tolliver drew the laser. “I’m sorry, Nicky. Captain. I have no choi—Ay!” He tumbled to his knees, the pistol slipping from his fingers.

  “Leave my Commandant alone!” The voice was shrill. Jerence Branstead let fall the chair with which he’d clubbed his lieutenant. He snatched the laser from the deck, scampered clear. “You let him be, you—you—” His chin quivered.

  “Give it back.” Tolliver lurched to his feet. “The Captain’s sick. I won’t hurt him. I’m going to relieve—”

  “No you’re not!” Jerence brandished the pistol. “I’m a good shot; Dad taught me back on Hope Nation. And I read the regs! Get away!”

  “Please, what’s a sixty-four?” Robert Boland.

  “Jerence, the laser.” I held out my hand. “Look it up, Mr. Boland, you’re supposed to know. NOW, Branstead!” Jerence let go the weapon.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Boland punched commands into his console, calling up the U.N.N.S. Regulations and Code of Conduct, revision of 2087, embedded in every ship’s Log.

  “Fuser Seven discontinuing test. Oh, God, hurry! So many fish!”

  Boland hesitated, his eyes flitting between me and Tolliver. I slammed the heel of my hand into the boy’s shoulder. “They’re your mates! Help them.”

  Cadet Boland snatched the caller. “Fuser Six, commence test! Execute!” I waited out the lag.

  Eduard Diego, fear in his voice. “Fuser Six to Trafalgar, aye aye.”

  Boland turned back to the keyboard, skimmed through the regs.

  “Captain Foss of Potemkin, to Seafort. State your grounds for assuming command. You’re junior to us all, aren’t you?”

  “Section sixty-four.” Unthinking, Boland read aloud. I reached over to his console, flicked on the caller.

  “When a commander in the Theater of Operations has data essential to the preservation of the main body of Naval forces, and communication with his superiors is restricted through no act or omission of his own, he may relieve his superior and assume command of all forces in the theater for the duration of the emergency.”

  Boland stopped.

  “Go on.”

  “In order that authority not be divided or contested, the superior must allow the temporary usurpation of his authority. No challenge may be made to the assumption of command by any other officer under said superior, or any officer not in the theater.

  However,”—Boland’s voice faltered—“upon conclusion of the emergency the relieving officer must show by incontrovertible and conclusive evidence that his usurpation of authority was essential to preserve the main body of Naval forces.”

  I switched off the caller. “Well, Edgar?”

  Robert looked up, his eyes troubled. “Sir, there’s more.”

  “I know. Read it aloud. It may satisfy Mr. Tolliver.”

  Boland whispered, “The penalty for wrongful usurpation of authority is death. Any such sentence, once imposed, may not be appealed, commuted, or pardoned”

  Tolliver’s eyes were bitter. “You’re dead, Nick. Nothing can save you.” He sagged. “I’m at your orders, Commander.” He had no choice.

  Chapter 24

  FUSER SIX WAS CLOSE enough to Trafalgar for our sensors to detect. It caterwauled for fifteen minutes, attracting thirty-five fish before Midshipman Diego begged for permission to stop, forgetting he had his own authority in my orders. I passed the fish to Midshipman Guthrie Smith, in Five.

  Robert Boland huddled with Jerence Branstead at the far console. Rene Salette made herself invisible in the engine room. Tolliver, fielding calls from the fleet, was in a state of barely controlled fury.

  Guthrie Smith. “Sir, may—please, may I keep talking with you? I’m—”

  I knew the word he was loath to use. “Yes, of course, Guthrie. Just remember the lag.”

  “Six to Trafalgar. They’re going, except for—oh, thank Lord God!” Midshipman Diego caught a sob. “There’s the last of them. That was horrid!”

  “Steady, Mr. Diego.” I thrust down words of rebuke. He was an officer, but
throughout the fleet older men fought similar terror. Captain Pritcher had crumpled at less.

  “Five to Trafalgar! Fish! Dozens of them! Jesus!”

  “Move about, Guthrie! Use your thrusters!” It would take almost half a minute for my words to reach him.

  Smith shouted, “All around me! Taking evasive action. They’re—” The voice cut off.

  After a moment Robert Boland asked, “May I call them, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  A minute passed, ample time for a response. Any longer and the fish might disperse. Heavily, I picked up the caller. “Trafalgar to Two. Execute.” Two was far inward of us, fifty million miles closer to the sun. Over eight minutes for a response to my message. Please, Lord. Let the fish follow.

  Still no answer from Five. Had Loren Reitzman cried out for his father, for the schoolmates he’d abandoned to take the oath at my urging? Had Guthrie Smith perished with his hand on the thrusters, trying frantically to escape the aliens?

  I wrenched my mind from the speculation. For a while more, I needed my sanity.

  At last, a response from Two crackled in the speaker. First Midshipman Thomas Keene. “Aye aye, sir. Executing Fusion test.”

  “London Admiralty to Trafalgar. Stand by for relay from Admiral Duhaney in Lunapolis.”

  The speaker wheezed and crackled. “Nick, are you out of your mind, taking command? The fleet’s in chaos!”

  “Sorry, sir, it’s done. I have to see it through.”

  The Admiral’s voice hardened. “You know perfectly well sixty-four is a dead letter. In two hundred years it’s never—”

  “It’s as dead as the rest of the Regs, sir. Or as alive.”

  “Don’t quibble! And properly speaking, you’re not even in the theater of oper—”

  “Lusitania to Trafalgar. Permission to Fuse; they’re all around and I can’t break loose! Three lasers are down!”

  My voice was heavy. “To Lusitania. I’m sorry, Captain. The only sound they must hear—”

  “We’ll go under, Mr. Seafort!”

  It would be so easy to make an exception, but I owed a debt to Smith, to Reitzman and the others. “Lusitania, do NOT Fuse. Take evasive action. Godspeed.”

  Duhaney’s tone quivered with outrage. “Seafort, I never thought of you as a damned sea lawyer. I can’t stop you, but I’ll bloody well remember at your court-martial. I’ll be on the board myself!”

  “Admiral, I’m busy and you’re distracting me.”

  Tolliver gasped. Even for me, that was a bit much.

  “Seafort! At least tell us what you’re doing!”

  “Caterwauling. We’re distracting the fish from your fleet.”

  “You’re not armed! What can you—”

  “But I have my Fusers. Over and out.”

  Tolliver said through clenched teeth, “What CAN we do, Commandant?”

  “You, for one, can obey orders.”

  “Of course. I’ll follow the example you set.”

  In the resulting frigid silence I checked the computations on my screen one last time. Tolliver busied himself with calls from the harried fleet.

  To my surprise, all but a few scattered ships accepted my self-declared authority. Well, it was there in black and white, if one bothered to read the Regs.

  It was time.

  Fuser Eight had only the four inexperienced cadets. She had to be first. “Trafalgar to Eight, respond.”

  “Cadet Theroux here, sir.” The boy’s voice held a quaver.

  “These are your new Fusion coordinates. Twenty-five, eighteen ... I took my time, made sure the cadet had them right. “After you Defuse, I want you to test your fusion drive immediately. Lock your drive into sixty-five percent for fifteen minutes with a random unlock code.”

  “Aye aye, sir. But, sir, if we lock in the code we can’t end the test early if the fish attack.”

  I made very sure my answer was on Eight’s frequency only. “They won’t attack you, Cadet. I’m having three boats Fuse at once. That will confuse the enemy’s senses. But you MUST lock in your drive. If you stop testing you’ll endanger the other trainers.”

  Tolliver, in a growl. “Poppycock!”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Theroux. “What do we do after the fifteen minutes?”

  “Fuse back to here. Reverse coordinates.”

  He sounded relieved. “Thank you, sir.”

  Tolliver stared at the coordinates on my screen.

  “Fuser Eight, prepare to—”

  “Belay that!” Tolliver snapped off my caller. “Sir, run the calculations again! You’re Defusing them inside the B’n Auba Zone!”

  I said, “Use the coordinates we have.”

  “Don’t you understand? Eight will be so close to the Sun she’ll never be able to Fuse clear!” Tolliver was nearly beside himself.

  I said the hardest words I’d ever said in my life. “I know.”

  Before anyone could move I keyed the caller. “Fuser Eight, execute.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Executing.” The ship disappeared from our screens.

  For a moment all was still.

  Tolliver leaned so that his head was close to mine. “Oh, you vile bastard.”

  My voice was ragged. “Tolliver, I—”

  He spat full in my face.

  I sat as if made of stone. Warm spittle dribbled down my cheek.

  I hoped he would do it again.

  He busied himself at his console. I didn’t dare speak.

  “Why, sir?” Robert Boland appealed for understanding. “Why our own mates?”

  “There’s no other way.”

  “But—”

  “Be silent, Cadet Boland.”

  Keene’s voice in the speakers, his voice four minutes old. “Fuser Two reporting. My God, that’s a lot of fish, sir! More than I’ve ever seen. More than maybe you’ve seen, even at Hope Nation. They’re Fusing in on all sides. I’m trying to get around the main mass ...

  “Potemkin to Acting FleetOpsCinc Seafort. We and Hibernia engaged a mass offish trying to drop a rock over the Atlantic. A whole bunch of them suddenly Fused away. I don’t know whether it was our attack that—”

  Keene. “Over a hundred of them now! They see me. They keep trying to—Holy God, what a blast!” The middy’s voice trembled with excitement. “Sir, one of them Fused into another! It knocked out visuals right off the screen! If we’d been any closer—get away from me, you son of a bitch!”

  Minutes inched past. Boland stared at his screen. Jerence lay slumped in his seat, drained.

  “Too many for us! I’m discontinuing—God, it’ll be four minutes before you—sir, I can’t hold that long! I’m—THEY’RE GOING AWAY! Oh, blessed God!”

  Eight had done its work.

  “Mr. Boland, try again to reach Fuser Eight.” It was a pointless order; even if the fish hadn’t destroyed the frail Fuser, her radio had little chance of penetrating the solar haze.

  After a moment of static I asked, “Who’s aboard her?”

  Tolliver found his voice. “Cadet Jacques Theroux. Cadet Vasily Karnyenkov. Cadet Sera Thau. Cadet Kathryn Janes.”

  I’m sorry, Jacques. And all of you. You’ll never know, but you saved Mr. Keene. I need his skills more than yours. “Pray for them.” I cannot. It would be blasphemy. It was Boland who answered. “Aye aye, sir.”

  Like an obscene parody of God, I chose who was to live and die.

  I had Fuser Seven entice the fish. After a time, I ordered them passed along to Four.

  “Captain, I have one question.” Tolliver’s voice was formal.

  I was grateful that he acknowledged my existence. “Yes, of course.”

  “You’re sending cadets to their deaths. How do you know it’s working?”

  “Working?”

  “That the fish are dying.”

  “They must be.” I struggled with the monstrous concept that I’d murdered my cadets for naught.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “But—” It had to be so
. “Even if fish can survive ten thousand degrees, Fusion follows the laws of physics. The fish are caught just like a ship.”

  “We don’t know that either. They—”

  “Captain, permission to discontinue test!” Anton Thayer, in Four, his voice a fearful shout.

  “Fuser One, execute!” It would take six minutes for my order to wing inward. I spun the dial. “Mr. Thayer, you must test for six minutes before you shut down. Do your best to evade.”

  Tolliver persisted. “Before you kill any more of us, how can you be sure the fish follow the last call?”

  I thrust away the argument. “We’re caterwauling. They have to follow. Once they’re caught—”

  “We have instincts, so must they. How could they survive without knowing not to Fuse near a star?”

  “Leave me alone!” He was unfair; how could I know such things? I stalked out, paused at the bridge, turned instead to the rear corridor and the engine room.

  “Everything all right, Mr. Tenere?”

  Adam looked up from his console. “Yes, sir.” Behind him, Cadet Rene Salette anxiously watched her gauges.

  I turned to go.

  He blurted, “Please, sir—I mean, could you—” He pounded his leg with clenched fist, turned red. A deep breath. “Sir, please, what’s happening?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You too, Mr. Tenere?”

  “I’m sorry!”

  I relented. The usual discipline didn’t apply. Perhaps it never does. “We’re passing the fish along a great conga line from here to the Sun.”

  “What happens when they get near the Sun?”

  “They die.”

  The boy’s face lit with hope. “It’s that easy? We can really beat them?”

  I retreated to the hatch. “That easy,” I said.

  Robert Boland raced out of the comm room. “Sir, Mr. Tolliver’s compliments, and would you—

  “Belay that.” I didn’t care anymore.

  “We heard from Ms. Ekrit in One. She says she has fish, they’re endangering her ship and she’s going to discontinue testing unless you answer.”

  Cursing, I ran to the comm room. “Tolliver, tell her she’ll be hanged if she disobeys in the face of the enemy. She may discontinue in exactly”—I checked my watch—“four minutes. Not before.”