We don’t normally salute under such circumstances, but Waters came to attention and saluted Jefferson.
Jefferson returned the salute and said, “As you were, Lieutenant Waters.”
Waters said, “Sir, I have rarely—no, never—seen such courage and skill. Congratulations on a successful mission.”
Jefferson shook his head and said soberly, “They had their hands around Amundsen’s throat.” He produced the Saint Mary medal and said, “I’m returning this. Thanks for the loan.”
Waters said, “I hope it helped.”
Jefferson smiled slightly and nodded. “I know this much: It didn’t hurt.”
Waters glanced back at one of the hatches and said, “With your permission, we’ll get back to our duties. Talos says eventually more boarding craft will be here.”
This appeared to be the moment of truth. Jefferson’s reaction to this would perhaps signal his return to normalcy, or a continuation of his downward spiral.
Jefferson said, “Excellent, Lieutenant. Remember, we’ve narrowly averted a mutiny. The offending parties are still under lock and key, but that leaves the ship with few leaders, and I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”
Waters said, “Sir, come with us, and you can formulate strategy from the midshipmen’s ready-room. Talos says the boarding will be focused on the forward area of the ship. He says the midshipmen’s ready-room is the best place for planning.”
Jefferson said, “No, no, no, can’t do that. A captain’s place is on the bridge. I’ll be directing our defense from there.”
Waters glanced at me. It was apparent that the captain was not to be dissuaded.
“All right, Captain,” Waters said. “I’ll escort you back to the bridge.”
I didn’t know what, if anything, Waters was planning, but it didn’t matter.
Jefferson said, “Nonsense! What kind of a captain is it that can’t find his way back to his own bridge?”
Waters said, “Of course, Captain. That sounds fine.”
Jefferson said, “You’re both dismissed. Thank you for your support, both of you.”
We saluted Jefferson and headed toward the hatch nearest the ready-room, while Captain Jefferson moved toward the forward hatch.
I couldn’t let it go at that.
I turned from the others and jogged back in the direction Captain Jefferson was headed.
I caught up with him at the hatch, and I said, “Excuse me, Sir?”
Jefferson removed his hand from the hatch and looked at me. He seemed to be smiling slightly, and it looked to me as though he was welcoming the opportunity to speak further.
He said, “Yes, Midshipman Amundsen, what is it?”
I didn’t have anything planned that I could say. I just knew that it felt wrong to have Jefferson move out to the bridge, alone. I thought fast, though, and I said, “Sir, we’ve been lucky so far, as a crew. I suppose every soldier, or in our case, sailor, wants to be with his captain before the battle, during the battle, after the battle. I know we’re together here on the Valley Forge. But I mean more like Lennox, Nash, and I being guided by you on our attack a little while ago.”
“I understand that,” Jefferson said, thoughtfully, “but it’s time for us to separate.”
I was determined not to leave him until he was safely on the bridge. I wasn’t sure why. But I knew if I could accompany him there, I could at least observe him a little longer, and perhaps gain some understanding of what was going on with him, and what his plans might be.
I said, “Yes, soon, Captain, but now, some words of encouragement from you would be a help, before I attend to my duties.”
A great smile appeared on his face, and Jefferson said, “You’re a capable fighter, and you have the right spirit. Walk with me to the bridge.”
29
It Was Just Doggerel
Captain Jefferson and I moved through the corridors.
I experienced mixed emotions. I was walking inches from a captain who clearly—from what I could tell—had lost his mind, and whose improvident decisions had cost the lives of two of my friends, as well as eleven other members of the crew. Surely he was the one who should have died as a result of his foolhardy actions—and not Adler and Boyle, and the others.
But plainly he was willing to die, and he would have been happy to do so by himself in a lone effort to attack the enemy boarding craft. That was bravery. Or maybe it was simply more foolishness or insane behavior. I didn’t know.
And if the deaths of my friends were due to insanity, then perhaps it was wrong to blame Jefferson. Moreover, if Jefferson had indeed lost touch with reality, then Commander Rabinowitz should have relieved him of his command.
Of course, if she had done so, then the entire crew would have been branded as cowards, and probably would have been court-martialed. But maybe that would have been preferable to losing the ship and many lives.
These and a hundred other thoughts were plaguing me as we walked toward the bridge.
At last, Jefferson spoke. He said, “The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full. The moon lies fair upon the straits.”
As most sailors would, I recognized the words. I said, “Matthew Arnold.”
Jefferson said, “Indeed. I learned more from that poem than I did in four years at the Naval Academy and the thirty-five years following.”
We walked in silence, through the narrow, quiet corridors, which to me seemed already haunted by the spirits of my comrades who had been killed that day. It dawned on me that this—what I was going through—was simply life. Sometimes you’re dealt a bad hand, but you play it as well as you can.
We passed through several hatches, and we closed them behind us. It would have been easy to think that we were alone on the Valley Forge—but I knew that, even then, every other man and woman on board were checking and rechecking their shotguns, and wondering whether they would still be alive an hour from now.
The entrance to the bridge lay in front of us, and again quoting or paraphrasing the poet, Jefferson said, “Midshipman Amundsen, the world has no peace, and no help for pain. And we are swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, where ignorant armies clash by night.”
We entered the now-deserted bridge.
I said, “It’s a pessimistic poem.”
Jefferson said, “Yes. But for warriors, it sums up life. We so often see the darker side of man. Never mind those whose lives began outside of the solar system. If I don’t understand mankind, how can I fathom the workings of those from other planetary systems or different galaxies? They’ve killed so many of us. Yet we’ve killed many more of them.” He paused, then added, “And why do we have so few allies on our own planet?”
I said, “That’s a question I can’t answer.”
Jefferson nodded and said, “Now have a seat in the executive officer’s chair.”
I sat down in the chair that, perhaps two hours earlier, had been occupied by Commander Rabinowitz.
Jefferson stepped to the main viewing port and hit a switch. The port’s cover slid out of its position, and we had before us a magnificent view of the starry surroundings.
Jefferson said, “Inspiring, isn’t it?”
I said, “Well, outer space has been a muse to many poets.”
Jefferson raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a favorite?”
“A favorite poem?” I asked.
“Yes,” Jefferson said, “one inspired by the stars.”
I said, “I do. It’s titled ‘Space-Borne.’ Do you know it?”
Jefferson nodded and said, “I think I do.” He looked upward and said, “Inky blackness, space-borne seas . . . .” He hesitated, trying to call it to mind. “No, I can’t recall.”
In an effort to prompt him, I said, slowly, “Ten quintillion . . . .”
Jefferson smiled a beautiful smile and said, “Ah, yes, thank you.” He said:
“Inky blackness, space-borne seas,
Ten quintillion galaxies,
Sun, and
Moon, and lake, and land,
Are all within the Maker’s hand.
On Earth, in space, in wide void dim,
I am yet standing next to Him.”
I said, “Very nicely recited.”
“Do you believe in God, Amundsen?”
I said, “Yes, I do.”
Jefferson shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I could ever believe in God.”
I asked, “You don’t? Then why did you cross yourself earlier?”
Jefferson didn’t reply to my question. He said, “Why did God put us into this difficulty we’re now in?”
I said, “I don’t know. I can’t explain much of what God does. I don’t think I need to. He’s God.”
Jefferson said, “I know that poem is on a memorial at Annapolis, but whoever wrote it was a fool.”
I nodded. “That what my grandmother always says.”
Jefferson looked puzzled. “What do you mean by that?”
“My grandfather composed it.”
“Oh, apologies, Amundsen,” Jefferson said. “I had no idea.”
“Oh, that’s fine, no offense taken. She always said it was just doggerel.”
30
Twelve Light-Years From Earth
Jefferson moved nearer the viewing port. He stared into the distance, silently. Then he turned around and said, “How far are we from your home?”
“My home?”
“Yes, where are you from? Where do you want to return to? Of course, wherever it is on Earth, we’re about the same distance from it. But I’m curious.”
I said, “I was born in Santa Monica.”
“California. A beautiful state. How far are we from there?”
I said, “Close to twelve light-years at the moment.”
Jefferson again turned his back at an angle to me and stared into the vastness of space. “That distance can’t really be comprehended, can it?”
“No,” I said, “it can’t.”
Talos came onto 1MC (the ship-wide channel) and said, “Five enemy boarding ships and twenty enemy fighters, eighteen minutes out at current speed.”
We were nearing the culmination of the day’s activities. For good or ill, it would all be over soon. This was not the way I had ever pictured my final moments alive—discussing trivial matters with a crazed captain.
I said, “Time is short, Captain, so with your permission I’ll rejoin the others.”
Jefferson shook his head. “Eighteen minutes are a lifetime. The fighters are only there to protect the boarding ships. They aren’t a real threat. They won’t launch missiles at the Valley Forge, because at this point they want to avoid damaging our ship any more than necessary. They want to take the ship whole, and along with it an FTL drive that we don’t even possess. Remember what Arnold said: Ignorant armies clash by night.”
At that, Jefferson laughed softly. I think he saw that the human race hadn’t really learned anything since Arnold’s time.
“And after the boarding ships attach,” Jefferson said, “it will take them at least five minutes to penetrate the hull. And that’s if everything goes smoothly. And nothing ever does.”
I said, “True enough.”
Jefferson grew thoughtful. He said, “I wonder why they chose this particular location for this training mission. Why twelve light-years from Earth? If the Academy wants to train its midshipmen, why couldn’t they do that a half-million miles from Earth, instead? The experience is the same. Space is the same here and near the planet Earth, right?”
Now Jefferson was beginning to talk my language. Why twelve light-years, indeed?
And the way Jefferson expressed it, it seemed that there was only one explanation—the very reason that I had been toying with. Specifically, we were pawns in a broader Navy program. It all fit. The Valley Forge was an obsolescent ship. We had no faster-than-light capability. We had been supplied with a mere sixteen Banshees, several of which didn’t function. We were twelve light-years from our planet, and there was no evident reason for that.
Something didn’t fit. Something was wrong.
Was Captain Jefferson’s weird behavior a component in a broader Navy scheme? If so, that would imply that something had been done, by someone, to bring about this mental state in the captain.
Was this man even Captain Jefferson in the first place? Maybe he was Jefferson’s insane twin. Or maybe he was an android or a cyborg, or perhaps an evil clone. Had someone done away with the real Captain Jefferson? As weird as these ideas were, they actually seemed plausible to me.
If my premise was that his strange mental state did not represent the authentic mental state of Captain Jefferson, then what could be its cause? The ones I had outlined in my mind seemed far-fetched, if not flatly incredible.
And then I came up with solutions that seemed more likely. Pharmaceuticals. An alien infection. Who knows what the real explanation might be? But whether I was right, or whether I was completely wrong, it seemed possible that it was something like that.
I didn’t have any reasonable way of validating these theories. I couldn’t say to Jefferson, Uh, Captain, you’ve been acting insane lately. Would you mind submitting to a blood test to see whether some alien organism has attacked you?
Besides, at that moment I wasn’t at all sure what would be achieved by that.
Jefferson said, “Did you hear me?”
I said, “I apologize, Captain Jefferson. Yes, indeed, I did hear you. But your question started my brain on a whole sequence of thoughts, puzzling thoughts. In response to your statement, yes, space is the same here, twelve light-years away, as it is, say, two or three light-seconds from Earth—at least, it’s the same for our purposes. We could be the same distance from Earth that the Moon is, and experience the same training. Perhaps better training, dealing with more-complex orbital mechanics.”
“Precisely,” Jefferson said. “And if we were near the Moon or even Mars, we could at least serve in a support role for our ships that are assigned to Moon or Mars protection. We’re just one small ship, but, you know, sometimes one man with a paddle, in a little coracle, can save the day.”
“Right,” I said. “For want of a nail, a kingdom was lost, as they say. Just one little horseshoe nail could have turned defeat into victory.”
Jefferson nodded and said, contemplatively, “One little horseshoe nail.”
31
Momentary Lucidity
Even though Jefferson seemed to be jumping from subject to subject, there was a lucidity about him, and about the things he was saying, that told me he was different now, at least for the moment.
Jefferson sat down in the captain’s chair. He began rapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. Then he patted his head and said to me, “I don’t think decompression is a worry yet. Maybe in a little while.” He gestured toward me and said, “Get your helmet on as soon as you’re back with the others.”
I nodded. “Will do, Captain.” At this point I was glad that I had stayed with Jefferson. Even though he was still acting rather weird, I figured that sometime I would look into my suspicions that someone evil was behind Jefferson’s departure from his former self.
Jefferson said, “Without your helmet, you look awfully young.”
I said, “I’m nearly twenty-one.”
“Still,” Jefferson said, “too young to go out and die.”
I shrugged. “What must be, must be, I suppose.”
Jefferson said, “But I picture you, some years from now, commanding your own warship, one like the Valley Forge, perhaps, or even bigger.”
“Sounds good, but I expect to enter the Marines on graduation.”
Jefferson smiled and said, “How can the Navy survive, if the Marines keep siphoning off our best people?”
I said, “I’m flattered.”
“Nonsense,” Jefferson said. “Can’t you see that you’re different from the others?”
“Different?” I asked.
Jefferson coughed out a dismissive laugh. “Yo
u don’t see it. The truly gifted ones never do. They’re full of self-criticism. They see too much good in others. They’re too self-sacrificial. And by the way, if you don’t watch out with all your volunteering, you’re not going to survive—stay alive—more than two or three years. Life isn’t as good as you think it is.” He paused, then added, “And I suppose it’s not as bad as I think it is.”
I now felt I had done my bit. Jefferson was all squared away. And I had received more than my daily allotment of undeserved adulation, with a little counseling thrown in.
Almost as though he had read my mind, Jefferson said, “I think it’s time for me to get back to my monitors. You know, I’m handling everything by myself, now that the other bridge officers are confined. There are a few other officers on board who are still loyal to their captain—you and Lennox and Nash, among them, and Waters and his people—but they now have specific duties that they need to attend to. But I think I’m up to the challenges of the bridge.”
I said, “All right, then. Sounds good. I’d better—”
Jefferson interrupted, asking, “What’s your favorite novel?”
I thought, Great, now what? I said, “I don’t know. Maybe A Tale of Two Cities. I’m reading that now.”
Jefferson said, “Ah, yes. Sydney Carton. ‘A far, far better rest that I go to.’ My own favorite is Don Quixote. That book contains everything you need to know about how to be a great captain. Of course, Quixote was insane, but that’s part of the magic of that book.”
Quixote was indeed insane, though it appeared to me that Jefferson’s comment was the pot calling the kettle black.
Jefferson continued, saying, “Quixote’s main problem was in thinking that the windmills were giants. You see, he couldn’t tell who his real enemies were.”
I said, “I suppose not.” But I wasn’t sure exactly how much discernment Jefferson himself had, since he had mistaken the Kerleegan warships for creampuffs.
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