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  Challenger’s Hope

  The Seafort Saga, Book Two

  David Feintuch

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF DAVID FEINTUCH

  THE SEAFORT SAGA

  “A delightful book, intelligent and carefully written. Discerning SF readers will devour it and wait impatiently for its other volumes to appear. Feintuch’s book, depicting a stellar navy of exacting brutality and devotion to duty, possesses much the same flavor as C. S. Forester’s Hornblower novels. Hornblower fans will probably toast Feintuch in their wardrooms.”—The Washington Post Book World on Midshipman’s Hope

  “Science fiction fans who love exciting action and adventure shouldn’t miss [it].”—Lansing State Journal

  “An excellent entertainment.”—Analog Science Fiction and Fact

  “Wonderful reading and nonstop enjoyment.”—Raymond E. Feist, author of the Riftwar Cycle

  “An excellent job of transferring Hornblower to interstellar space. Plot, characters, and action make this a thoroughly enjoyable read.”—David Drake, author of the Hammer’s Slammers series

  THE RODRIGO OF CALEDON SERIES

  “This complex, unconventional fantasy is a strong recommendation for Feintuch’s skill as a novelist. Readers who may have let a distaste for military SF prevent them from checking out Feintuch’s work should reconsider; this is an interesting writer who isn’t afraid to take risks.”—Asimov’s Science Fiction

  “Popular SF author Feintuch (The Seafort Saga) makes his fantasy debut with this adept tale of sword and sorcery . . . Compelling and charged with plenty of action.”—Publishers Weekly

  DEDICATION

  To Tony Straseske and Marshall Spencer, who helped me through, to Ragtime Rick of Toledo, Ohio, at whose corner booth an author often taps the keys of his laptop while the ragtime soars, and of course, to Jettie, who makes it worthwhile.

  Ardath Mayhar, C.J. Cherryh and Roger MacBride Allen each contributed invaluable wisdom and wit while the author struggled with this work. No thanks can possibly be enough.

  Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Part II

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part III

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  CHALLENGER’S HOPE

  BEING THE SECOND VOYAGE of Nicholas Seafort, U.N.N.S., in the year of our Lord 2197

  PART I

  November, in the year of our Lord 2197

  1

  “CARRY ON!” GEOFFREY Tremaine strutted to his place at the head of the Admiralty conference table. Scowling, he set down his sheaf of notes and flicked invisible dust from his gold braid. As the assembled officers stood easy, I tugged at my jacket, made sure my tie was straight.

  While the Admiral settled himself, we took our seats. Each of the eleven men and three women at this briefing in the Naval warren of down-under Lunapolis captained a ship in the UNNS squadron ready to sail to Hope Nation, sixty-nine light years distant. The Admiral’s sloop, Portia, fitted with the newest L-Model fusion drive, was docked aloft at Earthport Station. So was my own sloop, Challenger, though I hadn’t yet boarded her.

  Tremaine’s cold eye roved the table. “So,” he said finally, as if disappointed. “My command is gathered together at last.” Short, florid, he seemed on the edge of rage.

  I glanced to either side. Length-of-service medals on Captain Hall’s dress jacket indicated twenty-four years’ service; Captain Derghinski, on my right, had twenty-two. Each of them had been a Naval officer longer than I’d lived. Challenger was my first assigned command. I was, I knew, the youngest Captain in the entire U.N. Navy.

  “We sail tomorrow, gentlemen. As your written orders indicate, we’ll Defuse seven times to provide the most accurate navigation checks possible.”

  Again I wondered why he wanted us to waste time and propellant with so many jumps, but as the most junior present, I kept my opinion to myself.

  A Fusion drive was accurate to within six percent—whoops, no longer. Within one percent of the distance traveled. That change was astonishing; during my long cruise to Hope Nation, vastly improved control baffles had been devised and Admiralty was retrofitting them on ships as they returned to Home System.

  Navigation wasn’t my strong point, and even the refresher course they’d made me attend left me a touch shaky on the mechanics of Fusion. Thankfully, the ship’s puter and our Pilot would carry out most of the calculations, though I’d confirm them myself no matter how long it took.

  Theoretically we could now Fuse to within three light months of Hope Nation, and follow with a short corrective jump. For greater precision, it was customary to make smaller jumps instead of one long one. We might normally expect to Defuse for nav checks twice during the sixty-nine-light-year voyage to Hope Nation. Seven times was absurd.

  “I’ll sail on Challenger,” Tremaine said.

  My jaw dropped. Could I have heard aright? True, Challenger was somewhat larger than Portia—the Admiral’s flagship was one of the smallest vessels in our fleet—and I could arrange suitable accommodations, but—the Admiral himself? On my ship?

  Tremaine glared, as if reading my thoughts. “With Captain Hasselbrad.”

  “What?” I heard my incredulous voice, as from a distance.

  “I’m moving my flag. Naturally, I’ll want a Captain with more experience. Seafort, you’ll be taking Portia. They’ll cut your new orders this afternoon. Pick them up from Ops.”

  “But—” I swallowed. “Aye aye, sir.”

  While he glanced through his papers my head spun with unasked questions. Challenger, the ship whose specs I’d studied until my eyes blurred, was no longer mine. All I knew about Portia was that she was a two-decker, tiny by comparison. And what of my crew? I’d had Alexi and Derek Carr assigned as my junior officers. And Vax Holser. They’d all be lost to me. How could I cope with the demands of an unfamiliar bridge without their dogged support?

  Tremaine tapped his notes. “Portia and Freiheit will remain at each station until the rest of the fleet has Fused. Their L-Model drives will allow them to arrive first at the next rendezvous, to clear any, er, encroachment.”

  So that was it. The only, er, encroachment we might encounter was the bizarre alien creature I’d come upon during Hibernia’s voyage to Hope Nation, after I’d been catapulted from midshipman to Captain upon the death of Hibernia’s seasoned officers. The skirmish with the fish still brought nightmares, which my wife Amanda gently soothed away in the solitude of our cabin.

  Lord God! Amanda had gone ahead to settle on Challenger while I struggled through Admiralty’s refresher courses and my briefings. She’d be unpacking in our cabin—now the Admiral’s. The sudden change of vessels would infuriate her—and I couldn’t blame her.

  I studied Tremaine glumly. Apparently he considered Portia expendable, so long as we protected his better-armed flagship. The fleet would Fuse and Defuse seven times to make sure my sloop and Freiheit were always in t
he lead to intercept a hostile force.

  A gray-haired officer across the table intervened. “What will be our posture, sir, in case of unexpected contact?”

  I grinned sourly at Captain Stahl’s choice of words. Like most Naval officers, he found it difficult to concede that we’d really stumbled onto hostile aliens. At times I had trouble believing it myself, and I was the one who found them. After all, in two hundred years of exploring, man had discovered no animal life other than the primitive boneless fish of Zeta Psi. Thank Lord God our puter Darla recorded our contact. Without her playbacks and the few other eyewitnesses from Hibernia’s bridge, I’d be confined to a schizo ward for hormone rebalancing.

  “Contact is highly unlikely.” Admiral Tremaine paused, shot me an irritable glance. “However, you must not undertake threatening maneuvers without absolute proof of the hostile intent of the other party.”

  I blurted, “Absolute proof will likely result in the destruction of your ship.” Unwise, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  The Admiral half-rose from his seat, his face red. “Flippancy and insubordination are what I’d expect from you, Seafort!”

  “I wasn’t flippant, sir.” My tone was meek. “As far as we saw, the aliens don’t communicate by radio contact or signals. The first sign of hostility could be their acid eating through our hull. It’s what took out Telstar, and—”

  “Admiralty chose to give you a ship, Seafort.” Vinegar was in Tremaine’s tone. “I wouldn’t have. Frankly, I doubt your whole report; puter disks can be faked. I don’t know if you saw anything out there, but your report conveniently diverted attention from Captain Haag’s death.”

  I gaped. Before the entire squadron, my new commanding officer had accused me of lying, of faking my report, perhaps even of murder. “I went through polygraph and drug testing before Admiralty offered me another ship.” My throat was tight. “Mr. Holser and the others saw—”

  He grunted. “Yes, for what that’s worth.” Before I could object he added, “At any rate, Seafort, your orders are to avoid initiating hostilities. Disobey and I’ll relieve you so fast your head will spin.” He turned away.

  I sat through the rest of the briefing in a daze, doing my best to pretend calm. It was, I thought ruefully, a fit end to my shore leave.

  When I’d brought Hibernia home with the startling news of the aliens, Admiralty hadn’t known what to do with me. After they reluctantly accepted my verified report, Admiral Brentley, head of Fleet Operations, personally intervened to reward me with another ship and the rank of Commander, though most of my classmates at Academy hadn’t yet made lieutenant.

  When the gruff Admiral had concluded with me, I’d brought Amanda to Cardiff for a gloomy introduction to Father; afterward we set out on our delayed honeymoon.

  I don’t know why we’d chosen New York, except that she didn’t know when she’d have another chance to see it. I’d been there and had no desire to return, but I held my peace for her sake.

  Neither of us had really enjoyed the tense, busy luxury of Upper New York. Uncomfortable with my new celebrity, my mind flitted between memories of my recent voyage and the anticipation of a new ship, while Amanda struggled with her advancing pregnancy.

  Waiting out the weeks of mandatory leave, I stared out of skytel windows while helibusses glided between sleek towers, high above decaying streets overrun by the ragged transpops, our ever-present urban homeless.

  Once, Amanda and I descended to ground level to take a Gray Line tour, locked behind thick protective steel bars on an armored bus that wended its way through the teeming city. Well before nightfall we were returned safely to our hotel aerie, to which supplies were brought by air to avoid the hostile and savage transpops below. I wondered why the Sec-Gen didn’t send in the Unies to wrest control from the streeter gangs. An entire city was crumbling beneath our eyes.

  In the evenings Amanda and I took helitaxis to plays, concerts and once, to my dismay, to an art show where I stared helplessly at holograms that dissolved in incomprehensible patterns. Around me, cognoscenti nodded with appreciation.

  When our leave was over, we’d flown back to Houston; I had to attend more dull briefings while Amanda took the shuttle to Earthport Station and Challenger.

  I recalled the irony of those incessant conferences. Our self-appointed experts in xenobiology offered guesses about the nature and intentions of the aliens I’d encountered, while glancing nervously to see if I suddenly recalled some detail that would contradict their theories.

  I shook myself back to the present; Admiral Tremaine’s briefing was finally ending. As we rose, Tremaine shook hands with several senior officers. I edged away, anxious to be gone, but his cold eye fixed me with a disapproving stare. He beckoned.

  I approached, waited until he’d finished with my seniors. Could I get him to reconsider taking my prized ship? “About Challenger, sir. I personally selected her officers. I was hoping to sail with—”

  “The ones who backed your tale about that fish? I imagine you would.” His tone was sharp. “You’ll have your way. You’ll find their orders with your own.”

  “To Portia?”

  “Of course. I won’t sail with children manning my bridge. This is my first squadron, and everything must be shipshape.

  “Hasselbrad knows whom he wants, and I trust his judgment.” The remainder of his thought was unspoken, but I blushed nonetheless. “Now, listen, Seafort.”

  I waited, hoping for a sign of conciliation.

  “I told Brentley I wanted no part of you. In fact, I made it clear it was insane to give you a ship. He insisted on my leaving you in command, but I’ll be damned if it will be a vessel of any importance. Each time we Fuse, take Portia to your station and stand guard. If those loony aliens you reported really exist, dispatch them before we arrive.”

  “But you said—Aye aye, sir.” How could I dispatch a fish without initiating hostilities?

  “That’s all.” Glowering, he took my salute.

  As I left the room I sighed. I was disconsolate, hungry, rocket-lagged, and too far from my wife.

  “Wait your turn!” A heavy-jowled woman, her face a mask of disapproval. I hesitated, blushing, but Lieutenant Alexi Tamarov pushed to the head of the line of impatient passengers at the Earthport Station ticket counter. Sheepishly I followed.

  “G Concourse?” he called.

  The attractive young lady looked up from the boarding passes thrust at her from all sides. “End of the corridor and downstairs, Lieutenant.” She turned back to her forms.

  “Thanks, ma’am!” Alexi ignored the civilians’ hostile stares. “You have to learn to be aggressive, sir,” he admonished. Only our years of service together on Hibernia permitted such a remark, notwithstanding his congenial tone.

  We threaded our way through the station’s main concourse. Harried families clutched children and baggage while magnetronic carts whizzed past with station staff. Roughened crewmen sprawled in seats, awaiting the arrival of their ships.

  Earthport Station, the largest orbiting station ever built, moved all Earth’s interstellar traffic and much of its interplanetary shipping too. Its many levels held bonded warehouses for the duty-free zones, dozens of shuttle bays, administrative offices, staff housing, waiting areas, rest rooms, restaurants and snack bars. News of the aliens had done little to slow the frantic pace of traffic.

  “I keep forgetting how big the place is.” Alexi hurried to keep pace. A year younger than I, at nineteen Alexi was no longer the handsome boy just out of Academy I’d met three years before. He had grown into an athletic, confident young man.

  “A lot of joeys moving out,” I said. Perhaps fewer folk would embark on the sixteen-month cruise to Hope Nation until the danger from the aliens had passed. I lengthened my stride. In the two days since Admiral Tremaine had taken my ship, I’d grown almost desperate to be done with the interminable briefings and to board my command, whatever she might be.

  “This way, sir. I remember now.”
Alexi diverted me to a staircase at one side of the corridor. I followed, grateful that he’d taken the trouble to meet my incoming shuttle, despite the inconvenience of resettling himself at short notice.

  Only a few sailors and civilian workers hurried along the lower corridor as we strode past successive airlock gates. We were now at G-12; Portia was moored at G-4, almost halfway around the rim of the station. I shouldered the heavy duffel Alexi had twice offered to carry.

  We slowed a bit, but kept a steady pace. Alexi offered a few remarks about ships outlined in the transplex portholes we passed, but subsided when I only grunted in reply.

  The truth was that I was nervous; never had I boarded my own ship to take command. My captaincy of Hibernia had begun in tragedy and confusion, light years into our cruise from Earth to Hope Nation. Now I was to command U.N.S. Portia, a vessel that shipped sixty passengers and a crew of thirty. Among them two lieutenants, three middies. Far smaller than Hibernia or Challenger, she was a significant ship in the United Nations Naval Service despite Admiral Tremaine’s disparaging remarks.

  I knew that Lieutenant Vax Holser and my three midshipmen had already transferred aboard, along with the Pilot and Chief Engineer I had never met. As to the crew belowdecks, I had no idea whom I might find. I wondered again why Vax had turned down his own command to sail with me, considering how badly I’d treated him during our years in Hibernia. I nonetheless felt more secure for his steady, dependable presence.

  As we reached G-4, I stopped to run my hands through my hair. When I tugged on the jacket of my dress whites, Alexi grinned. “It’s not funny,” I snapped. “I need to make a good impression.”

  “Right, sir.” He was still smiling. Alexi was as close a friend as I had, but at times I wondered if our long voyage would chafe. I bit back a cutting remark, knowing my own tension and not Alexi’s irrepressible good cheer had spawned it.

  “I’m ready.” I picked up my duffel. At the lock two armed marine sentries stood guard. I pulled out my papers.