Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1) Read online

  “Mr. Carr.” I had the right to call him by his first name—he was still a minor—but he’d see it as patronizing. The question rang in my mind: Was he officer material? Could a boy of his background handle the wardroom? I waited. He would bring the matter up when he was ready.

  “I suppose you’ve come about what I told Mr. Browning.”

  “That’s right.” Uninvited, I took a chair. After all, I was the Captain.

  “It was just an idea I had.” He sat too, on his bunk.

  “If you’re not serious, I’ll go.” I wouldn’t waste my time in a rich boy’s cabin, with all the problems I had yet to solve.

  “No, I was serious,” he said quickly. “I still am.”

  “Why would someone like you want to be a midshipman?” I asked. Perhaps I had been around Mrs. Donhauser too long; I was learning to cut to the heart of the matter.

  Derek examined his fingernails. “You remember I told you about my father’s will? The managers control our estate until I’m twenty-two.”

  “Yes?”

  “I know how those people operate. They’ll send me somewhere to school. Get me out of the way. Maybe even back to Earth, another seventeen months stuck on board a frazzing ship.”

  “Thanks.”

  He had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry how that sounded. Anyway, I don’t want to be helpless. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. And you said enlistment was for five years ...”

  “So?”

  “In five years I’d be almost twenty-two.” He made it sound as if it were reason enough to join up.

  “Have you had schooling, Mr. Carr?” It was necessary to ask; groundside, education was optional with parents.

  “Of course! I’m no peasant.”

  “Math?”

  “Some. Algebra, geometry, trig.”

  “Calculus?”

  “No. I could learn it, though.” He didn’t lack for self-confidence.

  When I had nothing more to say he inquired, “Do you think I should do it?”

  “No.” In our whole conversation he never called me “sir”, and only referred to me as “Captain” one time. He never used my name. Even aside from the matter of courtesy, he didn’t sound very motivated.

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, you’re rather old to start as a cadet.”

  “I’d just be wasting the next two years, anyway.”

  “Perhaps. I don’t think you have the temperament, Mr. Carr.”

  He flared. “Please explain.”

  I was tired and frustrated. “You have no manners. You expect the world handed to you on a spoon. You’ve never had any discipline and you couldn’t handle any. They’d eat you alive in the middies’ wardroom and spit out your bones.” I stood up. “Cadets get hazed, Mr. Carr. I was; we all were, and sometimes it’s brutal. One has to be able to take it. You can’t. Thank you for your interest.” I turned the hatch handle.

  “You have no idea what I can take,” he said coldly. “I should have known better than to talk to you.”

  “Good evening.” I stalked back to Level 1. As I began to cool I wondered if I had been too hard on him. I’d asked his reasons; he’d given them. I couldn’t expect him to join for love of the Service. He had the math, he was intelligent ...

  And he was an obnoxious snob. I could do better.

  I entered the bridge. Vax and Alexi both rose. I now had middies standing watch together, to avoid exhausting the Pilot and the Chief. I myself expected to be exhausted. I took pity on the dark smudges under Vax’s eyes. “Mr. Holser, you’re relieved. Get some sleep.”

  He didn’t argue with his good fortune. “Aye aye, sir.” He saluted and hurried out before I could change my mind.

  “Carry on, Alexi.”

  “I’ve got double watch tonight, sir. Sandy comes on at changeover.”

  “I know.” It was one of the reasons I was there. Vax and Alexi were one thing; Sandy and Alexi quite another. But we watch-standers had little to do; we were only present in case something went wrong. Most of the ship’s systems were automatic: hydroponics, recycling, power. With the fusion drive ignited we couldn’t navigate, and our only danger was boredom. I thumbed through the Log in silence. Mercifully, Alexi interrupted only a few times.

  Sandy reported for duty an hour later, in good spirits. I decided not to tell him he had a smudge of lipstick on his neck. Regrettably, Alexi told him for me, and the result was a fit of giggling between the two boys that even had me joining.

  “Back to duty,” I told them. They settled down. The silence of the night watch stretched longer and tighter. Suddenly Alexi choked back a snort of laughter, trying to hold in a watch full of accumulated nervous energy. It got Sandy started too, but he subsided quickly under my glare.

  Alexi brought himself under control. My tone was cold. “Mr. Tamarov, you’re standing watch. Check your instruments and save the skylarking for later.” I was red in the face when I ended, because my composure had started to slip about halfway through; if I hadn’t held on with all my might, my little speech would have been punctuated by explosive laughter. It was contagious. But I was also angry. The ghost of Captain Haag stalked the bridge. Giggling on watch? He’d have tossed us out the airlock.

  I went back to the Log; I’d been reading the entries from the start of our cruise. I had thumbed through to our docking at Ganymede when Alexi lost control once more. He covered his mouth, but a snort escaped him and his body shook.

  It was more than I could bear. “MR. TAMAROV!” He leaped to attention. “My compliments to the Chief Engineer, and would he please advise me how to deal with a midshipman who refuses to pay attention to his work. Go!”

  “Aye aye, sir!” His face a compound of embarrassment and dismay, Alexi saluted and hurried away.

  Sandy was busily running practice calculations on his screen.

  Twenty minutes later I heard a subdued voice. “Permission to enter bridge, sir.” Alexi waited in the corridor, hands held tightly to his sides. Tears glistened.

  “Granted.”

  He walked with care, coming to attention two paces from my seat. “Midshipman Tamarov reporting, sir.” It was almost a whisper. “The Chief Engineer’s respects, and if the Captain pleases, he should just send the midshipman to him whenever necessary.” His look was bewildered and miserable.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tamarov. You are relieved from watch.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.” He saluted, did an about-face, disappeared into the corridor. I writhed in shame. I had proved myself no better than Vax. Worse, I’d just made another enemy out of a friend. Alexi had meant no harm.

  Quietly I went to the hatch, peered outside. Alexi leaned against the bulkhead, sobbing, his hand pressed to his buttocks. I stepped back in. I had stolen his dignity; at least I could leave him his privacy. On the bridge, Sandy tapped diligently at his keyboard.

  Rather than risk a rebellion by Mr. Vishinsky, I let the master-at-arms send a sailor armed with a billy accompany me into the brig. The cell had no chair, no table, only Herney’s mattress on the deck. I had them bring me a seat. The sailor stood against the hatch, billy clasped in front of him.

  “Mr. Herney, I am Captain now.”

  “Yes, I know, sir, Mr. Seafort.” The prisoner, a scrawny, tired-looking man of fifty, stood at ease. His mop of dark brown hair covered a hairline that had receded far back.

  “I have a few questions about the, um, incident. How did it come about?”

  He seemed pathetically eager to please. “Mr. Tuak and the others, they were fighting. I weren’t involved in no drugs, honest. I din’ even know they had none.”

  If that was going to be his line there was no point listening. “Mr. Herney, hear me well. In a few days we’re going to cuff you, gag you, and hang you. Then we’ll push your corpse out the airlock.” He gagged. “I’m the only one who can stop it. This is the only time I’ll talk to you. Lie again and I’ll walk out.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain, sir,�
� he babbled. “Only the truth, I swear it!”

  “Start again.”

  “I knew about the goofjuice, a lot of us did. I’m sorry, Captain. Tuak, he was passing it around. I tried it, just once, honest! It cost too much, it weren’t worth it. I’m sorry, Captain, honest I am. After that I stayed out of their way. Weiznisci, he got tanked, and you know that stuff, there’s no talking to a man, he’s got some in him. He was happy as a quark, but he was beating the crap outta two joes, we all sorta jumped him. An’ that got Fraser going, he was on it too. Tuak figured to get ridda the stuff before the brass come down, only he couldn’t, there was too much goin’ on all at once.” He scratched himself, thought for a moment.

  “Mr. Terrill, he come in, told us to pull ’em apart, I just wanted to stay out of it. But I waded in like he said, and boom! I got one right in the side of the head, made me pretty mad. I din’ know who done me, I was just swingin’ my arms, you know? I din’ care what I was hittin’, I just tried ta stay ahead of how often I was gettin’ hit. Then the lights goes out, and I wake up, I’m all cuffed, they say I slugged Mr. Vish.”

  He started to whimper, tears running down his face. “I don’ know about that, Captain, sir. Maybe I did. I ain’t sayin’ I din’. But I din’ mean to. It was a mistake. It’s all some kinda mistake. It’s got to be!” He began to sob. “Please, Cap’n, make it be a mistake! Get me outta this, I won’t give no trouble, I promise, I—”

  I banged on the hatch. The voice had to stop. I’d give anything to have the voice stop.

  “Oh, please, sir. I won’t fight no more, I’m so scared! Or the juice, neither, if you just—”

  The hatch opened. I got out. I could hear his begging halfway down the corridor.

  Ricky Fuentes stood at attention waiting to be dismissed, my breakfast tray on the table beside him.

  “Good morning, Ricky.”

  “Good morning, Captain, sir!” I knew he frolicked. I knew he laughed. But in my cabin he was tighter than a coiled spring.

  “Ricardo, I’d like you to think about something.”

  “Yes, sir, Captain!” His eyes were locked on the bulkhead in front of him as he stood at rigid attention.

  I felt my temper fray. He was keyed tight, in no condition to listen. “Ricky, belay that. At ease. Act like the joey I used to know.”

  “Aye aye, sir!” His voice remained stiff.

  I roared, “By the Lord God, you will stop this bloody nonsense!” Ricky’s mouth dropped open. He began to tremble.

  “Stop standing at attention!” I screamed. “Behave yourself, boy!”

  His lip quivered. A lone tear glistened in his eye, then slowly rolled down his cheek. He sagged from attention, wiped it with his sleeve. “What did I do?” he asked, forlorn. “I didn’t want to make you mad, Captain!”

  “Good Lord, Ricky!” I pulled out a chair. “Here, sit.” I pushed him into it, waited while he fought for control. When I was sure he wouldn’t cry I said, more gently, “Now you can listen to me. Sit easy, the way you used to in my wardroom, and we’ll talk. All right?”

  “Yessir.” He watched me anxiously.

  “You saw my announcement about becoming a middy?”

  “Yessir!” He was taking no chances of setting me off again.

  “You know how it is in the wardroom. Would you like it there?”

  “Me, sir? I’m just a sailor.”

  “Would you like to be a cadet?”

  “You mean, and get to live in the wardroom, and become an officer?” He grappled with the possibility.

  “Yes.”

  “And have to shine Mr. Holser’s shoes, and stand the regs, and ice-cold showers, and the rest of the hazing?”

  Well, better he know now. “Yes, Ricky. That’s part of it.”

  “Zarky!”

  Good Lord, it actually appealed to him. Maybe it seemed adult, from his perspective. I wanted to stop him, for his own sake.

  “Do I have to say yes right now, Captain, sir, or can I think about it?”

  “You may think about it,” I told him.

  The ship’s boy jumped up and saluted. “Thank you, Captain! You know”—he offered a confidence—“I read the notice myself, really I did. I can read! I didn’t think you meant it for me too. Am I dismissed? Can I go tell my friends?”

  “Dismissed, Mr. Fuentes.” He would run to the purser or the chief petty officer, and ask them in his own way whether he should leave the companionship of belowdecks for the heady air of officers’ country. They would tell him to apply, not because we needed officers, but to see one of their own make it to the top.

  All was well on the bridge. I knew that; if not, I would have been called. I was scheduled for afternoon watch and would probably stay on for the evening, so if I wanted to see Amanda it had to be now.

  She was in her room reading a holovid, her hatch open. When I knocked on the bulkhead she snapped off her book, got up quickly, and came to the entryway. “Come in, Nicky.” She was the only person aboard who still called me that.

  We sat on the bunk. I told her what I had done to poor Alexi. She seemed indifferent. I told her how I encouraged little Ricky to apply, after first scaring the wits out of him. That brought a smile to her face, but she said little.

  After a while she got up and closed the hatch. Then she lay down on the bunk, pulling me down with her. We lay together. She was gentle and kind to me. Yet she seemed somehow abstracted, as if her mind were elsewhere. We made love, slowly, savoring the moments of intensity. When we were done she lay still, her eyes sometimes opening to look at my face, sometimes closing again.

  “What is it, hon?” I stroked her hair. She nestled in my arm.

  “I like you, Nicky.” She was silent a moment. “You’re gentle, and gallant, and kind to me. I enjoy being with you.”

  “Me too,” I said, but she stopped me.

  “I like having you as a lover. And as a friend. But—Nicky, I’m sorry. You have to know. If you kill those men, I’ll stop being your friend. We won’t be lovers or see each other ever again. I wanted you to make the right decision on your own, but it isn’t fair not to tell you what I’ll do.”

  “How can you—”

  She put her hand over my mouth. “It’s just that I may have misjudged you. I think you’re the sort of person who can’t do anything so barbaric. That’s why I like you. But if you can, I’m wrong about you, and it’s over between us.” She kissed my forehead. “I had to tell you.” She rested her head again in the crook of my arm.

  I could think of nothing to say. We lay there, sweetly unhappy, until I had to go on watch.

  I came onto the bridge, relieved Vax and the Pilot. Vax handed me a holovid chip.

  “The essay you ordered, sir.”

  I tossed it in the drawer. “Very good, Mr. Holser.” I looked him over. “Straighten your tie, before I put you on report.”

  He blanched. “Aye aye, sir!” He quickly straightened his tie, tucked his jacket down, glanced at his shoes. “Am I dismissed, sir?”

  “Yes.” I reached a sudden decision. “Meet me in the ship’s launch berth at midnight tonight.”

  “The launch—aye aye, sir!” He turned on his heel and left.

  This watch, I would stand alone; nobody would interrupt my thoughts. In the silence, I considered Tuak and Rogoff, our two other condemned souls. I couldn’t face another trip to the brig, but I had to talk to them. Amanda’s conviction that the executions would be barbaric troubled me; I suspected she was right.

  I paged Mr. Vishinsky. “Master-at-arms, escort Mr. Tuak to the bridge.”

  His voice came over the caller. “Aye aye, sir. Captain, may I bring along—”

  “No. Just Tuak.”

  There was a pause. “Aye aye, sir. Respectfully, for the Captain’s personal safety I protest—”

  “Protest overruled. Get him up here.” I thumbed off the caller.

  A few minutes later Tuak arrived, hands cuffed in front of him, his upper arm firmly in Mr. Vishi
nsky’s grip. He staggered as the master-at-arms propelled him forward.

  “Takeoff the cuffs.”

  It did not meet with Vishinsky’s approval, “Aye aye, sir.” His anger was barely concealed.

  “Wait outside.” I slapped the hatch closed behind the master. I turned to the seaman, who stood nervously rubbing his chafed wrists. “I’m considering whether to save your life,” I said. “Tell me what went on belowdecks. No lies.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Tuak swallowed. He looked drawn and haggard. He was tall and thin, of sallow complexion. His eyes shifted constantly, as if he consulted some inner voice.

  His story was sordid. He admitted hiding the goofjuice on board, but claimed two of his mates had smuggled the still onto the ship. That was foolish; under drugs he’d already confessed to bringing aboard and setting up the still, and he knew it. I ignored that. The main issue wasn’t the still.

  “What started the riot?”

  “Weiznisci started fighting, Captain. We was all just trying to stop him.”

  “The truth, Mr. Tuak.”

  “That’s the truth, Captain, sir.” He glanced up at my eyes. “I was going to stop making juice; we started the still just for a joke. We didn’t mean to make all that trouble. I had to keep doin’ it, they made me.” He checked my expression once more. “When Weiznisci got wild some of the joes panicked. They wanted to tear out the still right then and there, before they found it in an inspection.”

  “So you tried to stop them.”

  “Oh, no sir. I was helping. It was the others tried to stop them.” That was patently untrue.

  “Then Mr. Terrill came in.”

  “Yes, sir. He said to belay the fighting, but it was too wild, nobody was listening no more.”

  “So you held Mr. Terrill while Rogoff clubbed him.”

  “I didn’t! I was trying to help him. I held him up, kept him from falling.”

  “Come on, now. Mr. Terrill said you grabbed him around the neck to hold on tighter.”

  “No, sir. Oh, no, Captain. He’s mixed up, Mr. Terrill is. I saw him get slugged and I tried to keep him on his feet. That’s all.”

  By now he could probably pass a polygraph and drug test on his story; he’d repeated it so often he believed it. He babbled on, trying to convince me of his good intentions.