Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 5

  “Miss Chong says they’re not accustomed to plumbing.”

  “Get Dr. Chong! Right now!”

  A few moments later the social worker faced me, hands on hips. “What did you expect?” she demanded. “Civilized graces? These joes were born on the streets and lived there all their lives! Most have never seen a building with working plumbing. Sure, we’ve shown them how, but habits don’t change overnight!”

  “You expect me to tolerate using the corridors as toilets?”

  “No.” Her tone was reasonable. “I’m working on it, as I’m working on everything else. We knew there’d be problems when we shipped these joeys, and so there are.”

  Her calm helped restore my own. “I know you’re doing your best, but—look, Miss Chong. We have to live together sixteen months before we reach Hope Nation. They’re disruptive, these charges of yours. Get control of them!”

  “How?” she asked simply. I had no ready answer. “There are forty-two of them,” she said. “I can’t be everywhere at once. Give me time.”

  “All right.” I was grudging. “I’ll be patient. But not about this. If they foul my corridors again they’ll wish they hadn’t!”

  I thought about ordering a guard posted in the Level 2 corridor, but decided against it. A Naval vessel was a civilized environment; passengers weren’t prisoners to be watched every moment.

  During the next days Amanda began irregular contractions. I sat in the white infirmary cubicle while Dr. Bros examined her. “I’m almost as excited as you,” he said. “How many births do you think we get on an interstellar cruise?” Not many, of course. The crew and officers—except for the Captain—routinely lined up each month for their sterility shots. Married passengers occasionally bore offspring during a long voyage. Of course, unmarried passengers either took sterility shots or ended their pregnancies; to do otherwise was unthinkable, except through registered host or clone centers.

  “Very soon now,” Dr. Bros promised. I took Amanda back to our cabin.

  As the days went by I continued to notice the pungent smell of disinfectant in the corridor. I conferred with the Chief Engineer; shortly afterward work parties strung wire mesh along the junction of bulkheads and deck. I gritted my teeth as a holorecorder was mounted and connected to Danny’s sensors on the bridge; it violated Naval tradition to spy on passengers and crew and I found it hateful, even if necessary.

  I had Danny monitor the corridor and switch on a carefully modulated current whenever a transient paused and appeared to adjust his clothing.

  The startled squawks of the transpops provided much amusement to the other passengers, especially the younger ones. One teener jeered, “Electropiss!” at a transient named Deke and earned a black eye for his troubles.

  The days passed slowly. One afternoon I played chess with Pilot Van Peer in his cabin. He was an enthusiastic player but a momentary carelessness cost him the game on the twenty-fourth move.

  I endured long, quiet watches on the bridge. After several days, Alexi, his confinement to quarters ended at last, stopped me outside the officers’ mess. “Can we talk privately, sir?”

  “Very well.” I followed him to his cabin, a four-meter cube with a tightly made gray bunk. All his belongings were neatly stowed in his duffel in the manner we had been taught in Academy.

  He faced me awkwardly. “Sir, I’m sorry about last week.”

  He anxiously checked my face. “I don’t just apologize, I mean I’m truly sorry. I was out of line. No lieutenant can mouth off to his Captain as I did. But I also—” He broke off and turned away. “I owe you more than that,” he said in a muffled voice. “For what you are to me. Please forgive me.”

  I felt vast relief; my friend was back. “Sit down, Alexi.” My tone was gentle.

  He perched on his bunk, eyes fastened on my face. I pulled a chair near. “I’ll repeat what I said on the bridge. You’re so anxious to harass him you lose all sense of proportion.”

  He let out a long breath. “The truth is, I don’t know what to think anymore, sir. He was a monster. You know what he did to us last cruise. I swore an oath that if I ever had the chance, I would hurt him. I have, and he deserves it. But ... I don’t feel better.”

  “You’ve hurt him a lot, Alexi. Isn’t it enough?”

  His hands clenched. “Sometimes I think so. Then I remember how often Derek and I were put over the barrel, thanks to his endless demerits. And his tone of voice in the wardroom, when I was helpless to defend myself. Sometimes I think you should have let me resign, back on Detour!”

  “I’m sorry you’re troubled.” It was all I could find to say.

  Our eyes met. “I’ll stop if you require me to, sir. I’ll obey orders.”

  “No.” I was certain it had to come from him. “Alexi, I hated him as much as you did. But he’s paid for his sins. He’s endured everything you’ve given him, even when we moved the barrel to your cabin last cruise. He’s still ready to do his duty as he understands it. Can’t you respect that?”

  He looked grim. “No, sir, I can’t. What do you think he’d do to Derek and Rafe if he were in control again?”

  “I don’t know. I’m more worried about what he’s doing to you.” It startled him. I sighed. “Anyway, I accept your apology. You’re back on the watch roster.”

  “Thank you.” He swallowed. “I’ll think about what you said, sir.”

  “Very well.” I went back to my cabin to prepare for watch.

  I’d left Amanda in the infirmary, promising to stay close—though I couldn’t get very far without a thrustersuit. Her contractions were more frequent and she wanted to be near Dr. Bros. But I myself was on the watch roster, I couldn’t relieve myself just to wait with her. The infirmary was but a quarter turn round the corridor and I could be there in a minute or less.

  Vax Holser and Midshipman Derek Carr shared my watch. The lieutenant was running navigation drills for Derek, whose computational skill increased daily. I called up a few of the problems on my own console but Derek solved them far faster than I. Once Derek raced through a calculation and made an error in the process. Vax quietly reproved him for inattention to detail; Derek flushed deep red. Thereafter he was consistently accurate.

  An excited young voice burst over the speaker. “Captain, Midshipman Treadwell reporting. There’s trouble down here!”

  I snatched the caller, fear pumping adrenaline through my system. “What kind of trouble? Where?” I glanced at my console; all readouts were green.

  “Level 2 corridor west, sir. A fight. Some of the transients!”

  Relief left me weak. “Bless it, Rafe, you’ve been taught how to report! Four demerits! I’ll be right down.” I dropped the caller. “Derek, remind him how to call the bridge in an emergency!”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Derek said, his chagrin evident. Though Philip Tyre was nominally in charge, in actuality Derek ran the wardroom.

  “Shall I come too, sir?” On his feet, Vax was ready to face the entire troop of transients single-handed.

  “No, I’ll handle it. Wait here.” I slapped the hatch shut behind me.

  From the ladder I could hear shouting below. On Level 2 I rounded the corridor bend and came upon a wild melee; some two dozen streeters grappled with youths from among the paying passengers. Midshipman Treadwell watched, at a loss. “Get the master-at-arms, Rafe!” Sensibly, the boy turned and ran the other direction, realizing he was safer going the long way around the circular corridor than trying to claw through the riot.

  I shoved two youngsters aside, stalked into the eye of the storm. “What’s going on here? You, get back!” I thrust a boy against the bulkhead, raised my voice another notch. “Nobody move! You, Mr. Attani! Let go of him! Now! Put your hands down!”

  A paralyzing blow to the small of my back slammed me into the bulkhead. A bull-necked youth in blue denim loomed, fists bunched. “Buddout! Notchour bidness! Buddout!”

  I wasn’t sure I could move. I took a tentative step. I breathed with difficulty,
but my muscles functioned. “All right.” I held out my hand. He stared at it without comprehension. I lunged forward, kicked him in the stomach with all my strength. He doubled over. My stiffened right hand arced in a chop to the back of his thick neck. He fell heavily to the deck and was still.

  I glared at the suddenly quiet throng. “Anyone else?” I took a step forward and they pressed back. One boy braver than the rest held his ground. Metal flashed as he lunged. My right hand at my side, I slapped him hard with my left. His hand shot to his face. I gripped his wrist, bent his arm behind his back.

  “Whachadoon, joeys? Whachadoon here!” Melissa Chong pushed a-hefty shoulder through the gaping bystanders. “Leavim lone! Leavim Cap’n lone!” She grabbed an offender by the hair, flung him to the side. Others made way. “Captain, what’s going on?”

  “Get your people against the inner bulkhead! You other boys, on the outer bulkhead. Move!” I was too enraged to say more. I heard the clatter of running footsteps. The master-at-arms and two mates appeared, truncheons ready.” Mr. Banatir, help separate these criminals. Watch this one, he’s got a knife.”

  His lips tight, Mr. Banatir pried the weapon from the wrist I clutched.

  A few moments later two bands of surly youths faced each other across the corridor. “All right,” I demanded. “What started it?”

  A babble of voices rose in reply. After a time we got it sorted out. Some transient joeys had attacked a group of passengers, and other teens had joined the fracas.

  I snarled, “Your people caused this riot.”

  Melissa Chong held her ground. “Yes, but didn’t you hear why? Tellaman, Annie! Tellaman boudit!”

  The scrawny youngster pointed an accusing finger. “Dey callinus trannies! Allatime callinus trannies!”

  “I don’t get it.” My tone was cautious.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Miss Chong. “Trannies. Your high-class passengers are calling my joeys names.”

  I turned to one of the better-dressed teens. “Is that true?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. It’s what they are!”

  “Your name?”

  “Chris Dakko.” His look was sullen.

  “Age?”

  “Seventeen.”

  I looked around, scowling. Several of the young passengers looked as if they wanted to be elsewhere. “Very well. Mr. Banatir, take charge of these hoodlums. Bring them to the bridge one at a time with their parents.” I rounded on the social worker. “Your time’s up, Miss Chong. Get your wild children under control! Who is that, lying on the deck?”

  “Eddie, Captain.”

  “Eddie what?”

  “On the street he was called Eddie Boss.”

  “Mr. Banatir, Eddie Boss goes to the brig. And let me see that weapon you took from the other joey.”

  I examined it, and my breath hissed. “Silverware? They steal tableware for weapons?”

  “You see, Captain? They’re anima—”

  “Speak when you’re spoken to, Dakko.” I rounded on Melissa Chong. “What next? Laser pistols? I won’t have it. All you joeys, back against the bulkhead. Mr. Banatir, search the lot of them. Brig anyone with a weapon.”

  Gregor Attani bristled. “Search them; it’s a good idea. You’ll probably find a lot more they stole. But we’re civilized. It’s a violation of—”

  “All of them, Mr. Banatir. If this civilized joey gives you any more lip, brig him too.”

  Our search uncovered two more knives and a fork, hidden in the transients’ clothing. Eddie Boss and the transpops who’d carried weapons were hauled to the brig.

  The groups dispersed, herded by Miss Chong and my crewmen. I caught Rafe’s eye. “Back to your duties, Mr. Treadwell!” I was still irritated at his sloppy report.

  “But—Aye aye, sir,” he said unhappily.

  I went directly to the infirmary. “Amanda’s doing fine,” Dr. Bros said as I came in.

  “But I’m not.” My voice was tight. “My right hand is broken.” I held my breath as he manipulated my wrist.

  “You’re right. What’d you hit it on, sir?”

  “A rock.” I let the doctor immobilize my wrist. He gave me calcium and ran a wave bone-growth stimulator back and forth over my hand for several minutes.

  “It’ll ache a bit but you’ll be all right after a few days.”

  “I know.” In the next room Amanda groaned. When Dr. Bros finished building the cast for my wrist I looked into her cubicle. “I can’t stay, hon,” I told her. “Problems. I’ll be back in time to greet the baby.”

  “I’ll go and you stay,” she grated.

  “Sorry.” I strode back to the bridge. The watch had turned; Pilot Van Peer and Philip Tyre were on duty. I sat in my chair, my hand throbbing. I was lucky I hadn’t been lynched. When I’d felt my wrist snap I knew I didn’t have a chance in a fight, so I’d brazened it out and gotten away with it.

  Shortly afterward Mr. Banatir escorted the first of the parents to the bridge. I read him and his youngster the riot act and dismissed them. The father, a metallurgist bound for Detour, seemed more chastened than his offspring.

  I was waiting for the next miscreant when the hatch opened. “Permission to enter bridge.” Rafe Treadwell, his voice subdued.

  “Granted.”

  Slowly he walked in, hands pressed to his sides, and came to attention. “Midshipman Treadwell reporting, sir.” Regs required him to identify himself.

  “Go on.” I was impatient.

  “Lieutenant Holser asks you to enter my discipline in the Log and to cancel ten demerits.” His eyes were liquid with misery.

  I realized what I’d done. “You had more than six, Rafe?” I asked gently.

  “Yessir,” he mumbled. “Seven.” The four I’d added had put him up to eleven, and Vax had caned him. Too bad, but I couldn’t undo it now.

  “Very well, dismissed.” The boy saluted, turned, and left.

  I’d lectured several passengers and their sons by the time Mrs. Attani appeared with Gregor. She protested immediately. “Captain Seafott, you have no right to hold Greg prisoner.”

  “I won’t tolerate hooligans on my ship. If your son doesn’t understand that, it’s your job to teach—”

  “All he did was defend himself!”

  “Mrs. Attani, see that he has no more incidents with the transients.”

  Her voice was tart. “Perhaps you’ll see that the transients leave decent people alone!” Philip Tyre’s jaw dropped; he’d never heard that tone used to a Captain. Nor had I.

  “Very well, lacking your assurance, I won’t release him. Mr. Banatir, take him to the brig to think it over for a week.”

  She gasped, “You wouldn’t!”

  “You’re mistaken, madam.”

  “Wait!” she cried as the master-at-arms grasped the young man’s arm. “Gregor won’t get into any more fights. You have my assurance.”

  “What about yours, Gregor?” In the background the caller chimed; Philip Tyre moved to answer it.

  “Yes, sir,” Gregor said smoothly. “If you’ll remember, I was one of those who was attacked. I’ll try not to be attacked again.”

  “If you think you can—”

  “Excuse me, sir.” Midshipman Tyre shifted anxiously from one foot to the other.

  “Later, Philip. Watch how you speak to me, Mr. Attani, or—”

  “Excuse me, sir, please!”

  I spun to Philip, ready to hurl a rebuke.

  “It’s the infirmary!”

  I stopped short. “Amanda?”

  “The Doctor says now!”

  “Pilot, take the watch! Philip, get these people off the bridge!” I ran.

  I held my newborn son, my cast making me awkward. The baby’s clear blue eyes stared into mine, piercing my soul. He was very quiet, very still. I knew he couldn’t see me; he couldn’t yet focus. But still I smiled at his serious gaze as I rocked gently side to side.

  When I passed through the gates of Academy at thirteen, there was a stunned moment
when I realized my life was no longer my own. Now was also such a moment.

  “Hello, Nate,” I said quietly. “I love you. Everything’s going to be all right.” His eyes closed briefly and opened again. A moment later they were shut and he was fast asleep. I slipped back into the cubicle and gently handed the baby to Amanda, radiant underneath her crisp white sheets.

  “Good work, hon,” I told her.

  “Not bad, first time out,” she agreed. She nestled the baby alongside her arm. A few moments later she too was asleep.

  For a week I walked around in a daze, unable to believe the miracle to which I’d contributed. When I passed, Rafe Treadwell stiffened anxiously at my unseeing scowl. Vax Holser repeated himself to me several times, as to a small child, before I heard him. He seemed to think it amusing. Our passengers were profuse with their congratulations as if I’d done something unusual. Even Mrs. Attani, vigilant in defense of her son, softened and visited my wife and child.

  With Amanda in the infirmary, I had our cabin to myself. For some reason it made me restless. I took to exploring the ship, hungering to memorize every inch of its confines. I wandered into the mess hall, where stewards were setting the tables for the evening meal, but my presence made them so self-conscious I left again. Past the lounge I came to the exercise room. On the spur of the moment I looked in, to a scene of strenuous activity.

  Philip Tyre, shirtless, was doing vigorous jumping jacks. On the mat Rafe Treadwell, in shorts and T-shirt, was performing sit-ups, breathless. Lieutenant Vax Holser worked the bars, muscles rippling his hairy arms and chest.

  Before the three could jump to attention I waved them back to their labors and sat at the bicycle. Uneasy at watching idly, I folded my jacket across the handlebars and took off my tie. I began to pedal.

  After a while Philip finished his jumping jacks and leaned against the bulkhead to catch his breath, his smooth chest gleaming with perspiration. After half a minute he began to do deep knee bends, his back stiff.

  Smiling, I asked Vax, “Are you working off demerits too?” Lieutenants were not subject to demerits, but his penchant for physical exercise was well known.

  “No, sir.” His tone was agreeable. “Just working.” He held himself above the parallel bars.