Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3) Read online

  William said nothing.

  I turned back to General Tho. I might as well make use of my visit. “Sir, have you heard much about the groundside base?”

  “In the Venturas? Never actually been there. I gather U.N. Command wanted to land a force capable of defending the planet itself, in case of invasion.” He shook his head. “Can’t see it, myself. Groundside could only be invaded if the fleet were destroyed, and then the aliens would have air superiority to wipe out a ground force.”

  “Lord God forbid.” I repressed a shudder.

  “And why put our forces halfway across the planet from Centraltown?” He grimaced. “See what happens when you try to run a war from a distance? They should have left it in local hands.”

  “What kind of invasion is the base designed to counter?”

  He sipped moodily at his drink. “They’re equipped with all sorts of antiviral synthesizers and pandemic vaccines. But mainly they’re a laser installation. Got a hell of a battery of cannon, if they finish setting it up. Could knock out just about anything.”

  “Lasers don’t seem to do much good,” I reflected. “The fish Fuse as soon as we get their range.”

  “Well, what else should we use?” he snorted. “Atomics?”

  Lord God forbid. General Tho skated on thin ice even joking about it. Not only the use of atomic weapons but any proposal to employ them carried a mandatory death penalty. Ever since the Last War, the national governments at home were united in enforcing the ban. A hundred forty years after the last horrid bomb lit Terran skies, frightful scars remained.

  We finished our drinks. When he glanced at his watch I knew it was time to go. We shook hands again; I went directly to the barracks and to bed.

  I slept surprisingly well. In the morning I downed powdered eggs and burnt toast while I sipped at my coffee. My breakfast was interrupted by a midshipman bringing me a chip faxed from Centraltown. With sudden anxiety I snapped open the case and slipped it into a holovid.

  “Your Lieutenant Tamarov is out of coma. Dazed but apparently lucid, according to initial reports. I thought you’d like to know immediately. Forbee.” Thank you, Lord God.

  “Any reply, sir?”

  I looked up. The boy was waiting. “No. Dismissed.” Gratefully he hurried away.

  My breakfast was delicious.

  After leaving the mess I couldn’t help myself; I checked with Naval HQ in case the duty lieutenant had forgotten to page me, but Admiral De Marnay hadn’t returned. I paced the sterile corridors until I remembered the lieutenant’s suggestion of the previous day. The comm room was halfway around the disk. On a large station, a good distance. I set out, my step jaunty. Alexi was healing.

  In the comm room the Navy techs gave me an informal salute but stayed at their places, as was proper when the Station was at a high degree of alert. I pulled up a chair. “Anything doing?”

  “No, sir. A few puters on tightbeam with each other, but nothing for us.” He hesitated. “Sir, you’re, ah, Captain Seafort?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think...” He fumbled in his pocket. “Sorry if I’m out of line, sir, but could I have your autograph?”

  I bridled. What was Naval discipline coming to? At my frown he quickly thrust the paper back into his jacket and bent to his console. “Sorry, sir.”

  I sighed. “Never mind. Give it here.” They had few enough diversions, on extended station duty. I scribbled my name. Shamefacedly, the others crowded round, scraps of paper materializing from pockets and consoles.

  “I saw you in the zines, sir. Did you know you made the cover of Newsworld?”

  Another tech gave the speaker a nudge in the ribs. “Of course he knows, you idiot.” I smiled politely. I hadn’t. We sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes.

  A console light flashed. The voice on the speaker sounded weary. “Station, we’re about to test the airlock again. Disregard signals, please.”

  “Very well, Portia.”

  “Portia’s here?” My heart beat faster.

  “Yes, sir. In the repair bay.”

  I stood. “I’d like to see her. Which way?”

  I followed their directions to the repair bays. Portia had been my first assigned command. I’d sailed with such high hopes, with my unborn son, my wife Amanda, with Vax Holser, with Alexi.

  I found the bay, cycled through the Station’s lock to Portia’s, and pressed the entry pad. A moment later the lock slid open and a young middy came quickly to attention. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “As you were,” I said gruffly. “I’m Captain Seafort. May I enter?”

  “Captain Akers isn’t aboard, sir. No one is, except my lieutenant, and he’s sleeping. And the Chief, doing repairs.”

  “I didn’t want Captain Akers.” I felt foolish. “Portia was my ship once. I just wanted to...” My voice trailed off. How could I explain the whim that had overtaken me, without seeming an idiot? “I wanted to see her again,” I said firmly. “Visit her bridge.”

  The boy swallowed, nervous in the presence of such exalted rank. Well, that was as it should be. A word from me could have him caned without a moment’s pause. “I don’t think they’d mind, sir, while we’re moored. The bridge is this way.”

  I suppressed a smile. “I know.”

  He colored. “Yes, of course, sir. Sorry. If you care to go ahead, I’ll inform the duty lieutenant.”

  “Very well.” He scurried off while I made my way to the bridge. My chest tightened as I passed my old cabin. Within its confines, tiny Nate had died. I could almost feel Amanda’s presence. I hurried past the first lieutenant’s cabin, once Vax Holser’s. I had spurned his help, at the cost of his friendship. Past the wardroom, where Philip Tyre had struggled manfully to redeem himself. The second lieutenant’s cabin, where Alexi savored revenge against Philip until its taste soured in his mouth. Oh, Alexi, what have we done to you?

  The bridge hatch was open; docked and under repair, Portia was virtually decommissioned.

  I glanced at the simulscreens that dominated the bridge. They were blank, of course. On the console, an airlock light blinked.

  I cleared my throat, suddenly shy. “Danny?” At one time the eager young puter had been my only confidant. No answer. “Puter, respond by voice, please.”

  A dull, machinelike voice said, “D 20471 responding. Please identify yourself.”

  “Captain Nicholas Seafort, U.N.N.S. Uh, reactivate conversational overlays.” How could they have locked him inside for so long?

  A warm contralto issued from the speaker. “Thank you, Captain. How may I help you?”

  I blinked. “Danny? You sound different.”

  “I’m Diane, sir. Ship’s puter.”

  Unthinking, I dropped into the Captain’s seat, no longer mine to occupy. “Where’s Danny?” I asked.

  Diane hesitated a microsecond. “I have all Danny’s memory and data banks, sir.”

  My hand tightened on the chair. “Where’s Danny?”

  An irate voice, in the corridor. “Middy, let anyone board without permission again and I’ll have you over the barrel so fast you’ll—”

  I turned to the hatch.

  “Lieutenant Tolliver repor—” We gaped in mutual astonishment.

  Edgar Tolliver. A year older than I, senior by one class. My persistent tormentor at Academy, where he’d been nominated cadet corporal and put in charge of our dormitory. Sour memories welled.

  His eyes flickered to my insignia. He came to attention.

  “As you were,” I grated. “What happened to Danny?”

  Tolliver said carefully, “Diane has been the puter since I’ve been aboard, sir. I understand Admiral Tremaine ordered complete powerdown after he took Portia.”

  “Why?” My voice was hoarse.

  He started to shrug, remembered he was in a Captain’s presence. “I believe he was making sure you hadn’t sabotaged the puter, sir.”

  I swung to the speaker. “Diane, what happened to Danny? His pers
onality?”

  “It’s gone, disassembled with powerdown.”

  “Is he retrievable?” But I already knew the answer.

  Her tone held a note of finality. “No, sir. He is not.”

  I sank back, dazed. My friend Danny, who’d pondered whether he had a soul. Who’d comforted me after the death of Amanda. Gone.

  Derek, Danny, Vax, all lost.

  I began to cry.

  From the hatch Tolliver watched impassively. I fought to control myself. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “It was a shock.”

  “Quite all right, sir.”

  “Thank you for having me aboard.” Humiliated, I stumbled off the bridge, drying my eyes as I fled down the corridor. Tolliver and the young midshipman saw me off at the airlock.

  I trudged back to the comm room. Was it blasphemy to pray for Danny’s soul? I decided that regardless of the risk, I would. If Lord God could listen to one such as I.

  At the comm room the tech waved me to my seat, his ear to his headphones. “Confirm, Freiheit, two sightings quadrant seventeen.”

  “What’s afoot?” I asked.

  The speaker crackled. “Station, Calumet en route to sector four, quadrant sixteen as per orders.”

  The tech’s voice shook with excitement. “Fish! Confirmed, no false alarm. Freiheit’s engaging, with Valencia coming on. The rest of the fleet’s moving into position.”

  I sat listening as the great ships reported their locations. Orders flowed and were instantly confirmed and obeyed. The speakers crackled with a flood of data.

  “Freiheit reporting. Two fish, alongside! We’re under attack. They’re launching those, uh, outriders. Permission to Fuse!” Captain Tenere sounded anxious, as well he might.

  De Marnay. “Where’s Valencia?”

  “Valencia, here, sir. Coordinates eighteen, one thirty-five, sixty-two. About half an hour from Freiheit.”

  “Very well, Freiheit. Set coordinates and Fuse to safety, minimum distance, then report immediately.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Engine Room, Fuse!” Tenere’s radio went dead.

  “Valencia reporting. Where do you want us, sir?”

  “Mr. Groves, wait for Freiheit to reappear. If she’s close enough, go to her on thrusters, else Fuse to her.”

  “I’ll need an hour to reach Fusion clearance, sir—Whoops!” The voice tightened. “Three more fish, two ahead, one alongside, matched velocities! Engaging!”

  “Kitty Hawk here. I’ve got three sightings.” Derghinski read his coordinates.

  Admiral De Marnay. “All ships, execute Maneuver B!”

  Fists knotted, I watched the screens while the armada moved ponderously, our ships expending prodigious amounts of propellant to reach their new stations, hours distant.

  “Freiheit Defused and reporting. New position quadrant eleven, grid coordinates eighteen, two oh three, fifteen.”

  “Very well, Mr. Tenere.”

  “Where do you want us to—Good Christ!”

  “Freiheit?”

  “Four, five, half a dozen fish! They’re all over us! We’re taking hits. Decompression. Sealing—”

  The caller went dead.

  “Valencia under fire. Two fish. We’re firing back. There goes one of them, by Christ. Spewing his guts!”

  My throat dry, I listened to snatches of disaster and success.

  Behind me, in the Station, an alarm wailed. “NOW HEAR THIS! Battle Stations! All off-duty personnel and all visitors disembark Orbit Station at once! Shuttles departing in three minutes!”

  I jumped to my feet and ran to Naval HQ. The outer office was empty; I opened the inner hatch and found myself in the plotting room. “Can I be of help?”

  A harried Captain shot me an annoyed look. “Stay out of the way. You’re off duty.”

  “Can I plot—”

  “You’d better get groundside, Mr., ah, Seafort. If we come under attack there’s nothing you can do here.”

  Reluctantly I said, “Aye aye, sir.” It wasn’t time to argue.

  I reached the shuttle bay just as the safety hatches began to close. On the shuttle I dropped into a seat, struggling to catch my breath.

  “Passengers, prepare for launch, please. Departure Control, Shuttle Charlie Fox four oh six ready to launch.”

  The reply was almost immediate. “Cleared to launch, Four oh six.”

  The huge shuttle bay hatch slid open. Gently at first, our thrusters drummed propellant against the launch bay’s protective shields, ejecting us from the Station. I peered through the porthole. Behind us, the bright-lit Station sailed placidly through empty space.

  A moment after flipabout our pilot kicked in the jet engines and we became a jet-powered aircraft. As the runway slid into view, the shuttle’s stubby wings shifted into VTOL mode. We bled off speed and dropped to the tarmac, the shuttle’s underbelly jets cushioning our fall.

  I scrambled out of my seat the moment the engines died. When the hatch opened I jumped out to dash across the field. I galloped across the Admiralty House yard and took the front steps two at a time.

  Lieutenant Eiferts looked up from his desk.

  I gasped, “You have a comm link with Orbit Station?”

  “Yes, sir, in the tactics office.”

  “What Captains are here now?”

  “None, sir, other than yourself.” For a moment I imagined a reproach.

  “Very well. I’m going up.” There was none to stop me. I hurried upstairs, bracing myself for an unpleasant encounter with Vax Holser.

  “Attention!” A voice rang out in the enclosed space.

  Lieutenants and midshipmen came out of their chairs. “As you were.” I saw with relief that Vax was not among them. I found an empty seat. “Brief me, someone.”

  A familiar face. “Lieutenant Anton, sir. We’re under attack. Hostiles, Fusing in at random intervals.”

  I already knew that. “Go on.”

  “The fleet’s deployed, sir, as per Maneuver B. You’re familiar with the plan, of course.”

  “No, you bloody—” I bit back the rest. It wasn’t his fault I so desperately wanted a ship. “I was on shoreside duty when the plan was issued.”

  “Yes, sir. The fleet was divided, lightly patrolling all sectors to maximize our chance of making contact. When the fish appeared, the Admiral ordered our ships to regroup into flotillas at preassigned locations within each sector. That’s Maneuver B. Any ship under attack automatically became the locus for the flotilla in that sector.”

  “Very well.”

  “We count about thirty fish in all, sir.”

  “But that’s—” Lord God. More than we’d ever seen before.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What are your standing orders, Lieutenant?”

  “The Admiral’s running the show from Vestra, sir. He communicates with Orbit Station by tightbeam. If he’d been here, it would be our office sending out fleet signals. While De Marnay’s in orbit, his commands are relayed from the Station. Our job is to record them and serve as a backup, should—should...” He faltered.

  “Yes?”

  “Should the Station be damaged, sir.”

  “Lord God grant that it is not.” I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the blips. “What else do we know, Lieutenant?”

  “Freiheit reported decompression. Kitty Hawk caught a transponder beam from her launch but hasn’t had time to home on it. Valencia’s snuffed two fish, and Hibernia’s taken out four.”

  “Good.”

  The speaker crackled. “This is Resolute. We’re engaging two fish. I—damn, make that three! Am firing.”

  The Admiral responded, “Very well, Resolute. Kitty Hawk is your closest support.”

  “Yes, sir. Derghinski, I’ll ring if I need you.” Gallows humor. I knew the impulse.

  “Belay that!” The Admiral.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Resolute’s Captain, chastened.

  “Kitty Hawk here. The bastards keep Fusing when we line up a shot.” Derghinski swore. “
Here come two more!”

  I stared at the screen. Was I watching a coordinated attack or a feeding frenzy? Perhaps I’d never know.

  “Admiral, Kitty Hawk reporting. We’ve taken a hit. Lost our portside thruster but otherwise undamaged. Got the fish.” Without port thrusters Derghinski’s maneuvering would be infinitely more complicated, and far slower.

  “Very well.”

  “Resolute, here. We’ve got four beasties Fused in. Two amidshi—Oh, Jesus, they’re—” Silence.

  Lord God, save our people.

  Lieutenant Anton pounded the console. “Where the hell are they coming from?” He glanced, saw my disapproval. “Sorry, sir.”

  I grunted. I too would like to know. More important, why did they come?

  De Marnay’s voice, calm. “Station, Vestra is under attack. Only one fish at present. Taking evasive—He’s let a tentacle fly. Think he’s going to miss.” A long pause. “If I fail to respond for ten minutes, assume I’m out of commission. Captain Vorhees is senior, on Electra. Station, do you acknowledge?”

  General Tho himself answered. I could sense the small, dark man pacing his office, fingers smoothing his neat little mustache. “Yes, Admiral, we do. It’s in your standing orders.”

  “Admiralty House, do you copy?”

  Lieutenant Anton keyed the caller. “Yes, sir.”

  “Who’s on duty?”

  “I am, sir: Anton. With Mr. Zalla and the techs. And three middies. Mr. Eiferts is below.”

  “You’re senior, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, yes, sir. But Captain Seafort’s with us.”

  “Seafort? What’s he—Put him on.”

  I scrambled for the caller. “Yes, sir?”

  “They know the drill, Seafort. Don’t interfere.”

  “Yes, sir.” My cheeks burned.

  He hesitated. “Still, it’s good you’re there. If anything happens to me, you’re in charge at Admiralty House until the chain of command is reestablished.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  He broke the connection.

  We sat through the interminable afternoon, long dull periods of inaction, punctuated by terse reports of fish sighted, ships engaged, positions reached.

  The fish kept coming.

  We’d lost Resolute and Freiheit. Kitty Hawk broke off and limped back to Orbit Station, emergency patches on her hull.