Boland, distraught at the death of his friend Adam Tenere that he’d done nothing to prevent, had resigned as Assemblyman to raise Adam’s troubled son Jared. It was five years before he reemerged into political life.
“Nicholas Seafort is a man who will not lie. A man who will not prevaricate. A man who hates falsehood. A man who does right, as he sees it, no matter what the cost.”
Alexi squeezed my arm. “I’m so proud of you! I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
I stared at my goblet, but the bridge of Helsinki had faded beyond recall.
Lord, why must it be so? Why cannot I go back, be again that earnest boy?
At the far left, SecGen Kahn looked fixedly at his plate.
Why am I here, Lord?
“... a man who is at once kind, resolute, brilliant, innovative, and a moral beacon for all mankind. I give you the Captain of Hibernia, Challenger, and Trafalgar, the recipient of this year’s Hugo Von Walthers Award, Secretary-General Nicholas Ewing Seafort!” Boland turned, led the thunderous applause.
Lord, take me back to boyhood. I’d beg on my knees, if it would sway Thee. Give me another chance.
“Sir, it’s time.”
Please. How could I have gone so wrong?
“They’re waiting!”
There was nothing but to go through with it. A few words of thanks, and it would be over. Slowly, reluctantly, I got to my feet. The thunder hadn’t abated. Across the hall, guests had risen, offering a standing ovation.
It was intolerable.
I reached the podium, leaned my cane against the stand. Smiling widely, eyes shining, Robbie Boland offered me his hand.
Waiting for the applause to subside, I scanned the hall. Arvin Rothstein was banished to the second row of tables, as I’d planned. He’d paid over a thousand Unies to participate. Lord God, he looked elegant in his black dinner apparel.
I raised both hands, waved the multitude to their seats. How many of the attendees did I know? Admiral Hoi, of course. Deputy SecGen Cisno Valera, with a table of his aides. Connie Histung, of Holoworld. Vince Canlo from Newsnet, so many others.
Slowly, the applause dwindled.
I squinted past the lights, past the banks of holocams that would send my words to the world.
In the front row, joeys were waving, as if to attract my attention.
Oh, no.
My son Philip and Jared Tenere grinned up at me, delighted at my shock.
No, Lord. Not this. I glanced back to Alexi. His mouth formed silent words. “Bravo, sir!”
The scrape of a thousand chairs. At last, the hall quieted.
Only a few words. Then it would be done.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you—”
“Midshipman Nicholas Seafort reporting, sir!” The eager young boy’s voice cracked. He stiffened to attention. The Captain of Helsinki turned piercing gray eyes upon him.
“—thank—” I faltered.
No.
I stood a long moment, staring at the podium.
In the hall, murmurs of unease.
I gripped the lectern, with knuckles turned white. At the front table, my son P.T. gazed upward, trusting and proud.
I raised my head. “—thank you for the honor you wish to confer.” I searched the audience, for a face that might understand.
“You would fete my moral leadership. Yet last winter I approved revision of the Charities Tax Act, benefiting the Von Walthers Foundation, among others. I knew that bestowal of this award was contemplated as a result. In what I can only describe as an act of moral negligence, I allowed my nomination to proceed.”
Gasps, from throughout the hall.
In the front row, Philip watched, his lips parted as if to protest. Jared’s hand slid across, protectively grasped his.
“Am I, overall, an evil man? I think not, yet I allowed political revenge to dictate the seating of this banquet. Mr. SecGen Kahn, you should have been seated more prominently, and would have been, had I not interfered. Mr. Rothstein, though you are a director of the Von Walthers Foundation, I had you removed from the dais for your opposition to the wheat tariff bill. I apologize to you both for my moral lapse.”
“Mr. SecGen, don’t!” Jerence Branstead’s hiss carried from the dais.
“Rumor has it that the Von Walthers Award has been politicized before. So be it. That is no excuse for my participating in a tawdry sham.”
Murmurs, that stilled to shocked silence.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “As I’ve sat here with an old shipmate, in the presence of my son of whom I’m immensely proud, and a fine boy who was once my cadet, I’ve been reminded of what once, decades past, I strove to become. It’s too late to be that person. But I can make a token effort to redeem myself. So, you see, if I have any pretense to moral decency, I cannot accept an award for moral leadership. I decline the honor you would do me tonight.”
I gazed serenely at the holocams. “Thank you for your intentions. May Lord God bless you all.”
Grasping my cane, I limped from the silent hall.
4
WE WERE GATHERED IN my luxurious Hilton suite. Spacious portholes overlooked UNS Galactic, and beyond it, the immense sphere of Earth.
Jerence Branstead slumped, head in hands.
Arlene made a place for herself on the arm of my settee. “Ah, Nicky. Will you ever change?”
I snorted. “Not likely.” Not at this late date.
“It’s a shame. Aside from your Puritan morals you’re a pretty decent joey.”
Scandalized, I glanced about. Though I respected her criticism, she rarely went at me in public. True, I thought of Branstead and Alexi almost as family, but ...
Alexi blew his nose.
I snapped, “For heaven’s—this isn’t a wake!”
“It might as well be,” said Branstead. “Politically.” His penetrating gray eyes settled on mine.
I waved it away. “It doesn’t matter.” The Patriarchs would put paid to my account in a very few days. But Jerence and Arlene didn’t know, and I didn’t care to tell them. There was no way I could criticize the Elder without disparaging the Church itself, and that I was loath to do. It would put me in conflict with Lord God Himself.
“It was such a fine moment, sir.” Alexi. “Why ruin it?”
“It’s not your concern.” I spoke before thinking. “Sorry, you deserve better.” Wearily, I leaned back, resting my head, wishing Philip had chosen to join our gathering, but he’d told Arlene he wanted to be alone, and disappeared from the auditorium. “I’ve become rather imperious of late. Surely you’ve all noticed. You should have stopped me.”
“We tried.” Branstead’s tone was wry.
“It’s as if I treat my office as a right. I get so impatient with the fools who block our progress.” I sighed, wishing I had words to explain. “When I first took office, the scars of the alien bombing were still raw.” Cities obliterated, the populace in shock that our brave conquest of the stars had sown such havoc.
“And then, my second Administration, after the Transpop Rebellion ...” New York had been in flames, and unrest had spread to Chicago, Detroit, London.
As a Naval officer, as a civilian, I’d been a war hero, then peacemaker. But as SecGen I’d labored to restore the damage, ease the world’s economic strains. To quell emotion, to keep us on the steady path to recovery. In the process I constantly traveled the globe, offering myself as solace to those overcome by incessant disaster. The Berlin spew, the New Orleans flood, the Kiev meltdown ... would it never cease?
No. It seemed a crowded, injured world took chances, too many of them, to restore its faltering economy. But I showed myself, exposing myself to fouled air, cholera-ravaged homeless, polluted waters, raging fires, doing what I could to galvanize the machinery of Government. Over and again I’d toured the cities of Earth, letting myself be seen, touched, heard, in contrast to my aloof predecessor, SecGen Kahn.
In foreign affairs, I rebuilt our relations with o
ur many colonies, disgruntled at abandonment in their moment of need when the remorseless fish were attacking so many outposts. I’d altered the exchange rate in their favor, to encourage their industries and promote trade.
And, throughout, I’d told truth, an unvarying policy that eventually earned the world’s begrudging trust.
And yet, I’d handled so many matters so poorly. “I suppose, as we age,” I said, “we all yearn to be young again, to have more life before us. But that’s not quite how I feel. What I really want is to go back and change whom I’ve become. But that’s impossible, and it drives me mad.”
“Someone tell him.” Alexi spoke to the wall, as if afraid to meet my eye. “If anyone should have pride in whom he’s become, it’s he.”
“I’m not proud of myself of late.”
“Bah. You never have been.”
“Those acts you call heroic—”
Jerence said, “You’re as wrong about yourself now as you ever were.”
“Oh, nonsense. I know I abused you as a child, and as for Trafalgar—”
“God damn it, you listen to me!” Branstead’s voice was hard. I gaped at his blasphemy, but he paid no heed. “Where would I be if not for you? Dead, or in a prison colony pining for goofjuice!” The horribly addictive drug had seized him as a boy, and he’d writhed in its clutches, until I’d encouraged his escape.
A fourteen-year-old joeykid swam before me, on the fastship Victoria. He put his hand for comfort in mine. “I swear on my immortal soul that I ... won’t ... ever use ... goofjuice again.” He was weeping. “It was so hard, Mr. Seafort. So hard!”
But he’d done it. And made a life to be proud of.
“And me.” Alexi’s voice was soft. “If not for you, Mr. Seafort, what would I be?”
“As you are now. Recovered from your troubles, a successful officer—”
“You taught me how to be an officer. Then you taught me again.”
“Alexi, I had little to do—”
His words were almost a whisper. “Don’t discredit what you were to me. And still are.”
I threw up my arms. “I don’t know what to say.”
Arlene tentatively raised a hand, like a joeykid at school. “That you’re wrong, and you’re sorry?”
Lord God, how do I deserve friends such as these?
I bowed my head.
An hour later, our company gone, Arlene settled across the room. She regarded me warily. “Nicky, what in God’s name is troubling you? No, don’t look away. It’s time we ...” She swallowed. “Tell me.”
“It’s ...” My heart pounded.
“Say it.”
“There’s a woman. I—we’ve been in love.”
For a moment her eyes closed, as if in some unbearable pain. Then, with resolve, “Is she beautiful?”
I studied her, wondering how much more she could be hurt. “Yes. Lord God, yes.”
A moan.
“Blue eyes, auburn hair ...”
Her tone was bitter. “You’ve known her long?”
I forced myself to meet her eyes. “Finding her was the miracle of my ...” My throat caught. “I abhor myself for not doing more for her. I’ve loved her since I was sixteen, and I still don’t know what I’d do without—”
“Oh, Nicky!” She flew across the carpet, threw herself into my arms.
I wrapped myself around her, breathing in her fragrance, exulting in the sturdy beat of her heart. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.” I could say no more. “So sorry.”
From the porthole of our launch, UNS Galactic was a disappointment. She was large, but not all that immense. Her lights beamed from her mooring a kilometer or so from Earthport Station. Actually, she wasn’t moored; she merely floated at rest relative to the Station.
Galactic was too vast to be accommodated at Earthport’s usual locks; she would block five bays at a time. The Station’s extension bay at which she and her sister ship would dock wasn’t completed yet. A minor inconvenience, all told.
The starship had four launches and two gigs, to carry passengers back and forth. Her middies must be beside themselves, striving to earn the boon of piloting between Station and ship. In fact, a gig was just setting off; its running lights glowed green and white. Utterly dwarfed by Galactic, it steered a course for a Station bay.
Alexi, Arlene, and I had boarded Galactic’s launch from one of the Naval locks. A night’s sleep hadn’t changed my mind that I’d acted appropriately at the Von Walthers banquet. A pity I hadn’t come to my senses earlier, and refused the nomination.
Some idiot had arranged for mediamen to record our jaunt from Earthport, and their shouted questions still echoed in my ears.
“Mr. SecGen, have you seen the polls?”
“How long did you plan—”
“Is this the start of your reelection camp—”
“Did you mean to set an example for the Assembly?”
The hiss of a sliding hatch had restored blessed silence.
We decelerated, as our pilot began his approach to Galactic’s launch bay. Off our starboard bow, the gig floated toward the Station.
I caught my breath. That wasn’t a gig, it was another launch, several times a gig’s size. That meant ...
Suddenly, I saw Galactic in perspective. If her launch looked like a gnat on a bison, she was truly gigantic. I pressed my forehead to the porthole, straining to take in her glory. At last, I leaned back, assimilating what I’d seen. Arlene squeezed my hand.
“What I’d give to have her,” said Alexi.
I nodded agreement. Any Captain would give his right arm for the posting; I wondered again what influence had swayed Admiralty in Stanger’s favor. Perhaps I should have taken a stronger role in the selection. Galactic was the Navy’s greatest vessel, the largest ever built. Only her sister ship Olympiad, still under construction, would be comparable.
As if reading my mind, Alexi said, “They could have built ten starships for the cost.”
I nodded.
“Well, no doubt she’ll satisfy the hotheads.” He turned to the porthole. “Sorry, shouldn’t meddle in politics.”
Almost, I let it go. “What are you saying, Alexi?”
“Surely you’ve heard the talk. The Navy’s mission of destiny. Lifeline to the colonies. Earth’s ungrateful children, that sort of rubbish.” His eyes roamed the distant hull. “Lord, she’s big.”
“How will Galactic—”
“Oh, just by being there. An unstated threat, should one be necessary.” He made a vague gesture.
“Is that sort of talk common?”
“Common enough. I didn’t mean to tell tales out of school.” A placating gesture. “It’s just ... well, we’ve grown so dependent on imports, it makes joeys nervous.” He smiled. “Captains on a long cruise have too much time to brood.”
I knew that was so.
“Look, sir, the launch bay hatches are open. The ship’s so massive you can barely see the bay.”
I joined him at the porthole. Behind us, Arlene watched quietly, her face without expression.
The pilot began braking maneuvers.
Soon our vessel inched into the launch bay. At last the capture latches clicked into place, and the huge outer hatch slid shut behind us. A short wait, while the bay was pressurized. Naturally, as on any ship, there was a lock between the bay and the working areas of the ship, but one didn’t want to herd passengers about in suits if it was avoidable, so the bay was normally kept aired.
We climbed down, cycled through the lock to the Level 3 corridor.
A voice roared, “Stand to!”
Twenty-two officers resplendent in dress whites stiffened to attention. At their head, Captain Stanger snapped an Academy salute. Despite myself, my heart quickened.
“Gentlemen, as you were.”
Stanger stepped forward smartly. “Welcome to Galactic, Mr. SecGen.”
“Thank you.” I glanced about. All circumference corridors had a curve, but Galactic’s was far le
ss pronounced than on any ship I’d known. Her disks were far wider, so that was to be expected, but it gave the ship a sense of grandeur and luxury I hadn’t expected.
Arlene’s eye flitted about. “Good Lord.” I understood her awe. The typical ship’s corridors were painted Naval gray, but here the corridor was richly detailed in wood tones, with an astonishing amount of intricately molded trim. Hatch surrounds were outlined in gold.
I looked down, scandalized. “Carpeting? On a corridor deck?” Corridors had riveted plates throughout. Always.
“We’re on Level 3, sir. Passenger country. Level 1 is more what you’re used to.”
I scuffed my feet on the obscenely soft material. After a moment I relaxed enough to grin at Arlene. “She’s something, isn’t she?” Almost, I didn’t regret the cost.
Alexi said, “She puts Hibernia to shame.”
“Hmpff.” Loyalty made me frown.
The officers seemed suspiciously young. My eye flitted among shoulder stripes and length of service pins. “Lord in heaven, how many middies do you berth?”
“Eleven, sir.”
“All in a wardroom?”
“Not exactly. We call it one, but it’s divvied into two compartments.”
The first middy would have his hands full, if Galactic was like any ship I’d ever known. I’d found it a trial to keep track of three middies. Ten subordinates would be ...
“Who’s first?”
“Mr. Speke, step forward.”
A lanky joey strode from among his fellows, saluted. “Midshipman Edwin Speke reporting, sir.”
I glanced at his service pins. “Six years.” Plenty of experience. Useful. But why hadn’t he made lieutenant? Well, six years as middy wasn’t all that long. Eyebrows wouldn’t begin to be raised for another year or so.
One by one Captain Stanger introduced his lieutenants, who all seemed eager to shake my hand. I wondered how many of them would still brag of meeting me, after my coming disgrace by the Patriarchs.
“Shall we visit the bridge, sir?”
“Please.” I had to negotiate the shoals of protocol. Even as SecGen, I had no right of command in Stanger’s ship; the Navy took its chain of command most seriously indeed. He and his crew had come to attention before me as a courtesy, not an obligation.
Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6) Page 9
