Beside myself, I flailed at any available limbs. In a moment Bevin recovered his balance, dragged Anselm off the bed. He thrust out his hand; I seized it, hauled myself upright. “Get that joey out of my room!” The cadet struggled, to no avail. “Don’t you see he can’t walk? Drag him!” With a mighty effort, Bevin complied.
My shoes and cuffs were soaked with vomit. The stench was vile. I bit back a sob. Please, Lord, don’t let this be my life. I’m covered with a middy’s puke, unable to clean myself.
Bevin poked his head through the door. “Shall I—do you want help?”
I screamed, “Put your clothes on!” He disappeared. In moments he was back, hopping from foot to foot as he slipped into his carefully polished shoes.
By then I had my pants unbuckled. Straining, I lifted my buttocks off the bed. “Pull them down—help me get—Jesus, Lord Christ!” I was shaking.
“Sir, it’s all right.” His voice was soothing. “It’s only—here, let me do that.” He worked my pants to my ankles, got them off. He ran to the bathroom, returned with towels, covered the mess on the rug. “We’ll get you into the chair, sir. It’ll only be a moment.” He spoke in the same tones I’d used to Philip, when he revved.
A few minutes later, I emerged cleaned and calmed from the lavatory. Danil sat calmly, watching a hotel servitor clean and dry the rug. “I hope you don’t mind my calling them, sir.”
“No, I—thank you.” I found it difficult to meet his eyes. While I’d thrown a tantrum, he’d taken care of my needs.
When the houseman had gone, I rolled my chair close. I spoke quietly. “How long has this been going on?” I gestured to Anselm’s room.
“I’ve only known Mr. Anselm a short time,” he said carefully. “Since he brought me to Washington.”
I flushed; I’d asked him to betray a mate, no, worse, a superior officer. In the Navy that was not done. “Sorry, Mr. Bev—Danil. I wish ... I patted his knee, as if to give him comfort. “It’s difficult.”
“What is, sir?”
“Being paralyzed.” Being SecGen. Growing old and impatient. Living apart from Lord God.
He waited.
“Danil, help me out of the chair. No, not to the bed.” I pointed to the floor, near enough to lean on the mattress. Else, I would topple.
“What are you going to do, sir?”
“Pray.”
“On your knees?”
“I don’t think Lord God hears me any other way.” As a joeykid, Father had made me pray on my knees. These days, it was out of fashion, and I felt self-conscious before the boy, but I was determined.
I had no muscle control at all; I wasn’t really kneeling, but sitting on my legs. It would do. I leaned forward, made a tent of my fingers.
To my utter astonishment, Danil Bevin slipped down, knelt by my side. He bowed his head.
“I thought you enviros were freethinkers.”
“Well, I’m not.” He sounded defiant.
It had been too long. I’m sorry, Lord. Sorry for what I’ve done, and who I am. But You know that. If You hear me—if You listen despite my abominations—I beg You to help me. I thought of asking to walk again, blushed at the effrontery. Help me to be just, to deal wisely with those in my care, to catch the mad eco anarchists who would lead Your people astray. Bless Indira Raj, who died doing her duty, and Alexi, who died for no reason I can discern. And bless this passionate young joey at my side, with whom I’ve been so impatient. And if, somehow, You could grant me—I don’t deserve it, but I long for it so—a little peace ...
“Amen.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud. I blinked away a sting.
Bevin helped me to the bed, took a nearby chair. I sat quietly, eyes on the floor. It had been a long day.
A knock. Midshipman Anselm, his face red. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“Danil, go to your room. This is between us alone.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“And thank you. For everything.”
A shy smile. He disappeared.
I pointed sternly to the chair. Meekly, Anselm sat.
“Did you know you’re an alcoholic?” My voice was cold.
“I’m not, sir, I just—”
“Did you bring the wet stuff with you?” Normally, a boy his age couldn’t order a drink, without risking a penal colony both for himself and the server. But, by act of the General Assembly, a midshipman was a gentleman and an adult. He could vote, drink, and bring his life to ruin.
“Yes—no, I ... no, sir.”
“Which is it?” The comparison between him and Bevin was odious. The cadet, impetuous though he was, had a good heart and a sense of decency. This drunken lout was a disgrace to the Navy.
He squirmed. “Both. I had some in my gear, but it was—I ordered it from the hotel.”
“And you claim you’re not alcoholic?”
“I didn’t break the law.” His tone was sullen. “And I wait ’til I’m off duty.”
I was relentless. “Since you came to Washington, has there been a day you didn’t drink?”
He stared into the middle distance. His eyes seemed troubled. “I guess not. It’s just that ... with a couple of drinks, the world seems brighter.”
“I imagine you worked hard to make middy.”
He gulped. “Oh, God, you’re cashiering me.”
“Only your commander can do that.” As a civilian I couldn’t do much about him, other than send him home to Devon.
I sighed. At Academy, Anselm would be fortunate to escape with a caning; Hazen would be more likely to dismiss him from the Service, as the boy feared. Why should that trouble me? It was what he deserved. Not only had he been drunk, he’d sullied the Navy’s cherished relationship with the SecGen. And if word ever got out that he’d vomited on me ... I’d never hold up my head.
“Sir, I ...” Abruptly, he began to weep. “I’m so ashamed.”
“You should be.”
“Your shoes”—a sob—“I’ll pay for them. If there’s anything I can do, any way to ...” He raised a tear-streaked face. “You’re the SecGen, and once you were our Commandant. I was so proud to meet you. And I threw up on you.” He began to rock, hugging himself. “Oh, God, dear God.”
If he thought his performance would move me, he was sadly mistaken. I had no sympathy for a stupid young jackanapes who ... dimly, I recalled a horribly sick young middy, on his first leave, hugging a toilet in a bar in Lunapolis.
I cleared my throat. “To start with, you’re not to drink again, for six months. Not a drop.”
He paled, but said only, “Aye aye, sir.”
“You’ve dishonored the Navy.”
He looked to the floor, and blushed anew. “Yes, sir.”
“Call Mr. Tilnitz. He’s in the next room.”
In a few moments, Mark stood in the doorway, arms folded.
“Mr. Anselm, you’ll be caned.” I leaned forward, steadying myself with one hand. With the other, I raised the boy’s chin. “I’d do it myself, if I could.”
His eyes pleaded, but he said only, “Yes, sir.”
“As a civilian, I’m not sure I have the authority. If you contest it, I’ll deliver you to Commandant Hazen with a note of explanation.”
“Oh, no, sir!”
“Very well. Mark, you’ll do the honors. We have no barrel and no cane, so use your belt. Go, boy, and consider yourself lucky.”
Anselm stood unsteadily, brought himself to attention. With reluctant resolve, he marched to Mark’s bedroom.
I lay back in bed, turned off the light, and listened to the middy’s anguished yelps.
8
I YAWNED; THE DAY had started early, I’d had a long transatlantic trip with a sleepy cadet and a subdued middy. Then, brunch with Arlene, Philip, and Jared Tenere. I’d had to make small talk, which I found difficult in their presence, all the more so because my mind still swam with images of blood and destruction. It didn’t improve my mood that Jared’s manner was inoffensive, almost deferential.
“You call that progress? Bah.” I glared into the screen. On top of my other troubles, my back ached.
Donner drummed his fingers, causing his image to flutter. “We’ve identified both their museum casualties. That’s a breakthrough.”
“The one was already dead.”
“Obviously not. I said he’d been reported dead, four years ago.”
Karen listened to our byplay, silent.
Branstead rapped his desk for attention. “What disturbs me even more than the attack ...” He rubbed his eyes. “The terrorists are too well organized. They can smuggle a bomb into the Rotunda, gather weapons, track the SecGen’s movements, provide false identities for their cohorts. How big a group does that imply?”
“Huge.” Karen leaned forward. “Too large to let them continue flaunting us. Crack down, Mr. SecGen. With P and D we’ll break them.”
I said, “If they’re so many ...” Why had we found no trace of them?
Branstead cleared his throat. “The public won’t support this sort of thing; it’s right out of the Rebellious Ages. It takes just one loose mouth in a bar. One braggart, and someone calls us with an anonymous tip. A dozen joeys would be their secure limit, I’d guess. So why haven’t we gotten so much as a hint?”
We traded glances, each hoping another would speak.
I mused aloud. “We’re looking for the wrong sort of group.” It brought stares of surprise. “I mean ... what if they aren’t as many as we think?”
Jerence said, “So many separate attacks—”
“I was in London last night, and I’m back home today. We can move; why can’t they? No, hear me out, Jerence. How many of these joeys do we actually know about? One in the airport; he’s dead now. Sergeant Booker at Academy. Someone to smuggle a bomb into the Rotunda. Five in the museum, but they lost two. They could be as few as half a dozen.” I shifted, trying to ease my spine.
“The false identities, the canister of nerve gas?”
“Think how much easier to hide two or three men than a large force. Assume Booker smuggled out a canister and his friends filled it.”
“How’d they get the toxin?”
“How’d they build a bomb?” Karen Burns.
“How’d they get it in?”
I said, “What if we’re making this too complicated? We know how the nerve gas got to Academy: Sergeant Booker. The airport was easy; they drove up to the gate. Concentrate on the bomb. List every joey who in the three days before the bombing had, or could have had, access to the Rotunda. One of them is our terrorist.”
“There’s hundreds,” said Donner. “Senators, Assemblymen, their staffs ...”
Karen looked grim. “P and D would tell us.”
I said, “Not again, Karen. We haven’t the authority.”
“You would under martial law.”
I felt a chill. “Out of the question.” She was outraged at the bombing, no doubt, but even so, her urge to crack down seemed almost vindictive.
“How many more would you see die?”
“That’s not—”A knock at the door. “Yes?”
Midshipman Anselm, his uniform immaculate, his hair brushed, his face scrubbed. A crisp salute. “Pardon, sir, but Bishop Saythor’s arrived. Two helis on the pad.”
“Why are you telling me? You have no duties here.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I had Cadet Bevin stay to greet them. I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“Very well. Who’s with him?”
“I don’t know, but three of the joeys had guns.”
Karen keyed her caller. “Arnie? Who’s out there, Church security? Can you disarm them? Well, keep them out of the house. No, that’s final. I’ll be right along.” She strode to the door.
“Middy, show the Elder inside. Try not to vomit on him.”
Anselm flushed beet red. “Aye aye, sir.”
From the screen Branstead asked, “What was that about?”
“Last night something came up. Never mind.”
“Mr. SecGen ...” Jerence hesitated. “Last time I argued against P and D, but after the museum ... I agree with Karen.”
“I won’t declare martial law. Whatever I’m remembered for, it won’t be that.” I scowled at Donner. “Any more conversations about groceries?”
“No.” The General made no effort to hide his distaste. “We’re alert to trace calls. I stationed rapid response teams throughout England.”
Despite myself, I giggled. “You’ll swoop down on the greengrocer at the first mention of cabbage?”
“It’s not funny, Mr. SecGen. You of all people should know that.” His screen went dead.
“That wasn’t necessary, Mr. Seafort.” Jerence sounded annoyed. “He’s frustrated beyond bearing.”
I sighed. “I’ll make it up to him. That’s all for now.”
“Be diplomatic with Saythor, would you?”
“I’m always diplomatic.” I gave him no chance to respond. “Out, chair. To the living room.”
Bishop Saythor sat placidly on my favorite sofa. Around him stood and sat three aides. Across the room, Bevin had assumed the at-ease stance.
“Hold, chair. Is this to be a private conversation?”
“Why ask me? My job is transport.”
“Be silent, chair. I was speaking to the Elder.” My back twinged.
“These gentlemen have my confidence.” Saythor’s tone was pious.
He’d demanded a private conference, and now this. I was in no mood for games. “As do Karen Burns and my cadet. And my wife. I’ll call them.”
“That won’t be necessary. Your point is taken.” He gestured, and his joeys moved to the door.
“Can I be of help, sir?” Bevin.
“Yes. Take a position outside the door. See we’re not disturbed.” See that Saythor’s aides don’t listen at the keyhole, but I couldn’t say that. I ought not even think it, but a sore backbone shortened my temper.
The Elder regarded me skeptically.
I waited.
“I pray you’re recovering from your dreadful injuries.”
“Yes.” He didn’t give Lord God’s damn whether I was well; of that I was certain.
“Mr. Seafort, what I have to say is difficult. You’ve been ill, and you’re still not your old self.”
True, but soon they would evaluate me for the Ghenili procedure. It was my lifeline.
“The bombing shook public confidence in all our institutions. Many influential citizens are upset at your policies.”
My face was stony.
“Let me not beat around the bush. Mr. SecGen, I want you to resign.”
“Very well.”
“Very well, you’ll resign?”
“Very well, you want me to resign.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
A good question. He did, after all, represent the power and authority of Mother Church.
No, he did not. The Patriarchs did, in conclave.
“Well, Mr. Seafort?”
I hated to be pushed. If he weren’t so arrogant, he’d know that. I leaned forward, clutching the armrests so as not to fall out of my chair. “Bishop Saythor, what in hell gave you the idea you could meddle in politics?”
He gasped.
I hurtled on. “You demand I resign, but surely you don’t speak for the Church. The Patriarchs have every confidence in my Administration; I know so from your statement to Holoworld.” He flushed. “But even if you gather your colleagues in conclave, you haven’t the right to order me to resign.”
“We represent Lord God’s will!”
What in His name was I doing? I thought to rein myself in, but Saythor’s sneer unraveled my intentions. “You may disavow me, excommunicate me if it comes to that. No more. The Assembly may dismiss me by a vote of
no-confidence, or the electorate by voting for my opponent at a general election. That is how a government is removed.”
“It comes to the same thing. If we declare we’ve lost confidence—”
“Do so. Reverse yourselves publicly. I’ll have no quarrel.”
“Then why be so obstinate?”
“Because, sir, you overstep yourself!” My eyes blazed. “The Eco Action League would crumble our Government, reduce our system to chaos. There are paths, legitimate ones, for them to express their views. They ignore the proper means, proclaim themselves with bombs. They thwart the will of Lord God, whose Government I head.”
“But—”
“And you do likewise! Where does the U.N. Charter give an Elder the right to dismiss His Government? Where does Church doctrine allow the Patriarchs to ally themselves with a particular party?”
“Listen here—”
“No, sir, you listen.” I spun the wheels of my chair, lurched forward. “I will do the work of Lord God, as He gives me to see that task. Ask the Assembly to dismiss me, if that is your mind. Perhaps they would.” No doubt they would. Especially if they heard me speaking so to His representative on Earth.
Saythor rose, white of face. “You skirt blasphemy!”
“Then excommunication is your remedy.” Obdurate, I faced his wrath. “Until you’re prepared to use it, I’ll hear no more apostasy.”
“Apostasy?” He was nearly apoplectic.
“What else? You attempt to subvert our Charter and Church doctrine to bring down His Government!”
His eyes bulged.
“Out of love for His Church, sir, I will say nothing of what transpired here. Feel free to make any public statement you wish.” I gestured to the door. “Anselm! MIDDY!”
The door crashed open. “Midshipman Anselm reporting—”
“Our conference is concluded. Show Bishop Saythor to his heli, if he will not partake of refreshments.”
I waited, alone in the room, for my heart to steady, for my breath to calm. I leaned back. A stab of warning, from my spine. I groaned.
After a time, a knock.
“Now what?”
Danil Bevin shut the door behind him, marched across the carpet, came to attention, threw a parade-ground salute.
“Yes, Cadet?”
Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6) Page 16
