I sighed. “Not yet.” I wheeled myself to the living room.
Anselm sat before the liquor cabinet, staring moodily.
“How much have you had?” My voice dripped scorn.
“None yet.”
“Why not?”
“God, you’re a cruel son of a bitch.” He swallowed a sob. “I suppose you’ll cashier me, but I don’t think I care.”
Lord Christ, what had I done? I maneuvered into the room, swung shut the door. “Anselm ...”
He drew himself up. “I apologize, Mr. SecGen. On duty or not, I’m way out of line.”
“Not when you tell the truth. I am cruel. I’ve never been able to help it.” I patted the couch. “It’s I who apologize. Come sit near.” He did. “You’re how old, seventeen?”
“Well ... in two months.”
“When did you start drinking?”
“Three years ago.”
“Devon has ample opportunity.” Half a dozen pubs within walking distance of the gate. Still, he’d have been only a cadet, then. Someone risked the law’s wrath. I wondered why.
“It’s zarky. They don’t even ask ID; my uniform is enough.”
“On your honor, Midshipman. Do you ever drink on duty?”
He bristled. “Never. Not once.”
“But you report back to base soused?”
“Not exactly.” A grin flickered. “Anyway, I wouldn’t be the only one.”
I didn’t rise to the bait. Servicemen were the same, all over the world. “Do you get leave all that often?”
“Almost every week. Commandant Hazen is ... kind?” He colored. “Generous is a better word.”
“Foolish” was more apt. As Commandant, I’d allowed my middies occasional leave, but not so often as to make them sots.
“Too much leave.” I mused aloud. “And you’re on holiday even now. That was a mistake.”
“You’re sending me back.” For some reason, he sounded crestfallen.
That would be putting the fox in the henhouse. He had little self-control, this lad, and to place him unsupervised among the brewhouses ...
“No, Tad. I’ll have orders cut. You’ll be posted with us.” Though Danil Bevin was willing and good-natured, it was too much to expect the cadet to cope alone with a cantankerous SecGen. I needed a middy, and Anselm might as well be he. I owed him something for my cruelty.
His expression was that of a boy who found an Arcvid console in his Christmas stocking. He gulped, unsure it was real. “Working for you, sir?” His voice was tremulous.
“You approve, Mr. Anselm?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
I grunted, glad of my decision. “You’ve had all the leave you’ll see for a while. No drinking, on or off duty. You’re not to leave the grounds without permission from me or Mr. Branstead.”
“Aye aye, sir. Anything else?”
“Yes. It’s unthinkable to disobey a direct order, but if you do—that is, if you have so much as a sip of liquor, you’re to put yourself on report immediately.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“And, I might add, I’ll have you caned within an inch of your life. Perhaps the threat will help.”
He looked wistfully at the cabinet. “You’d trust me around all these bottles, and to tell you afterward?”
“I hope you understand honor, boy. Else the Navy has no place for you.” It was no more than was asked of any middy: to log the strenuous exercise that worked off a demerit, for example. Nobody ever checked. To lie about such things was unimaginable.
“Yes, sir. What are my duties?”
“I’ll try to keep you busy. Start by leading Bevin in his calisthenics each morning. I don’t want you two getting soft.”
I could have sworn I heard a snort of derision.
After breakfast, Philip caught me on the way to my office. “Why was Jared in tears last night?”
I stopped short. “I have no idea.”
“You had a talk with him, did you not?”
“Rather the reverse. I don’t recall being harsh.” I hesitated. “Did you ask?”
“He wouldn’t tell me, except he was glad to be home at last.” Philip grimaced. “I hope it isn’t mood swings. He’ll be devastated if he needs more treatment.”
I patted his arm. “You’ve always looked after him, haven’t you?” At twelve, he’d followed Jared to the urban jungle of Lower New York in a frantic attempt to rescue him.
“I tried. Fath, we need to talk.”
“In my study.” I led the way.
“You look grim. Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s ...” I shook my head. “They called from Johns Hopkins. Charlie Witrek’s transplants failed. They’ll have to try again.” I made an effort to put it behind me. “What is it, son?”
P.T. pulled up a hassock, sat at my knees, as he had as a boy. “In the old days, a man could ask the king a boon.”
I snorted. “I’m no king.”
“Merely an autocrat.” He smiled, to take the sting from his words. “How difficult was your trip to England?”
“Terrible. Blood was everywhere. I called some of the families. And the water damage ... The exhibits were ruined. They’ll be ages cleaning—”
“I meant, how difficult for you to travel?”
I wanted no pity. “I’m fine. Well, obviously, I’m less mobile than before. Otherwise, have no concern.” I ought not be so short with him. His motives were only the best.
“In that case, I ask a favor.”
His formality startled me. I made a noncommittal sound.
“A few days of your time.”
“I know I’ve been busy since you came home. I’ll try to do better.” Lunch, just the two of us. And after dinner, I could squeeze—
“I want to take you on a trip.”
“Where?”
“I’d rather show you.”
“Son, I have a huge staff. The advance team, security ... I can’t just take off—”
Mischievously he raised an eyebrow. “What about London?”
“That was different.”
“Please, sir. If there’s anything you want in return, I’ll do it.” His tone was quiet, his manner calm, as if he’d found some inner peace.
“Give up your enviro politics?” I was only half joking.
A long pause. “If that’s the cost.”
After a moment I looked away. “I won’t ask that.” Not if I had a shred of decency.
“Fath, I need you. Will you come?”
My breath hissed. How could he know I’d summoned Derek with the exact words?
I had no idea into what marsh I was casting myself. “Yes, son. How soon?”
We negotiated, settled on five days hence. It would give me time to clear my schedule, and I wouldn’t abandon the Tamarovs.
I sent my chair racing to the pad the moment I heard the drone of Derek’s heli. Bevin sprinted desperately to keep up; we’d been in the study, working on Admiralty dispatches.
At the pad, we waited for the blades to slow. Danil panted, “That wasn’t fair. You kept telling it to go faster.”
“Only once.”
“‘Flank, chair, flank!’” He bent, hands on his knees.
“All right, twice. Ah, Derek. Thanks so much.”
He took my hand. “No fire? No one’s ill?”
“No, but I needed—”
“I could actually have had a night’s sleep? Why is the cadet’s face red?”
“He’s out of shape. Danil, find Mikhael Tamarov, tell him I have his present. We’ll be in my office.”
Derek and I settled over iced drinks. I waved at a waiting stack of chips, all classified too highly to send over the nets. “It never ends.”
“Delegate,” he said.
“I try, but ...” I slipped one into the holovid. “Here’s an example. Admiral Dubrovik’s been injured in a fall. The Board of Admiralty wants to appoint his aide Simovich as Acting. If the old man doesn’t recover, he’ll be named to th
e post. Should I—”
“What post?”
“Lunapolis Command. Should I involve myself, or let them do their job? Yes, phrasing it that way answers the question. But sometimes they appoint idiots, and it’s hell removing them.”
“Do you know Simovich?”
“No, but he can’t be worse than Admiral Dubrovik.” At Galactic’s dedication, to my embarrassment, he’d lauded me beyond reason.
The door swung open. “You wanted me?” Mikhael. His tone wasn’t combative. Not quite. At breakfast his manner had wavered between belligerence and civility.
“This is my office. Knock before you enter.”
We glared.
“Go out and do it properly. I’m waiting.”
He didn’t quite slam the door. After a long moment, a knock.
“Come in, Mikhael.” I waved to a seat. “This is Mr. Carr, from Hope Nation. He served with your father on Hibernia and Portia. He’s going to sit with you for an hour and tell you stories.”
“This is why you called me from Singapore?” Derek’s tone was plaintive.
“I’ll explain later.”
“That’s your present?” The boy snorted.
“I have your promise, Mikhael: no scorn. Reject my gift if you wish, and I’ll send Derek home with my apology.” I waited, holding my breath. He was silent. “Go on, you two.” I shepherded them out.
Nervous as a cat, I rolled from window to door and back. I’d never realized how much I needed to pace. In a chair it wasn’t the same.
What in the Lord’s name was I doing? I’d summoned Derek from work he deemed important—for which he’d endured the nine-month journey from his home—to help a sulky, spoiled joeykid who didn’t esteem the gift of his company. And all for what? The boy wasn’t mine to raise. If he were, I’d have long since wiped the petulance from his manner. Alexi had erred, leaving him home with Moira. A ship was a healthy environment: no drugs, no Arcvid, middies to set an example of discipline. And of course, Mikhael would have been under the stern eyes of his father.
I thumbed the caller, dialed Anselm. Another boy who couldn’t be left alone for long. Perhaps I should mark my liquor bottles. “Middy? Report to my office.” I rang off.
In a moment, the thunder of footsteps racing down the stairs. “Midshipman Anselm reporting!”
“As you were. Where’s Danil?”
“Ms. Seafort offered him lunch.”
“I suppose you’re hungry too?”
“Not really.” He made a face. “My stomach hurts.”
“Withdrawal pains?”
“Sir, even if I’m an alcoholic like you say, it’s not gone that far.”
“Pray it hasn’t. Help me file. Those chips on the desk are sorted by—now look what you’ve done!” With clumsy enthusiasm he’d knocked a dozen chips to the floor. “You’re just begging for demerits, aren’t you?”
His voice was small. “No, sir, I’m not.” He gathered them up.
“No matter.” I tried to hide my contrition. “It’s my backache.” And worry over Derek and Mikhael. “Put each in the holovid, check the header, file them—now what?”
My caller buzzed. The private line that few knew.
“Mr. Seafort? Jerence Branstead. I’m at the Assembly.” He seemed grim. “The Territorials pulled a surprise vote to kill the Greenhouse Gases Act.”
“Can’t you stop them?”
“They’re calling the roll.”
Over fifteen hundred members to poll. An arduous process, but if the Terries had organized themselves and we hadn’t, the result was inevitable. I’d planned to persuade our waverers, rally the doubtful. I said, “We’ll reintroduce next session.”
“It’s not just the one bill. They’ll claim they defeated us on a major package, that it’s a vote of no-confidence.”
“Goofjuice.” The vote was a tactical surprise, and we’d had no opportunity to gather our forces. Assembly rules allowed no proxy votes, no call-ins or puter tallies. Members had to vote in person; the Terries must have worked hard to spring this on us. Why the sudden lunge for power?
“You and I think so, but that’s not how the media will play it. Sir, we’ll look hopelessly inept. The Government could even fall.”
“That bad?” If I retired, I wanted to hand over my Government to a Supra, even a ditherer like Cisno Valera. Our opposition, the Territorials, were too heavy-handed, both with the colonies and our own joeys at home. It was they who’d sent U.N.A.F. heavy brigades into hapless transpop neighborhoods, they who had aimed Lunapolis’s lasers at New York. I’d tried to strike a balance between the enviro fringe and legitimate business needs, but the Terries would sell home system for a short-term profit.
“There’s no way to stop the vote?” My fingers ached, from gripping the chair arm.
“None. In three hours we’re done.”
Three hours. That was the key. “Jerence, get to the floor. Stall.”
“How? Why?”
“Have our joeys switch their votes, call points of order. I’m on my way.”
“You’re what?”
“Meet me at the Assembly entrance. I’ll be there in ... two hours or so. As long as the vote’s still in progress, we have a chance. In the meantime, stay on your caller; round up every Supra you can find, pressure the Indie caucus. We—”
“You can’t be here in time. Mark has to secure the site—”
“Get to work.” I spun my chair. “ANSELM!”
He jumped. “Jesus, I’m right here! You scared the life—”
“Find Derek, tell him we’re borrowing his heli, meet me at the pad. Run!” I thumbed the caller. “Cadet, to the hallway, flank speed! Mark, report to the helipad. Chair, to the veranda.” I flung open the door, cannoned into a pair of legs.
“Ow!”
“Get off of—sorry, Jared. Hold the outside door, will you? Bevin, where in blazes—ahh, there you are. Put down the sandwich, we’re in a hurry.”
“To where, sir?”
“New York. Chair, I could crawl faster than you—haie!” I clung desperately to the armrests. “Not that fast.”
In moments we were at the pad. Anselm galloped to meet us. Jared Tenere followed, slowly at first, then breaking into a trot.
“Get me in there.” I pointed to the fuselage. “Danil, Tad, lift me.” I tried to help. “Where’s Tilnitz?”
“Did he come back?” Bevin. “He went out the gate about an hour—”
“Jared, give a hand, will you? I’m too heavy for them.” Damn. I was counting on Mark to drive the heli. “I don’t suppose any of you can pilot? I would, but my legs ...”
My three assistants flung me into the heli.
Anselm said tentatively, “I’ve had lessons, sir.” Learning to pilot was one of the joys of Academy. Ironically, many of our cadets could fly long before they could drive a groundcar.
“How many? Did you qualify?”
“Only a few, but—”
Jared Tenere said with quiet confidence, “I have my license. I’ll fly you there.”
“Did Derek leave the keys? Good. Get us started. Put that chair in the back.” With effort I hauled myself into a seat, brushed off my jacket. “Call Philip and tell him you won’t be home for dinner.”
In a moment, Jared had our blades turning. I jabbed at the caller. “Arlene, I’m off to the Rotunda. Tell Mark, when you see him. We’ll be back tonight.”
“Nick, be careful.”
“Of course.”
“Who’s with you?”
“The boys and Jared.”
“I mean, for security.”
“The boys and Jared. I’ll be all right.” I devoutly hoped it was true.
“Fly northeast.” I gave Jared the coordinates. “Let the autopilot handle it. Ignore the speed limit, I’m in a hurry.”
We hurtled across the landscape. I called Branstead. “Clear a flight path. They’re a bit trigger-happy at the Rotunda these days; make sure we’re not shot down. Jared, what’s our tran
sponder?” I fed Branstead the code. “We’ll set down in an hour and a half, if this youngster doesn’t dawdle.”
Abruptly the engine roared. Satisfied, I sat back.
We put down on the browning grass in front of the General Assembly, where no heli was allowed to land. Instantly my excited crew flung open the door, threw my chair to the ground, hauled me after. I glanced about; thank heaven, the only media-men present had their view blocked by the heli. Else I could imagine the zines’ lead: SecGen Seafort dragged protesting across the lawn.
They bundled me into my chair. I ordered it up the ramp. Branstead swung open the door. “Where’s Mark? Get in, before someone takes a shot at you. They’re almost through the roll. I couldn’t slow them much. We’ll be down a hundred eleven. I met with seven of the Indies—”
“Jerence, take a breath.”
“—and they won’t agree—”
“A deep breath. Now.” I rolled along the marble corridor, toward the Assembly. “Call Perrel out, and Bosconi.” I stopped. The SecGen never entered the Assembly chamber during a session; it just wasn’t done. On the other hand, I knew of no rule that codified the custom. “Never mind. Straight ahead, chair. Boys, come with me.”
“You’re not—” Branstead seemed to read my mind.
“Watch me.” A uniformed officer stood by the entry. “Mr. SecGen? There’s a session in—” He flung open the door to save it from collision damage.
“Where’s Assemblyman Perrel?” I peered at astonished faces. “Ahh. Make way.” I rolled down the aisle. Perrel was a weak man. Venal, but weak. If I could break him, I’d make a start.
The President of the Assembly looked up. A flicker of surprise. She nodded to the clerk, who droned on.
“Jared, find Denlow; he’s the fattest man here and has a walrus mustache. Bring him here.” As the young man rushed off I swung to Perrel. “You’re voting against us, Howard?”
Perrel had the grace to blush. “Sorry, but—”
“No time for reasons. You’re ready to see a change of Government?”
“It doesn’t have to come to that.”
“Of course it does.”
“If you’d given in on the mining bill ...”
“Never mind. How many did you carry along?”
Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6) Page 18
