“Permission to disengage capture latches.” Captain Fenner, from his launch.
“Bay is cleared and decompressed. Disengage when ready, Melbourne.”
“—famous for his portrayal of William, last king of—”
The launch released its hold on the Station, sailed back to Melbourne.
“—departure control, bearing 090, 64, 282, repeat—”
A tremendous crash. I groaned.
A distant voice. “Are you all right, sir?”
Scraping sounds. A wrench. Light.
“Help him with his helmet.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Careful, his spine is injured.” Sergeant Gregori frowned at his anxious cadet. Together, gently, they lifted me from the coffin, set me in a wheeled chair. Laboriously, we stripped off the rest of my suit.
“Where are we?”
“Level 4 overflow accommodations, sir.” A crowded sparse gray cabin, one of several we’d been assigned.
“They didn’t put you in a hotel?”
Sergeant Gregori looked pious as he stripped off his civilian shirt. “We insisted on staying with our idol’s body. The Hilton refused.”
“How many are we?” I knew the answer, but needed reassurance.
“Seven sergeants, two middies, eighteen cadets.” With a grunt of satisfaction, Gregori donned his Academy blues.
“The laser pistols?”
“Passed through in Bourse’s gear, sir.”
I eyed him. “I’ve owed you an apology a long while, Sarge. Since the Booker incident.”
He held up a hand. “We were all rather upset, Mr. SecGen.”
I nodded acknowledgment. “The rest of it?”
“No word yet.”
As expected. But I fretted nonetheless. If Jeff Thorne’s arrangements fell through, I’d have loosed a bloody fiasco.
Our intricate plans had left my nerves in shreds; every phase had to fall into place just so. But it was the only way I could see to free both Earthport and Lunapolis.
Our sleight of hand with Melbourne was one part of it. Admiral Hoi would assume I remained on Galactic; no one on the Station knew I’d transferred to Melbourne at Titan.
Jeff Thorne had flown to Devon, bearing Hazen’s orders to send all Academy’s drill sergeants and three hundred advanced cadets aloft to Academy’s Farside Base. To make sure, the Commandant said, that they weren’t caught up in civil war.
I couldn’t risk interception of Hazen’s orders from Farside; I could trust only Thorne to deliver them.
The enthusiastic cadets, along with half a dozen midshipmen, were bused to London Shuttleport, their duffels neat-packed, uniforms crisp, faces scrubbed. We were aware that Earthport Station’s new masters vigilantly watched incoming shuttles from Earth, lest I smuggle troops aloft. But Academy craft always bypassed the Station, sailed directly to Farside.
In the silent, airless night the cadets left their shuttles and clambered across the dust to Farside’s waiting locks. Within the Academy base, Hazen addressed them on my behalf. He asked those who’d scored best in riflery, athletics, and hand-to-hand combat to volunteer for a dangerous mission.
I’d been most explicit in my orders in this regard. Once more, I would use cadets beyond their years. But this time, I’d tell truth. Our heroes would die undeceived.
They’d volunteered, to a man. But only a few were chosen for Earthport Station; an Academy shuttle lifted them aloft once more, where they’d waited for Melbourne to Defuse from Titan. Then they’d swung across to her waiting lock on a cable, to save the time of the two vessels mating. We had to Fuse again, and quickly, before the starship emerged from the far side of the moon to reveal our presence to Admiral Hoi or Lunapolis.
We Fused back to Titan and confirmed to Arlene, Captain of Galactic in my absence, that we’d taken on our small expeditionary force. Were Titan’s scientific station more spacious, I’d have off-loaded Melbourne’s passengers, willing or no, so as not to put them at risk. I’d had no choice but to involve them in my schemes.
Melbourne had Fused once again, to Earthport, with the sad news of Anton Bourse’s demise.
We’d concluded that while Melbourne might off-load to Earthport a few of my middies and cadets disguised as Bourse’s staff, if more than a handful disembarked, Admiral Hoi’s suspicions would be raised, and we’d risk Captain Fenner’s passengers to no avail.
Fenner had taken personal charge of his comm room, to make sure no unauthorized messages were sent. In actuality, none of Melbourne’s passengers were allowed onto Earthport, save our small fighting force.
Anton Bourse roamed Melbourne’s corridors, his discomfiture soothed by the thought of untold millions in free publicity awaiting him. Meanwhile the starship cruised to Fusion safety. Shortly, it would Fuse to Titan once again, and continue its cruise.
I’d used Arlene as well. I could entrust Galactic to no one else; at all costs the vast, magnificent starship must not fall again into the rebels’ hands. Derek was trustworthy, but until days past he’d never been more than a middy. Arlene, on the other hand, had served with distinction as a lieutenant. But who was I to thrust such grim responsibility on her? When I apologized, she kissed me on the nose.
At Earthport it was now fourteen hundred hours. We would strike at nineteen hundred, to coordinate with Farside’s remaining cadets, who had their own mission.
Here on Earthport, our goals were Naval Headquarters, where the Station’s laser defense control was located, and the civilian administrator’s complex.
Eleven emergency corridor hatches were between our quarters and laser defense control. Sergeant Gregori assured me each cadet knew his target. I called up a Station map on my holovid, insisted that each youngster show me his assigned hatch.
“You have the bars?”
“Yes, sir.” Midshipman Speke, his cheeks flushed. He pointed to a stack in the closet. “We’re to take them as we leave.”
“If someone tries to stop you?”
“No warning. We shoot.” His eyes were solemn. “Sir, you can count on me. I swear it.” He’d come a long way, this lad who’d rolled his eyes with impatience, and so infuriated Alexi.
I smiled. “Who’s in charge of my transport?”
“Until we seize a cart, I am.” Gregori.
“Try not to throw me out.”
He eyed the chair with distaste. “You won’t wait here?”
“Of course not. Getting me there is half our goal.”
I sweated out each minute, checking my laser pistol over and again, making sure I had ample recharges in my pouch. I slipped on my helmet, for its radionics. I keyed my stunner on and off.
If necessary, we’d try to take Naval HQ by force, but I had lingering hopes that my presence might persuade some of the rebels to lay down their arms. Hoi had admitted to the same fears, and I couldn’t see a reason for him to lie. Unless, of course, he’d meant to lure me to the Station, but he wasn’t so devious as then to refuse me entry. Was he?
Seventeen hundred hours. “Any news?”
Gregori looked at me strangely. “No, sir.”
I flushed. We’d have no news, unless of a catastrophe.
“UNS Galactic to Earthport Naval Base.” Arlene, relayed from my suit radio. “We’re returning to Station. Hold your fire.” At this moment she’d be some two hours’ cruise from Earthport, minimum Fusion safety.
It was a long while before the reply came. “This is Captain Landon, speaking for Admiral Hoi. Do not, repeat, do not approach the Station.”
“Sir, I intend to off-load our passengers.”
Eighteen hundred hours.
“Earthport Traffic Control to Galactic. Take up station at coordinates 320,31, 108 until further—”
“I must disembark my passengers.” Arlene’s tone was cool. “I will proceed to within one-third kilometer, opposite bays four through six.”
No response.
Eighteen thirty. A handful of Academy sergeants in civilian dress strolled out for a wa
lk. I had Gregori help me into my cumbersome thrustersuit. If we had to retreat from the Station, I’d be less of a burden already suited.
At eighteen fifty, Edwin Speke handed out alloy bars. Awaiting their send-off, cadets fidgeted, tapping bars against the deck, checking their pistols, shifting from foot to foot. It gave us opportunity to reprimand them sharply, and reduce our own unbearable tension.
Eighteen fifty-five. “Go!”
With the energy of youth the cadets crowded through the hatch, raced off to secure the corridors.
“Lunapolis squad to Seafort.” A voice I knew well.
“Hang on, sir.” Gregori spun my chair, whipped me through the hatch. He pounded down the corridor. An Academy sergeant took up position at each side.
I keyed my suit caller. “Go ahead, Tolliver.” We’d finally decided on ordinary public comm channels, on the grounds that they were the least likely for a military force to use, and therefore the least likely to be watched. In Melbourne, I’d had my suit modified to receive them.
“They’re cycling through, sir. Lieutenant LeBow has charge of the lock. No casualties as yet.”
As yet. My lips tightened.
Jeff Thorne had summoned my old aide Edgar Tolliver from his Lunapolis vacation. Shortly before zero hour, Tolliver had wandered to the Lunapolis airlock from which the crowds emerged to see the light show in the crater.
On his own, he’d overpowered the bored watchmen, who carried not even a stunner. At once, cadets had begun pouring in, fresh from debarkation from the Academy shuttles that had landed just past the crater, not far from where we ourselves had been picked up, on our own flight from Ghenili’s clinic to Academy.
Eighteen fifty-eight. In our Earthport corridor, an alarm clanged. Perhaps a midshipman had been spotted blocking a hatch. Perhaps some alert joey in the administrator’s office noticed a stampeding herd of cadets on his screen.
We passed a hatch. The cadet guard fell in alongside, his laser drawn. I snarled, “Set the safety!” A stumble and he’d blow us out of the Station.
Nineteen hundred. The corridor hatch ahead slid out of its pocket, slammed toward closure, stopped with a jolt at the bar. Nearby a cadet danced with dread. “Hurry! Hurry, sir!”
“Hold tight, Mr. Seaf—” Gregori flew at and over the blocking bar. For a moment I was airborne. We hit the deck with a thump. My spine exploded, but I gripped the armrests as if my life depended on them. Perhaps it did.
The next hatch, and the next. A corps of cadets panted to keep pace. It must be Gregori who led Devon’s morning runs.
“UNS Galactic to Earthport Naval Base. Approaching on course 320,31—”
“You are targeted, Galactic. Seafort, begin braking immediately, or we’ll—”
“Sir, Captain Seafort is not aboard.”
Galactic’s role was ambiguous. Her presence, and the power of her lasers, added a factor to the situation that wouldn’t be entirely to Earthport’s liking. She might have to rescue us, she might simply be held in reserve. In any event, if I’d ordered Arlene to remain at Titan, I wasn’t sure she’d have obeyed. I assumed Hoi wouldn’t allow Arlene to off-load passengers, but her reminders that they were aboard might stay him from firing his lasers, if she engaged in no overtly hostile acts.
Nineteen oh three. Ahead, the hatch to Naval HQ, blocked open. Outside, three guards, spread-eagled on the deck. Sergeant Gregori looked grim.
“Of course, Seafort’s aboard. Abandon course before I—”
“Lunapolis to Seafort. Our joeys are halfway to the Naval base. No alarm yet. Don’t know why.”
“Straight through!” I pounded the chair. “Hurry.” I whipped off my helmet.
“Where to?”
“Admiral Hoi’s office. Second corridor. Third hatch, or fourth.” Just past the corridor to the Naval shuttle bays.
He raced me through the hatch. “No prob—”
A withering blast of fire. Sergeant Gregori coughed, fell away. My chair careened forward on its own. A cadet threw up his arms, spewed thick gobbets of blood from a smoking cavern in his chest.
I screamed, “I’m Seafort! Hoi wants to see me!” I spun the wheels, avoiding a looming bulkhead. “Hold your fire!”
A face darted out from behind a hatch, ducked back. “Kill the son of a—”
Sergeant Smith’s tone was low and urgent. “Get Seafort out!”
“No, Sarge!” I spoke loudly, so all could hear. “Admiral Hoi will see me.” Carefully I rolled my chair clear of the protective fire of my cadets. “Will he not?”
A laser pistol appeared, aimed at my chest. For a moment it was touch and go. Then a pair of very nervous sailors dashed out, hauled my chair into the seclusion of their inner corridor. I slipped on my helmet. “Seafort to Lunapolis squad: proceed as planned. Seafort to Earthport squad: hold your positions. I’ll be in touch. Galactic, hold your fire.”
Pistols aimed, safeties off, the Lunapolis seamen wheeled me into Hoi’s inner office, the one in which we’d once met. A huge simulscreen dominated his far bulkhead. Lights gleamed. Perhaps they were from Galactic, fast approaching the Station. There were few other ships in the vicinity, except local transports and vessels in the repair bays.
Admiral Hoi rose from behind his desk, haggard, drawn, eyes like coals. “I’ll take that.” He checked the laser’s safety, pointed it at my forehead. “Anything to say before I execute you?”
“Yes. Out, you two.” My tone was peremptory, and to my astonishment, the sailors started to obey. Hoi drew in his breath with a hiss. They hesitated. Grimacing, he motioned to the hatch. They fled.
“Hoi, Simovich here. The bastards are in my warrens.”
Hoi ignored the speaker. “Try anything and I’ll kill you instantly.” He regarded me. “Why did you come?”
“To take your surrender.”
“Why would I do that?”
I took in his unshaven face, the sunken eyes, the sneer in his tone. And suddenly I knew. I would tell truth. But given his agitation, it would likely result in my death.
“Because,” I said, “you want to.”
“Goofjuice.”
I leaned forward. “Because you know what you’ve done is wrong.”
“Ah, the great moralist.” His pistol didn’t waver. “I thought you’d have better cards.”
“Because you know mutiny is never the answer.”
“So you burst into my office, killing my joeys.”
“Because you know revolution is an affront to Lord God.”
“You’re hardly one to tell me—”
“Because you hate what you’ve done.”
“I’ve done nothing that—”
“And what it’s made you become.”
“STOP THAT!” A hint of anguish. He sat on the edge of the desk, aimed the pistol with both hands. “For God’s sake, Seafort.”
“Yes. For His sake.” My gaze was steady, never leaving his.
“Mr. Seafort, we’re at the Lunapolis Naval warrens. They’ve set up defenses. Heavy fighting.”
“Who in hell”—his eyes narrowed—“are you to lecture me? You murdered my nephew. You burst his eyeballs! You boiled his blood so it burst through his skin! Did you give decompression warning, Seafort? Did you?”
“No.” We all made our beds. Now I lay in mine.
“You vile creature.”
“Hoi, are you in control? They’ll take my laser cannon in a few minutes. Answer!”
His eyes locked on mine, he groped for his caller. “Hoi here.”
“I need you to blow six of my warrens, surrounding the Navy wing.”
“Simovich, I’ve got Seafort.”
“Where?”
“In my office. A laser sighted between his eyes.”
A sigh of relief. “Thank Lord God. I’ll get out word. His life for their surrender.”
“It won’t work.” I looked apologetic. “Their orders were quite specific.”
“There’s a complication, Andre. Galactic’s back.
”
“What’s her intent?”
“It’s not clear. Seafort will tell me.”
“Actually, I won’t. I’ve a laser in my pouch. Push too hard and I’ll reach for it.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“Precisely. You’ll have no communication with Galactic, and no means to surrender.”
Hoi frowned into the caller. “Simovich, tell your men we have Seafort. I’ll get back to you.” Hoi set down the caller. “Now, as to the capitulation of your forces—”
“Your forces. You’ll surrender.”
“Why?”
“For the sake of your soul.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about my soul.”
I looked unflinching into the black emptiness of his eyes. “If I don’t,” I said, “who will?”
From his innermost depths, a strangled sob. Then, “Good-bye, Seafort.”
I gazed into his eyes.
He fired.
White fire parted my hair. Behind me, over my head, the bulkhead crackled. I sat like a stone.
“Do you want to die?”
“Perhaps I must, to end this.” I hadn’t answered him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“It made perfect sense,” he said. “The way they laid it out. You’re a traitor, of course.”
“Yes.” To Lord God, and to His vicar on Earth.
He spoke as if to overcome an objection. “In the ultimate sense, you are. Truly. Our survival depends on colonial imports. To secure them, a strong Navy is vital. And now, when it counts, you withdraw your support. We had to stop you.”
“Not by threatening your people.”
“Mine?”
“Ours. The laser cannons aimed at Earth are an abomination we never should have allowed. We’ll put an end to them.” I stirred. “It’s time, Admiral. Hand me the pistol, and call your sentries.”
His tone was reflective. “It wouldn’t be for you.”
“No.” My voice was soft. “For you.”
“Show me Captain Seafort alive and well, or I’ll blow the Station apart.” Arlene, in a tone that brooked no argument. In the screen, Galactic loomed ever larger. Her rear thrusters flickered out. In a moment she would begin to brake, from the bow thrusters.
“May I?”
Wearily, he nodded.
I slipped on my helmet. “Captain Sanders, I’m unhurt. Stand by for orders.”
Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6) Page 43
