To ease the strain I made conversation with Midshipman Tyre. “Work off any more demerits, Philip?”
“Yes, sir. Three.” That meant he’d spent six hours in the exercise room since yesterday evening. I made a joke of it. “Calisthenics should be quite easy for you now, Philip.”
He smiled politely. “Yessir, I’ve had practice.” We both recognized we were near forbidden territory and dropped the subject. As first midshipman, Philip was supposed to run the wardroom under the lieutenants’ supervision. I wasn’t expected to delve into his affairs, and he knew better now than to complain to me about his treatment.
Though Philip Tyre was our senior midshipman, it was clear he wouldn’t be in charge of the wardroom. A year ago on Hibernia’s return voyage, Derek Can had challenged Philip’s authority in the traditional manner. The two boys had gone to the exercise room to fight it out, and Philip had lost the fight and with it control of the wardroom. Now he didn’t dare interfere with Derek.
According to tradition I should have blackballed Philip; a midshipman who couldn’t hold his wardroom was assumed unfit for command. Instead, though I felt only distaste for the boy, I’d suggested that Admiral Brentley assign him to my new ship. Now, I realized the extent of the problem I’d made for myself. Philip, hated thoroughly by both Derek and Lieutenant Tamarov, was a liability. Unless, somehow, I could turn him around. But I didn’t see how.
Pilot Van Peer spoke cheerfully into the silence. “I understand you’re a rather good chess player.”
I granted. “I play, yes.”
“So do I, sir. I’d enjoy a match.” I yearned to accept; I loved chess. But his suggestion was a serious breach of custom; an officer didn’t initiate social contact with his Captain.
“Perhaps.” His lack of discretion left me uncomfortable.
He seemed unabashed. “We can play here if you like. Lord God knows there isn’t much to do on watch during Fusion.”
“I don’t know about that.” My tone was cautious.
“Here’s a board, sir,” Danny said eagerly, as it flashed onto the simulscreen. “Tell me where; I’ll make the moves for you!”
I didn’t like being pushed. “Not on watch,” I said. “Let it be.”
“Aw, it’d be something to do.” Danny sounded plaintive. “I’m bored.” He sounded more like an ill-disciplined middy than a ship’s puter. Again I pondered the age-old question: was he really alive? I dropped it; there was no way to tell.
“Captain Steadman played on watch.” The Pilot.
I was astonished. Was Van Peer actually arguing? He should know better. Or was discipline on a sloop more relaxed than on a ship of the line such as Hibernia? I hesitated; the puter’s urging and the Pilot’s casual informality made the bridge seem far more friendly than I was used to. I would enjoy the game. On the other hand, regs required an officer on watch to remain alert at all times.
I made my tone cold. “You’re relieved, Pilot. Confine yourself to quarters until your next watch. When you return to the bridge, be prepared to obey my orders without argument.”
He gulped. “Aye aye, sir. I apologize, Captain Seafort. I meant no disrespect.” He slapped open the hatch. “Perhaps we could play another time then, sir. Off watch.” He left, apparently unfazed.
I sighed. We would be cooped together for a long voyage, and as was my custom with all my officers, I’d gotten off to a bad start. I glared at the board on the simulscreen. “Turn that thing off.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Danny flicked off the screen.
Philip Tyre remained very still. I realized I had just consigned myself to a long watch alone with a midshipman I didn’t like. “Don’t just sit there,” I snapped. “Call up random positions and calculate Fusion coordinates. One demerit for each percent difference between your solution and Danny’s.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Immediately, Tyre bent to his console.
Now I was turning on a helpless middy because I was annoyed with the Pilot. Disgusted with myself, I added, “And one demerit is canceled for every solution that agrees with Danny’s to four decimal places.”
Philip’s look was almost worshipful. “Thank you very much, sir.” He diligently tapped figures into his screen. I remembered that Tyre, unlike myself, was very skilled at navigation.
When the watch finally drew to a close I went to find Amanda. Elated, Philip trotted ahead of me. He’d worked off three demerits by mental rather than physical exercise. I wondered if I’d acted improperly but decided I hadn’t. If Alexi hadn’t searched for excuses to discipline Tyre, the midshipman wouldn’t have logged the demerits in the first place.
I stood tapping my glass for quiet. Into the silence I said, “Lord God, today is November 15, 2197, on the U.N.S. Portia. We ask you to bless us, to bless our voyage, and to bring health and well-being to all aboard.” My eyes stung. The Ship’s Prayer has been repeated nightly for over one hundred sixty years aboard every United Nations vessel to sail the cosmos. For the first time I had offered it aboard a ship that was truly mine. Even if she wasn’t quite the ship I’d expected a few days ago.
I felt stiff in my freshly ironed navy-blue pants, white shirt, black tie. The insignia on my blue jacket gleamed, as did the brass on my ribbed cap. My black shoes had been spit-polished by Roger, the ship’s boy, instead of by myself. Nonetheless, except for my insignia, my costume was identical with that of every officer from Dr. Bros down to Rafe Treadwell, our most junior midshipman.
But, as my bars indicated, I was Captain, and presided at the ship’s table of honor. Passengers who wished to sit with me made a request to the purser, and I was free to choose from among them. Normally, seating rotated monthly. As this was our first month and I knew nobody on board I’d made no attempt to select my companions, but left it to Purser Li.
I toyed with my food, making awkward conversation. Idle chat was something I’d learned in the Navy; before that, in Father’s house, we usually took meals in silence. Since our marriage, Amanda had lifted the conversational burden from me. Tonight she was making sporadic efforts, but she was preoccupied with a backache.
A friendly middle-aged woman looked at her with sympathy. “It doesn’t go on forever, my dear, even if it seems that way.”
Amanda smiled gratefully. “It feels that way sometimes, Mrs. Attani.”
“Greg, here, was my first.” She indicated the dapper young man of seventeen at her side, whose careful manners matched his elegant dress. “Time was in slow motion while I carried him.”
Gregor Attani’s smile was polite. He made no comment.
“You’re going to Hope Nation?” I asked, knowing the answer from her file.
“Yes, Captain. I took my degrees at MIT and now I’m on my way to the Agricultural Station on Eastern Continent.”
“And your husband?” I asked, unthinking.
“I never had one,” she answered calmly. Unless she was confessing promiscuity, which was most unlikely, that meant Gregor was clone or donor.
Amanda nudged me in the ribs. I thought she was chiding my gauche remark, but she gestured surreptitiously to a table across the hall, where Melissa Chong’s charges had been segregated. None of the paying passengers had cared to dine with transients.
Several of the transpop youngsters jostled and shoved each other; as I watched, one flung a roll at his opponent. Dr. Chong hurried from her nearby seat; behind her a mini-riot broke out at the table she had left. I snapped my fingers; the steward bent discreetly.
“Put a seal on that, flank!” I indicated the trouble spot.
“Aye aye, sir.” In a moment he was leaning over one of the tables, hands spread on the tablecloth. The commotion subsided.
Alexi took his place at the first officer’s console. “Morning, sir. How’s Amanda?”
I grimaced. “Restless. She’s not sleeping well.” Amanda was due in a week. Josip Bros, the Doctor, was watching her closely.
Alexi smiled sympathetically, but with no real understanding. That Amanda needed
me to do even the simplest things for her was acceptable and even pleasurable. As for her occasional petulance, I bore it as best I could, knowing it sprung from her physical discomfort.
Alexi yawned. “We could have coffee, sir, if you’d like.”
Normally we didn’t eat on watch, but coffee was allowable. I could hold the bridge while he strolled down the circumference corridor to the officers’ mess. “That would be nice.”
“Right.” He thumbed the caller. “Mr. Tyre, report to the bridge on the double!”
I waited, deciding to say nothing. After a moment the young midshipman arrived. He panted, “Midshipman Tyre reporting, sir!”
“Get us two black coffees.” Alexi’s eyes were on his console.
It was an unusual command; an officer might normally order the ship’s boy to fetch something—that was what he was for—but one didn’t send a midshipman for coffee. Unless one was hazing the middy.
Philip knew better than to show any resentment. “Aye aye, sir.” Obediently he left for the officers’ mess.
I asked, “Did he deserve that?”
Alexi said curtly, “He can use the exercise, now he’s not working off demerits by calisthenics.”
I was amazed. This, from my friend Alexi? “You know better than to talk that way to your Captain!”
Alexi looked mildly surprised. “I wasn’t criticizing, sir. Please don’t take offense.”
I sighed. “Alexi, you’re so anxious to harass him you’ve lost all sense of proportion.”
“Have I?” Alexi considered it with indifference. “Perhaps.”
The hatch opened again. Philip Tyre held a steaming cup in each hand. He brought me mine first.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” He approached Alexi, who was abruptly busy studying his console. Tyre waited.
After a while Alexi reached absently for the cup. “Dismissed.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Philip went to the hatch and slapped it open.
“Just a moment,” I said quietly. “Mr. Tamarov, I will have courtesy among officers.”
Alexi raised an eyebrow. “Courtesy?” He waited a moment, as if in thought. “Aye aye, sir. Mr. Tyre, thank you for bringing me a cup of coffee. That’s all.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Glancing nervously between us, Midshipman Tyre made his escape.
A long silence. When he spoke, Alexi’s tone was bitter. “Sir, you’re within your rights to rebuke me, but I respectfully suggest that doing so in front of a middy interferes with discipline.”
I was astounded. Because I’d leapfrogged from midshipman to Captain I had never been a lieutenant, but if I’d been one who spoke so to my Captain I’d expect summary court-martial at the least. I was also worried; Tamarov was a seasoned officer who should know better. “Are you all right, Alexi?”
“Fine,” he shot back. “Humiliated in front of Mr. Tyre, who knows you’ll intercede whenever I demerit him, but otherwise fine.”
“If you were a midshipman I’d cane you for insolence!”
He gave no ground. “Yes, sir, I believe you would!” We exchanged glares.
“Mr. Tamarov, you presume on our friendship.” My voice was cold. “I won’t allow insubordination. Confine yourself to quarters for a week. You’re relieved from the watch roster until you explain to my satisfaction how your conduct was unsatisfactory. Leave at once!”
Alexi had no choice but to obey a direct order. “Aye aye, sir.” He slapped open the hatch and stalked out.
I paced the bridge, my adrenaline surging. When I calmed myself I sat and reflected on my novel approach to watch standing: banish any officer with whom I shared the bridge. “Were you recording that, Danny?” I didn’t want a permanent record of Alexi’s misconduct.
“Nope. I probably should have. You really gave it to him.” Danny brimmed with enthusiasm.
I grunted my dissatisfaction.
The rest of the watch was uneventful. Just before noon Vax came to relieve me, Rate Treadwell in tow. Rafe, scrubbed and immaculate in a crisp new uniform, was to stand his first watch as a midshipman. Biting his lip, he glanced at the console.
“Don’t worry.” My voice was reassuring. “If you blow up the ship I won’t live to know about it.” It brought a weak smile. I left for my cabin. Amanda was out, so I lay down on my bunk hoping to nap.
I couldn’t sleep. Restless, I went to the officers’ mess, deserted at this hour, to make a cup of tea. I’d just taken my first sip when the ship’s caller blared. “Captain, call the bridge!”
I grabbed the nearby caller. “What, Vax?”
“It’s Mrs. Seafort, sir. She’s had some trouble down on Level 2. She sounds upset.”
Oh, Lord God. “I’m on my way!”
“In the purser’s office, sir.”
I ran. Derek Carr, coming up the ladder on some errand, gaped as I careened past, two steps at a time. I dashed along the corridor, burst into the purser’s office. Amanda came into my arms, clung to my shoulder.
I held her close. “Carry on,” I growled at the purser, who had come to attention. “It’s all right, hon, I’m here. What happened?”
She held me a moment longer. “Nick, I’m sorry. I’m all right now.”
The purser and I exchanged glances. “Some of the joey-boys, sir,” he said uneasily. “The streeters. They, uh, molested Mrs. Seafort.”
“They did not,” Amanda interrupted. “I was just scared. Nobody hurt me.”
“Who? Where?”
Amanda took a deep breath. She released me, tried a tentative smile. “Calm down, Nicky, I’m fine. I was going to the library for some chips. The corridor was crowded, those young men and boys all in blue denim. As I passed, someone shouted a joke about me, and suddenly they were dancing all around me, pointing at my stomach, laughing, jostling, and I couldn’t understand a word they said.”
Her expression darkened. “I thought they meant to hurt the baby. I tried to run but there were so many of them! Everyone was pushing. I shouted to let me go; no one listened. They just kept crowding close, giggling. Then the purser came and took me away.” She turned to him. “Thank you, Mr. Li.”
“Where are they?” My fists were clenched.
“Back in their cabins, sir,” said the purser. “Miss Chong showed up just after I did, and herded them to their bunks.”
I studied my wife. “You weren’t hurt?”
She clutched my arm. “Only frightened.” Her tone was emphatic. “Don’t overreact, it was all a mistake.”
“Overreact? Of course not.” I stalked to the hatch but she got there before me.
“No, Nicky, I mean it. Leave them be. Please.”
“Don’t tell me how to run my ship,” I spluttered.
“Damn it, Nicky, I have to live here too! They meant no harm. If you retaliate you’ll make my life more difficult than it need be!”
“All right.” I was reluctant. “I won’t make a scene. But I’m going to have a talk with Miss Chong, before those dam—” I caught myself in time—“those blessed transpops turn my ship into a zoo!”
She smiled at my scowl and came close. “Excuse me, Mr. Li.” As he turned away she kissed me on the nose. That coaxed a reluctant smile from me. “Escort me up the ladder, Nicky,” she said. “I feel like I need a thrustersuit to jet up there.”
“T-suits aren’t that big,” I told her, and got a poke in the ribs for my pains.
3
“LORD GOD, TODAY IS November 19, 2197, on the U.N.S. Portia. We ask you to bless us, to bless our voyage, and to bring health and well-being to all aboard.”
“Amen.” The word echoed through the crowded hall. I surveyed the room briefly before sitting. By now, the transients’ tables had been pushed as far as possible from the rest.
Despite Melissa Chong’s efforts, the transients’ behavior seemed to be deteriorating. Steward’s mates stood against the bulkhead ready to intervene in the case of riot. Dr. Antonio, newly elected President of the Passengers’ C
ouncil, had approached me to suggest that the transpops be fed separately, before or after the paying passengers. It was not a solution I liked; by long understanding, the Navy traveled with but one class of passenger.
After the soup was cleared we waited patiently for our salads. A robust, muscular man in his late fifties leaned forward to speak. “Captain, nobody wants to be first to mention that it was you who found the life-forms on Telstar. Would you tell us about them?”
His remark invoked the most frightening moment of my life. Our glimpse of hostile fish-shaped aliens was the reason an entire squadron was en route to Hope Nation system, instead of the usual lone supply ship.
“I’d rather not, Mr. MacVail. I didn’t see much, I don’t understand what I saw, and it’s not fit dinner conversation.” A chill settled over the gathering, and no one spoke for a long while.
After dinner I offered to take Amanda for a stroll but she sent me on alone; her back ached. I wandered the Level 1 circumference corridor, then went below to Level 2. I would amble all the way around, until I came back to the ladder where I’d started.
I passed several passenger cabins, then the crew’s mess hall. I went past the engine room hatch without stopping; this wasn’t an inspection tour. Outside crew berth one, crewmen lounged, chatting in the passage. “Carry on,” I blurted, before they could come to attention.
Beyond the crew berths were more passenger cabins. I noticed a strong odor of ammonia. I stopped at the purser’s office. “Mr. Li, what do I smell in the passage?”
“Probably the disinfectant, sir.” His tone was stolid. “We scrub down the corridor twice a day.” I raised an eyebrow. “The transients.”
“Yes?”
“They, uh, urinate in the corridor.”
“They piss on my deck?” My voice rose an octave.
Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 4
