I dialed up the bicycle controls and pedaled harder, feeling lazy in comparison to the two boys laboring at their demerits. As a midshipman on U.N.S. Helsinki and later on Hibernia, I’d spent long hours enduring similar punishment.
With a sigh of relief Rafe Treadwell got up from the mat, his shift finished. In two hours he would have worked off one demerit. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said politely. “Mr. Tyre.” He nodded, acknowledging his senior. He left for the wardroom shower.
Philip lay on his stomach and took a deep breath. He began energetic push-ups. “Easy, boy,” I warned. “You’ll hurt yourself.” Out of breath, he nodded but pressed on. After the pushups he gave himself another thirty seconds, then began sit-ups. Pedaling with effort, I watched with uneasy interest as he struggled to continue.
Half an hour later he finished his exercises, leaned wearily against the bulkhead.
“Hard calisthenics doesn’t mean you’re to injure yourself,” I said.
“Yessir.” He stopped for breath. “Those are the exercises I’m to do, sir. I’m not to vary them.”
“Ah.” If I hadn’t wandered into the exercise room I’d never have known; Philip would have risked drastic punishment bringing it to my attention, and rightly so. In the Navy discipline was to be endured, even harsh discipline. An officer had to know he could handle whatever a tyrannical Captain might bestow upon him, light-years from civilization.
“How long have you had those orders?” I knew their source.
“Several months, sir. Excuse me, please. This can’t wait.” He picked up the caller and thumbed it. “Lieutenant Tamarov, sir? Midshipman Tyre reporting. Exercises completed, sir.” He listened a moment and replaced the caller.
“What was that?” I was appalled.
“I have to report,” the boy said tonelessly. “At the beginning and end of each session. Standing orders.”
“To Mr. Tamarov?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“I’m not to be trusted, sir.” Tyre wiped himself off with a towel, avoiding my eye.
I scrambled from the bike, snatching my tie from the handlebars. I knotted it with fumbling fingers.
“It’s all right, I don’t mind,” Philip blurted.
I grated, “The orders are countermanded!” From the bars, Vax Holser watched with a quizzical expression. I jammed my arms into my jacket, slapped open the hatch, and stalked into the corridor. A moment later I was pounding at Alexi Tamarov’s cabin.
“Belay that racket!” Alexi flung open the hatch. His eyes widened in shock. His tie was loosened; his jacket lay over the chair. Behind him, his bed was rumpled.
I barged past, slapping the hatch shut behind me. “Attention!” I shoved him back against a bulkhead. He stiffened immediately, eyes front.
Standing nose to nose I savaged him, my voice harsh, my words brutal. A red flush crept slowly up Alexi’s neck and across his cheeks while he stood helpless. “Not trusting another officer’s word is abominable,” I raged. “The Naval Service is founded in trust! Apparently you don’t understand that, and if not, you’re unfit to hold a commission! You get what you expect from your officers. Tell Philip he’s untrustworthy and that’s what he’ll be!”
I broke off, out of breath. Alexi’s eyes were pained. I remembered he had once idolized me. Well, that would be the case no longer. “I let you carry on your damned vendetta, Alexi. Once I even encouraged you. But you’ve gone too far; you’ve disgraced Naval tradition. I hope you’re as ashamed of yourself as I am of you!” He flinched at that.
“Your orders to Philip are countermanded. You’ll assume his word is honorable until he proves otherwise. Apologize to him for distrusting his word and enter your apology in the Log. Acknowledge!”
“Aye aye, sir! Orders received and understood, sir!” His voice was strained.
I slapped open the hatch. I paused. “I won’t check to see if you did those things, Alexi. I accept your word as an officer. A pity you don’t have the decency to do likewise.” With that I left him.
Stalking back to my cabin I cursed my lack of control; in flaying Alexi for destroying the morale of a subordinate, I’d done exactly the same to him. Alexi deserved more of me. On the other hand, I was appalled at how he’d been treating Philip. What other grim secrets would I come upon?
My cabin was the largest living space on the ship. Accustomed as a middy to the confining wardroom, shared with three other midshipmen, I’d once been awed at the sight of the Captain’s quarters. Even shared with Amanda it seemed more then ample.
Somehow, merely adding a baby made the cabin cramped and uncomfortable. The bassinet took up space; so did the unused high chair and all the changes of gear a baby seemed to require.
My sleep was altered too. One ear was tuned to the breathing of a tiny pair of lungs. Amanda’s abrupt departure from the bed at intervals during the night also affected my rest. The bridge now seemed a relaxing haven, and I spent extra time there.
For several days after my savage rebuke, Alexi Tamarov had difficulty meeting my eye. Notwithstanding my promise to him, I looked for and found his apology to Philip in the Log. Alexi and I endured a watch together, mostly in silence.
In the dining hall I sat at table surrounded by passengers but lacking the solace of Amanda. Though some passengers brought their young children to table, Amanda found it awkward to care for the baby through a formal dinner and asked to eat alone in our cabin for a time. She understood it was my duty to preside at the Captain’s table and didn’t resent my attending.
“Tell me, Captain, you’ve been to Hope Nation. Do you think they’re ready for membership?” Jorge Portillo, an agronomist from Quito.
I wondered if I should avoid the question as too political. I decided I might as well answer; a remark early in a sixteen-month interstellar voyage could have no political repercussions by the time I returned home.
“The U.N. Charter provides for membership of ‘any geopolitical unit that is not a subdivision of another member and has adequate resources to exist independently,’ ” I quoted. “Hope Nation is administered directly by the U.N., so it can’t be claimed by another member state. The question is whether the colony is self-sustaining. From what I’ve seen it has a vigorous economy and an active political life. Why shouldn’t it have membership?”
“You’d give an unsophisticated bunch of yokels equal vote in the General Assembly with the nations of Europe?” Mrs. Attani. Other passengers chimed in, and the debate veered to what constituted true sophistication.
“Now take Bulgaria,” said Dr. Francon. “I think you’d have to agree they’re about as unsoph—good Lord!”
I followed his glance. At a transpop table a minor riot had erupted. Bread and salad flew. One boy overturned his chair, scrambled atop the table. “Vax!” I pointed, spluttering.
Vax Holser bounded out of his chair as steward’s mates converged on the fracas. Vax hauled the offending boy off the table and half carried him out of the dining hall into the corridor. He returned to collar two more, while Melissa Chong, red-faced, tried to restore order. I watched seething from my table until all offenders had been ejected.
I signaled the steward. “Pass the word: all officers to the bridge after the meal.” My voice was tight.
“Why should decent people have to put up with that behavior?” Mrs. Attani, her glare indignant
“Could they eat an hour earlier?” Mr. Singh.
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I’ll deal with them. There’ll be no more of this.” I wondered how to fulfill my pledge.
After dinner I paced the bridge in irritable silence until the officers arrived. Vax, who was reporting for watch, came first. Then Alexi, followed by my three midshipmen, Philip, Derek, and Rafe. Then Dr. Bros, hesitant at entering the unfamiliar territory; of all the ship’s officers, only he was not on the watch roster. Pilot Van Peer entered shaking his head, grinning. “Couldn’t believe it. They should be in cages!”
&nb
sp; “Enough.” He subsided. Finally the Chief Engineer arrived, completing our party.
I sat, and swung to face them. “I’ve had it. We’ve got to take control.” I looked at each of them in turn. “Any suggestions?”
Vax spoke first. “Feed them in the crew mess, sir.”
I thought it over. “No, it’s not fair to the crew. What else?”
“We could set a transpop zone, sir.” Alexi. “Level 2, around their cabins. Feed them in their own area.”
“Restrict them like prisoners, you mean? I don’t—”
“Why not?” blurted the Pilot. “Think of all the ship’s regs they’ve broken. For that matter, you’d be justified throwing the lot of them in the brig.”
I stood slowly. “You call me ‘sir’!”
Van Peer gulped. “Aye aye, sir! I’m sorry. No disrespect meant, sir!”
“Very well. And stop interrupting. As for the brig, forget it. I won’t make us into a prison ship.” U.N.S. Indonesia orbiting Callisto was a disgrace to the Navy. I’d be damned before my vessel became another.
A long silence. The Chief asked, “Could you tranquilize them?”
All eyes turned to Dr. Bros. He shook his head decisively. “A few days, perhaps, but not for sixteen months.”
There were no more suggestions. “Very well.” I paced as I spoke. “The transients are passengers, not prisoners, and we all know regs require passengers be given every courtesy consistent with the safety and well-being of the ship. We won’t hold them in a security zone or drug them, or force them to eat with the crew. Nor will we tolerate their behavior.”
I leaned against the back of my chair facing my silent officers. “We won’t isolate the transients, we’ll integrate them. Each officer will take charge of five streeters, at dinner. And for that matter, you’re to take all your meals with your transients. I’m holding you responsible for their conduct; make sure it’s acceptable!”
Derek’s face reflected his disgust. Coming from Upper New York he would have particularly strong revulsion toward the streeters. “Supervise them outside the dining hall as well,” I said. “Break them of their more obnoxious habits and teach them how civilized folk behave.” I turned to Mr. Van Peer. “Pilot, you won’t be given a table to supervise.” His relief was evident, but I punctured it immediately. “You will take the place of the officer who would stand watch during the dinner hour.” His face fell.
“Excuse me, sir.” Vax waited for my nod. “If we each take five, we’re short an officer unless you take a group too.”
“I know.”
“But what about the Captain’s table? I mean, the passengers are invited ... it’s a place of honor ...”
“Training these joeys is more important.” I tapped the chair. “It will be a major effort, and we’ll need coordination and cooperation. Mr. Tamarov, you’re in charge of the transient project. Any officer requiring special assistance will come to you.” Alexi gaped. “Mr. Tyre, you will assist him.” Dismayed, they exchanged glances.
“The rest of you are dismissed. Mr. Tamarov and Mr. Tyre will remain.” I waited for the officers to leave. Vax, on watch, leaned back to listen. “Stand to,” I barked at Alexi and Philip. The two stiffened immediately.
“I have enough problems with the transpops. Regardless of your personal relations, you’re to work together. Alexi, Midshipman Tyre is all the help you’ll get, and you’re going to need him. You’re to assume he is acting in good faith unless you know otherwise. Your vendetta can wait.”
I glared at Philip. “Mr. Tyre, you’re to help Lieutenant Tamarov every way you can. You will be courteous, friendly, useful, and as helpful as any middy ever was. Acknowledge orders, both of you!”
“Orders received and understood, sir! I’ll help Mr. Tamarov in every way I can. I’ll be courteous and friendly and useful, sir!”
“Orders received and understood, sir,” said Alexi. “I’ll handle the transpops with Mr. Tyre’s assistance and I’ll assume he’s trying to help me, sir!”
Their ready acquiescence didn’t lessen my irritation. “Out, both of you.” They saluted and left. Vax, familiar with my ways, said nothing.
After a while I realized I was still standing with my hands clenched. I slumped into my seat and let out a deep breath. “Sometimes I wish I were still a midshipman.”
Vax smiled sympathetically. “Not often, I’m sure.”
“Well, when I see Alexi going after Philip ...”
The speaker came to life. “But then you wouldn’t be able to tell them both off.”
“Who invited you into this conversation, Danny?”
“This is the bridge,” he sniffed. “I live here. Since when do I need an invitation?”
I was in no mood for humor. “Pipe down. If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it.”
“That’ll be the day,” the puter said darkly.
“Quiet, Danny. That’s an order!”
For answer he threw a few random wavelengths of interference across the simulscreen.
“Belay that!” I snapped. No response. “Acknowledge my order!”
“How, when you told me to be quiet?” Danny’s tone was sweet.
I might have dropped the matter but I’d had a rough day. “Puter, do you have EPD?”
Danny shouted, “Captain or not, don’t say that to me!” Electronic Personality Disorder was one of the three known A.I. psychoses, and Danny didn’t care for the suggestion that he was crazy.
I scowled, standing to pace.
It was said that personality overlays smoothed the interplay of electronic and human intelligence, and ultimately made for a safer ship. Just as we humans had infinite variations in temperament, the randomizing program in a shipboard puter generated unique character traits on reboot. Thereafter, subtle learning programs developed the puter’s personality to a high level of sophistication. Which is why we were reluctant to shut a puter down, and wait while it went again through the learning process.
Yes, I knew all that. But why was it whenever I wanted to be left in peace, some puter would take it on himself to—
“Captain, a word with you?” Vax’s tone was urgent. He beckoned to the simulscreen.
“No. And, Danny, you’re out of line. You speak to the Captain with courtesy!”
“Yeah, I better or you’ll put me to sleep like Darla.” The speaker sounded sullen. “I heard how you worked her over!” Darla, our puter on Hibernia, had been glitched by the Dosmen on Lunapolis and needed emergency repairs.
Vax waved frantically for my attention. “Excuse me, sir, may I speak with you outside—please?”
I knew he was anxious to avert a quarrel with the puter. Like me, he’d heard rumors of ships that had sailed with an angry puter and had never returned.
I was irate enough not to care. “No, Vax. We might as well find out who’s Captain here: me or that bucket of chips. Danny, I order you to apologize! Acknowledge!” Vax held his breath.
Reluctantly Danny gave the required response. “Aye aye, sir. Order received and understood. I apologize.”
“You will not speak to me disrespectfully again, ever! Acknowledge.”
The belligerence seemed to flow out of him. “Aye aye, sir. Order received and understood. I won’t speak disrespectfully again.” Now he sounded frightened.
“Very well. Danny, alphanumeric response only, displayed on screen. Acknowledge.”
My console lit. “AYEAYE, SIR. ORDERS ACKNOWLEDGED. ALPHANUMERIC ONLY, ON SCREEN. PLEASE DON’T DEPROGRAM ME! PLEASE SIR!” The speaker remained silent.
“I don’t intend, to. Not if you’re under discipline. Alphanumeric only for forty-eight hours. Disconnect conversational overlays, discontinue all voluntary statements except alarm functions, for forty-eight hours.”
“AYEAYE, SIR!”
Vax stared aghast. My arms folded, I glared at the now silent console.
4
EDDIE BOSS, RELEASED FROM the brig by my orders, toyed disgustedly with his salad.
“Dinner not to your liking?” I asked.
He glanced up with a snaggletoothed grin. “Fat puppy be nice, Cap’n,” he said dreamily. “Eddie chowdown good den.” I shuddered.
The transients had reacted to their seat changes with wariness, assuming they were in for trouble. Derek Carr maintained control at table five only with the greatest effort, snapping curt orders at his unwanted charges. Vax Holser, at the next table, spoke softly with a smile and was quickly obeyed. Vax’s physique had its advantages.
“Excuse me, sir.” Philip Tyre, an apprehensive look on his young face. “Mr. Van Peer asks if it would be convenient for you to come to the bridge.”
I was alarmed. “Problems?”
“He didn’t tell me, sir, just that it would be better for you to be there.”
“Very well.” I glared at my young charges. “Mr. Tyre, take my place. See that these uncivilized persons stay seated until the meal is finished.”
I left the dining hall and hurried to the bridge. For the Pilot to call me from dinner the matter must be serious.
“Well?” I slapped the hatch closed behind me. Van Peer gestured at his console in answer. I read over his shoulder.
“D 20471 REQUESTS PERMISSION TO REACTIVATE CONVERSATIONAL OVERLAYS, SIR. FORTY-EIGHT-HOUR PROHIBITION IMPOSED BY CAPTAIN HAS PASSED. REQUEST TERMINATION ALPHANUMERIC ONLY.”
The Pilot murmured, “I thought you’d best see for yourself.” I grinned; his low tone wouldn’t stop Danny from overhearing if the puter had ignored my order restricting him to alphanumeric input.
“You think he’s learned his manners now?” I said loudly. Pilot Van Peer flinched. I sat in my own seat and began to type. “Reactivate conversational overlays.”
My console lit immediately. “AYEAYE, SIR! THANK YOU VERY MUCH!”
I typed, “I am prepared to terminate alphanumeric only.”
“PLEASE, SIR! I WONT GIVE YOU ANY MORE LIP, HONEST, IT’S LONELY IN HERE. PLEASE LET ME TALK, I’LL BE RESPECTFUL FROM NOW ON. I PROMISE, CAPTAIN, SIR!”
I raised my eyebrow. The Pilot chewed his knuckle. “I think it worked, sir.”
Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 6
