Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  Philip came to attention. “Aye aye, sir.” His tone was stiff and formal. He saluted, beckoned to a steward’s mate to follow. Pistol armed and ready, he slapped open the hatch and disappeared into the corridor.

  “Mr. Dakko, position yourself to guard the hatch. Let no one enter who is armed save Mr. Tyre.” The recruit nodded and moved purposefully to the side of the hatchway. I crossed the dining hall to the ship’s caller on the bulkhead. I keyed the caller to page the entire ship.

  “Attention all hands. This is the Captain. All passengers and crew are to report to the dining hall at once. Mr. Dracker, Mr. Tzee, Mr. Kovaks, remain at your stations; this order does not apply to you.” I replaced the caller. I dragged a chair into the center of the aisle. I sat facing the hatch, rifle across my knees.

  In a few moments they began to respond to my summons. Walter Dakko coolly eyed each person who entered, weapon at the ready. Annie, the transpop girl, was the first, followed by several other streeters. Seaman Jabour, the deckhand, came, his expression uncertain. From my place in the aisle I motioned them to seats.

  Gregor Attani and Chris Dakko arrived, gaped at the rifle in the hands of Chris’s father. He ignored their startled looks, his eyes fixed on the open hatchway.

  The Chief Engineer peered through the hatch before hesitantly entering the hall. I pointed to a table; docile, he took his seat. Eddie Boss stopped short at the sight of the rifle. I ordered him to a chair; he glared at me before deciding to comply. Other transients drifted in.

  Several of the older passengers came together, huddled as if for mutual support. Mrs. Ovaugh walked heavily, with a cane. Mrs. Reeves, Judge Chesley’s sister, followed with her husband, accompanied by Mr. Fedez and the Pierces.

  Emmett Branstead stalked in. He glanced at Walter Dakko but did not stop. “Captain, just what do you—”

  “Later. Take a seat.”

  “Not until—” I swung my rifle toward him, my face impassive. He subsided and quickly found a place.

  The steward’s mate peered cautiously through the hatchway. Seeing no danger he came in, lugging a box of foodstuffs. Philip Tyre followed, pistol poised, his face reflecting a deadly resolve. He stopped short when he saw Walter Dakko, but relaxed at my nod of reassurance.

  Finally all had arrived who would. Somewhere in the bowels of the ship lurked six armed and rebellious crewmen: Clinger, Andros, Sykes, Byzer, Simmons, and Akkrit. Within the dining hall, all was silent. Even the transpops were subdued by the overriding mood of menace.

  I cleared my throat. “Last evening I told you I would ask for volunteers to enlist. It is now time. The safety of the ship demands that a sufficient crew be formed. I call for your enlistment. Who will volunteer?”

  Elena Barrel was the only one to speak. “I’d be willing to help you as a civilian, Captain. In any job.”

  “So would I, sir.” Astounding: it was old Mrs. Reeves.

  “Thank you both. However, I require volunteers to enlist in the Naval Service, not as civilian helpers.”

  “Why?” Emmett Branstead.

  “U.N.S. Challenger is a Naval vessel and will be directed by a Naval crew.”

  Branstead’s scorn was withering. “But you have none.”

  “I have the remnants of a crew, which we’ll augment.”

  “Use civilians.”

  “No. Aside from hydros and recycling, I need crewmen to man the lasers so we can defend ourselves. We have to keep a constant watch in the comm room. The engine room must be staffed to generate propulsion.”

  “With what, the thrusters? They’re maneuvering jets, and we’re nineteen light-years from home!” Branstead’s red face glowered. “It’s hopeless, you fool!”

  From his nearby seat Philip Tyre sucked in his breath in rage. I stood. “Yes, nineteen light-years. I’ve calculated that after jettisoning cargo, by using all our propellant we can, over a period of a month, boost the ship to one-quarter light-speed. If—”

  Elena Bartel blurted, “That would mean seventy-six years to get home!”

  “Yes. But—” The murmurs of dismay grew louder. For the first time I raised my voice. “But the radio message we’ll begin sending on continuous tightbeam will reach Earth in only nineteen years. We will constantly send our position and course. By that time we will have traveled almost five light-years toward home, and—”

  Emmett Branstead shouted, “You’re talking a lifetime!”

  “No. Some of us will be alive, and our children would be.”

  “Christ, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Branstead said with heat. “It would take them fifteen more years to reach us—”

  “Under Fusion they’d reach us in months.”

  “And everyone knows you can’t use all your propellant to accelerate! We’d shoot right past the Solar System, unable to brake.”

  “The rescue ship would match our velocity and course; we’d be off-boarded in flight. Perhaps Challenger might eventually sail through the Solar System, empty and abandoned, while some of us sit at home in old age, recalling our past adventures.”

  This time the silence was thoughtful. After a moment I added, “Or we can sit bickering until the supplies run out and we die. The jobs I listed—the comm room watch, the recyclers, the hydros, the engine room—require Naval personnel. I won’t trust Challenger’s survival to civilians.”

  I strode to the ship’s caller on the bulkhead and dialed the bridge. “Kerren, come on-line, please.”

  “Puter K 20546 reporting, sir.” His formality startled me but I was glad for it.

  “Very well. You have sensors in the dining hall, do you not?”

  “Yes, sir, for emergency use. Normally deactivated for privacy.”

  “Activate your sensors and record. I, Captain Nicholas Seafort, do now call for volunteers. Who will enlist?”

  No one spoke. I said again, “For the last time, I call for volunteers. Who will enlist?”

  “I will.” All heads turned to the pale young woman.

  “Ah.” I faced her. “Ms. Bartel.”

  “Yes. It’s only for a few months, anyway.”

  “No, the term is five years.”

  She smiled bitterly. “I don’t think it will be, Captain. But it’s how I choose to spend what time is left.”

  “Thank you. Repeat after me. ‘I do swear upon my immortal soul ...’ ”

  She raised her right hand. “ ‘I do swear upon my immortal soul ...’ ”

  “ ‘To preserve and protect the Charter of the General Assembly of the United Nations, to give loyalty and obedience for the term of my enlistment to the Naval Service of the United Nations and to obey all its lawful orders and regulations, so help me Lord God Almighty.’ ”

  Solemnly her words echoed in the hushed chamber. When she fell silent I nodded shortly. “Who else?” I looked around.

  “Me, sir.” A stout, middle-aged man. “Chester Olwin. I’m an engineer.”

  “Very well.” I gave him the oath. “Who else?” There was no answer. I asked again, “Will anyone else volunteer?” Several passengers looked away, eyes shifting in embarrassment. Two middle-aged men, some type of crop specialists, and some of the older women.

  “I see.” I walked slowly back to the center of the room. “Kerren, continue to record.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” I paced. “Pursuant to Article 12 of the Naval Regulations and Code of Conduct, Revision of 2087, I hereby declare a state of emergency.” My eyes roved the assembled passengers. “During a state of emergency, involuntary impressment into the Naval Service is authorized.” I stopped in front of the table. “You. Stand!”

  With shaky legs, Gregor Attani complied. I said formally, “I herewith impress you into the Naval Service and require you to take the oath of allegiance. Repeat after me. ‘I do swear ... ”

  I’d expected a refusal but he only asked, “Why? Why me?”

  “You’re young and you’re educated.”

  He stared at the deck a long moment. Then he straighte
ned, glancing quickly at his friend Chris. His face was grim. “I do swear upon my immortal soul—”

  I finished administering the oath. “You! Chris Dakko!”

  “No!” He stood to face me, fists bunched.

  “I impress you into the Naval Service. You will take the oath.”

  “Like hell!” At his post by the hatch his father stirred, then was still.

  I raised my rifle. “Repeat after me. I do swear upon my immortal soul—”

  Chris waited, unafraid. “What will you do, Seafort? Shoot me, or all of us?” His laugh was contemptuous. “Then who’ll run your bloody ship?” He held my eye. “If you’d make a slave of me, you’re no better than your mutineers!”

  My reply was cut short by a rough hand on my shoulder. I whirled, ready to do battle. Eddie Boss hovered, eyes blazing. “Get away,” I snarled. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Enlis’ me.”

  “You sit—what?”

  “Enlis’ me!” He loomed, fists clenched.

  Briefly I closed my eyes. “I can’t, Eddie. I need joes with education and skills. And you’d have to obey my every order, without question. You can’t do that.”

  “Don’ tell me what I c’n do!” he shouted. “You dunno!”

  I backed away from his rage. “You’re ready to obey, Eddie? Without any reservations?”

  “What’s resashuns?”

  Behind him, Chris Dakko snickered.

  “Holding back. A seaman must give total obedience, even when you’re angry, like you are now.”

  He was silent a long moment. “Yeah, I do dat,” he said at last. “Enlis’ me, Cap’n!”

  “It’s for five years, Eddie.” My voice was gentle.

  “I know! Do it!”

  I overrode my doubts. “Say: I do swear ... ” He repeated the oath, stumbling over the words. “Very well, Mr. Boss. You’re enlisted in the U.N. Naval Service.”

  Eddie grinned triumphantly. He whirled, his massive hand a fist, and clubbed Chris Dakko to the ground. “You do what my Cap’n say!” he bellowed. The boy lay dazed, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. From the hatchway Walter Dakko watched, impassive.

  Well, the Navy was nothing if not adaptable. “Very well, Mr. Boss. You’re appointed chief petty officer. Your first duty is to help me shape up the new crewmen. Pick up that recruit you just knocked down.” As he hauled Chris to his feet I added, “You’d better take the oath, Mr. Dakko, before worse happens.”

  Chris looked around, shivered. He mumbled, “I swear. All of it.”

  “Very well. Sit down and hold a cloth—”

  “You need more, Cap’n?” Eddie blurted.

  I said coldly, “Mr. Boss, this is your first order. Never—NEVER—interrupt your Captain.”

  He swallowed. His fists clenched briefly, then he relaxed. “Aye aye, Cap’n,” he said with care.

  I glanced at Chris, who had sunk into a seat, cloth napkin pressed to his bleeding face. I turned back to Eddie. “There are others who want to enlist, Mr. Boss?”

  “Yeah. I mean, uh, yes, uh, sir.” He pointed to Deke. “Him.” The young transient looked startled. Eddie pushed him forward. “Say h’m his oath, Deke. Tellaman.”

  “I ain’—”

  “Yeah!” Eddie locked eyes with the unnerved streeter, who after a moment capitulated.

  Deke nodded. “I takin’ oath, Cap’n. Swear.”

  “Very well. Who else?”

  Eddie led me through the cluster of transients, pausing in front of some, ignoring others I’d have selected. I chose to trust his judgment. When he was through I had fifteen new recruits, from their group: eleven boys, four girls.

  I glanced at the remaining passengers. Most were too old to be of use. “Very well, then. The new crewmen will—”

  “Just a moment, Captain Seafort.” Emmett Branstead came to his feet.

  I turned, angry at the latest interruption. “I’ve about had it with you, Mr. Branstead. I won’t tolerate your interference.”

  “I’m not interfering!” His red face radiated anger.

  “What then?”

  “I volunteer.”

  I was speechless. As the silence lengthened Philip Tyre glanced at me and intervened. “If that was a joke, Mr. Branstead, it’s in poor taste.”

  He glared irately at the young midshipman. “I wouldn’t joke about anything so important. I’ll enlist.”

  I found my voice. “Why, after all you’ve had to say?”

  “I have skills you’ll find useful with the hydroponics. I’m a planter; my brother owns one of Hope Nation’s largest plantations, though I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

  “I’ve sat at his table.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. I added, “The plank table, in Harmon’s dining room. I’ve met your nephew Jerence, who will inherit.”

  “Oh,” he said in a small voice.

  I savored my triumph, before I realized how mean it was. “So? You have skills, and you’re donating them?”

  “That, and—” He gestured at the transients. “You’ll have your hands full. You need recruits who are educated. As you said.”

  “Your temperament is hardly adequate, Mr. Branstead.”

  He nodded. “I know what you think of me. But you’ll find I will obey orders once I’ve given my word to do so.” He held my eye until I was forced to look away, recalling Derek Carr’s determination.

  “Very well, then.” I administered the oath. I faced the silent, apprehensive group. I had just added twenty untrained recruits to the ship’s roster. We still needed more help, but I’d more than doubled my crew and I’d have trouble enough assimilating so many at once.

  I sent the new crewmen to the tables I’d designated for the ship’s company. We sat to our meal.

  12

  STEW AND FRESH BREAD revived me; I returned to the bridge with a more jaunty step. I sent Philip, still armed, down to crew berth one to settle the new recruits. My first thought had been to hunt down the rebels immediately, but on reflection I decided otherwise. Untrained recruits with unfamiliar weapons were no match for tough, ruthless crewmen who knew every inch of the ship. I’d only end up killing some of my new crew and putting more arms into the hands of the rebels.

  I paced impatiently until Philip returned. He dropped into his chair with a sigh of relief. “They’re getting settled, sir. We found the stores and I issued uniforms and bedding. I took the liberty—” He flushed.

  “What is it?”

  “After I left them I put my ear to the hatch for a minute. There was some grumbling, but it sounded all right. I know we’re not supposed to spy.”

  “That’s right. If they catch you they’d never trust you again. Or any officer.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  The corners of my mouth turned up. “I’d probably have done the same.”

  Philip, used to my moods, said nothing when I stood and began to pace. I had to deal quickly with the rebellion. But despite my anxiety, until we had the enlistees—and the inductees—well in hand, I had no way to regain control of my ship.

  In the meantime, I could trust Philip Tyre and Walter Dakko. But I dared not press the loyalty of seamen like Mr. Tzee and Mr. Kovaks, who’d bunked with the rebels on the long voyage out.

  I glanced at the two rifles leaning against the bulkhead, mine and the one I’d issued Walter Dakko. Perhaps I could set the midshipman and Dakko to guard the two ladders up from Level 3 while I systematically searched the bottom Level myself. No, that wouldn’t work; I couldn’t afford to lose either Dakko or Tyre, and besides, searching an entire Level would need more than one person; while I was in the engine room or a crew berth the rebels could slip around the circular corridor to where I’d already searched.

  I pounded the chair arm in frustration. How could I conduct ship’s business with six armed sailors skulking belowdecks? They could hold out indefinitely, unless I could deny them access to food. A chill stabbed. What if they burned through the arms locker and seized the rest of
our weapons?

  Good Lord. I hadn’t secured the armory.

  “Philip!”

  He leapt awake, alarm and embarrassment playing on his features. “Yes, sir?”

  “Go below. Bring back Mr. Attani. And, uh, seal crew berth one. Explain to the men that it’s for their own safety. I’m concerned to keep the rebels out, not them in.”

  “Aye aye, sir. But couldn’t Clinger burn his way through, the way he did the brig?”

  “He won’t know whether I’ve issued arms to the crew, so I don’t think he’ll take the chance. Show them all how to use the caller and instruct them to call the bridge or my cabin at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He scurried to the hatch.

  Fifteen minutes later, a knock. I swiveled the camera, saw Philip and Gregor. Inside, Philip saluted and came to attention. Attani, glancing at him, imitated in passable fashion.

  “As you were.” I smiled at Gregor to show my approval. “I’m glad you’re making the best of a bad situation, Mr. Attani.”

  “Uh, thank you.”

  Philip glared at him. “ ‘Sir!’ Always say ‘sir’ to the Captain!”

  “Thank you, sir.” Gregor’s jaw tightened.

  It wasn’t good discipline to undercut Philip in front of a seaman, but perhaps we were past such niceties. I said as gently as I could, “There’ll be time for that later, Mr. Tyre. Mr. Attani is showing his goodwill, and my mind is on something more important than etiquette.” Before Philip could respond I went on, “Gregor, I’ve inducted you against your will. Now I need to put my ship in your hands. Can I trust you?”

  He thrust his hands in his pockets. Seeing Philip’s horrified look he hurriedly pulled them out again. “Trust me? Not to double-cross you, or not to foul up?”

  “Both, Mr. Attani. I want to leave the bridge. I need you to guard it.” Philip bit his lip, shook his head at me, urging me to stop. “After I seal the hatch behind me, if you hit that red emergency seal on the console, I will have no way to get back in. No way at all.” Philip’s expression was aghast.

  Silent for a moment, Gregor stared at his feet. Then he shrugged. “It’s tempting, I admit. But to what purpose? To hand the ship over to the rebels? Chris is wrong, you’re a lot better than they are. Besides, I’ve given my oath, which settles it. If it means anything, I’ll give you another. I won’t betray you, so help me Lord God.”