A neurotic, she’d described herself, and I could see the truth of her admission, yet she brought to nursing a determination and an empathy that made up for her lack of practice. She bathed me and helped with intimate functions, and assisted Walter Dakko in dressing my suppurating wound whose fetid odor even I found distasteful, and which had become his special diligence.
“Would you like the holovid?” she asked me now. I nodded, a tiny motion only. Each time I moved my cheek, the dressing shifted, the skin stirred, and I felt sensations I preferred not to contemplate. Moodily I took the holovid from her outstretched hand. Yesterday I’d demanded the ship’s manifest, which Philip had obediently eprommed and sent down.
Relieved of command or not, I could at least use my time to search for stores in the hold that might prove useful, before we jettisoned the rest in preparation for our acceleration. I wondered if it was an exercise in futility. Then I shrugged; we would do what we could. All else was up to Lord God.
Another day passed, and my fever lessened. Kerren’s medications were slowly overcoming the infection that had nearly destroyed me. I tried not to scream when Walter Dakko carefully removed the drain the puter had instructed him to insert.
I demanded a mirror. They said they’d get one, but didn’t. I suspected they didn’t want me to see myself. My temperature remained steady another day. I took a short walk to the head, and savored my achievement. Ms. Bartel shared in my triumph, grinning widely when I could not.
I was myself again, but weakened. Overexertion—remaining on my feet for more than a few minutes—sent a flush to my features and sweat to my pores. I ate the soft foods they gave me, so as not to have to chew, and walked every few hours to rebuild my stamina. The following day I emerged from the infirmary in my frayed robe for a triumphant foray to the corridor bend before returning.
I was perched on my bed, controlling my breathing, trying not to reveal how much the venture had cost me, when Philip Tyre appeared.
He saluted but didn’t come to attention. Quite right, as he held command. “Sir, how do you feel today?”
“Well enough.” My tone was cold.
“When you think yourself ready, sir, I’d like you to resume command.”
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather keep it?”
He looked to the deck. “I’m sorry you disagree with my decision, sir. I understand the consequences.”
“Very well. Right now, then.” I stood too fast, sat back abruptly. “Well, in the morning. I’ll give it one more day, so your effort won’t be wasted.”
“Yes, sir.” He saluted, turned, and left.
When morning came I dressed cautiously, maneuvering my undershirt over the bandage that covered my cheek. I shaved the one side of my face, wondering as I stared into the mirror what horror the neat white dressing hid.
Back on the bridge at last, I saluted Philip. “Kerren, record, please. Having recovered fully, Mr. Tyre, I reassume command of this vessel.”
“Yes, sir. I return command to you. Acknowledged and understood.” He saluted and came to attention.
“Dismissed, Midshipman. Go to your quarters.” I ignored him as he marched out. A petty revenge, but all that was available to me. I sat in my seat and snapped on the holovid to review the Log.
I flipped the first entry, bald and unadorned. “Captain feverish and semiconscious. Relieved of command by order of Philip A. Tyre, senior officer present.”
I skimmed through the subsequent entries. Philip had set experienced crewmen to train our recruits in ship’s protocol and their duties. He’d reorganized the galley and issued supply rations to Mr. Bree on a regular basis. At the midshipman’s orders Mr. Tzee had taught two crewmen the mechanics of standing comm room watch. Dray had been reinstalled in his engine room, and Tyre had assigned him Deke as an assistant.
As I read his accomplishments, an unreasoning anger stirred. The west hydroponics were cleaned out, and new plantings and cuttings from the east hydros started under Emmett Branstead’s watchful eye. Because the sensors and machinery in west hydros were nonfunctional, the plants had to be tended by hand and Philip had arranged that also. He’d recalculated our intended course, had the recyclers monitored, kept the Log entries up-to-date ...
Damn him! I slammed the holovid onto my console. I wasn’t needed. I wasn’t even missed. Our industrious middy had handled everything, and more efficiently than I could have.
I slumped brooding in my seat. When I’d had enough self-pity I called the ship’s stations for progress reports; all was well in recycling, comm room, engine room, and hydros. The rebels, thank Lord God, had done no damage to the hydro chambers.
In what section had Philip confined the mutineers? I glanced through the Log, could find no entry. I was about to call the wardroom, but thought better of it; I’d just sent the boy off to sleep. Better to search out the information myself. I thumbed the caller. “Chief, are you busy?”
A short pause. “Not particularly, Captain. I was showing Deke how the release valves work.”
“Would you come up, please?” I replaced the caller and waited. I knew he wouldn’t be long; when the Captain summoned, a crewman, any crewman, hurried to obey.
Within two minutes the Chief appeared, saluted, and was allowed onto the bridge.
“Dray, I’m a little fuzzy on what happened after I headed to the infirmary. You were getting the trannies—the transients out of the engine room.”
“Yes, sir.” He was impassive. “They’re safe. A couple of the girls got mauled a bit, but no worse.”
“You were about to put the rebels in another section. Four, was it?”
He said nothing.
“Well?”
He shrugged. “Maybe you were going to do that. I never said I would.”
I slammed the console. “Where are they, Dray?”
“The brig, of course. Where else?”
“I promised I’d give them a section if they surrendered.”
The Chief stared in disbelief. “What does it matter? You were under duress.”
I gaped. “I gave them my oath.”
“A ruse of war,” he said vehemently. “Or whatever you choose to call it. It makes no difference; you’re going to hang them, aren’t you?”
“I can’t, Dray. They have my sworn word.”
He saw I was serious. “Them?” he spluttered. “Those God-cursed maggots? You may be crazy enough to let them wander part of the ship—”
“Dray!”
“But I’ll be damned if I do it!” he shouted. We stared at each other in shocked silence.
“Go below, Dray. At once.”
“Aye aye, sir!” With an angry salute he stalked off.
Some time passed before I was calm enough to sit. I pored through the Log. Philip had entered nothing about the rebels’ imprisonment. “Kerren!”
He was as calm as ever. “Yes, Captain?”
“I’ll be in the wardroom. Monitor all alarms and notify me at once if I’m needed.”
“Of course, Captain Seafort.”
I strode along the Level 1 corridor, hardly looking where I was going, and just missed falling over a bucket. Eddie Boss glowered mutely. “What are you up to?” I demanded.
“Same what I be doon allatime!” Savagely he swung a mopful of water across the corridor, sweeping with broad, angry strokes. “Boss boy say allatime moppin’ flo’! Moppin’ flo’!” He shot me a look of accusation. “You said you was needin’ help! Dis be kinda help you need? Ol’ Eddie keepin’ flo’ clean?”
“Deck,” I said absently.
“Deck, flo’, be alla same when yo’s allatime moppin’.” His face was sullen. Not up to a confrontation, I continued on my way.
The harassment of Eddie disturbed me. Was Philip reverting to his old ways? I felt a chill; how did our new cadet Gregor fare, in the isolation of the wardroom? I formed a steely resolve. Philip would not get away with brutality. Never again.
I pounded on the wardroom hatch. It slid ope
n. Gregor Attani, handsome in a new crisp gray uniform, grinned before remembering to salute. “Hello, sir.” His voice was cheerful.
“Come to attention!” I rasped. “Has he taught you nothing yet?”
He complied, his smile fading. “Sorry, sir.”
“Where’s Mr. Tyre?”
“Right here, sir.” Philip appeared in the hatchway in slacks and T-shirt, towel slung over his shoulder. He tossed the towel to the chair and came to attention in one smooth motion.
“As you were, both of you.” Gregor relaxed and eased to his bunk. I said to Philip, “Eddie Boss.”
“Yes, sir?”
“What’s he doing out there?”
“Deck duty.”
“For how long?”
“Five days, now.”
“Why?” I demanded.
A momentary bitterness clouded his features. “For being clumsy enough to stumble on the bridge.” Gregor, forgotten, watched openmouthed from his bunk.
“You don’t agree with my decision, Mr. Tyre?”
“I accept it, sir.” He contemplated the bulkhead with a bleak expression. “However you look at it, he was out of line. A little deck duty won’t hurt him.”
Grudgingly I conceded that he was right. “Very well. But tomorrow’s the last day.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Now.” I glared. “Mr. Andros and Mr. Clinger. The others.”
He squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”
“You put them in the brig.”
“No, sir. Dray did. I left them there.”
I said tightly, “You knew about my oath to let them go free?”
“Yes, I did.” His casual manner infuriated me.
“So you disobeyed orders.”
He smiled without mirth. “You never ordered me to give them a section, sir.”
“You God damned sea lawyer!” The insult hung between us, irretrievable.
“Amen,” said Gregor Attani hoarsely, turning aside my blasphemy.
“You knew what I expected, whether or not I gave specific orders! You deliberately disobeyed me.”
Philip looked me in the eye, took a deep breath. “Sir, at the time I was not subject to your orders.”
My mouth opened but no sound emerged. My fists were balled so tight my hand ached. I finally got out, “Ten demerits for insolence, Mr. Tyre! I won’t cane you, because I promised not to. But you’ll by God work them off, every one of them. And you’re confined to quarters otherwise, until further notice.”
“Aye aye, sir.” His face was white. I spun on my heel, slapping the hatch shut on my way out. Awash with rage, I stalked the corridor to the ladder, dashed two steps at a time down to Level 3. Ignoring the sailors in the corridor I slapped open the engine room hatch. “Dray!”
“Back here!” He emerged from the stores compartment, young Deke at his side, the boy lugging a heavy box.
“Dray, go to section four. Remove the inside controls for the corridor hatches. Disable the speaker and run a new line that connects only with the bridge. Go through every cabin and compartment in section four and remove all tools and weapons. Acknowledge your orders.”
“Orders received and understood, sir.” He smiled, a bitter, sour smile. “Mind if I have a drink afterward?”
Deke watched, openmouthed.
“How dare you!”
“Yes,” he mimicked. “How dare I.” He flexed his hand. “The fingers are all there, Captain. Want one? I sneered at you, and you threatened to burn off my hand. Those scum bastards try to kill you. They seize my engine room, they take hostages. You’re giving them passenger cabins.” He glared, extended his wrist. “Here, do what you want! I don’t need the goddamn fingers!”
I walked unsteadily to the bulkhead, palmed its cold surface, gazed unseeing at the control panels and valves. “I was desperate when I told you that,” I said in a low voice. “I had no one but Philip. The ship was in chaos and I didn’t know what else to do.”
He growled, “Deke, get out. This is between me and the Captain.” The young sailor fled with relief. When Dray turned to me his eyes were cold. “I don’t respect you, Seafort, and I don’t care if you know it. You scared the living hell out of me. I’m fifty-three years old and I’ve never been so frightened in my life. Well, maybe you had to do it. I gave up, when things looked hopeless and that ass Tremaine was running the bridge. The bottle seemed the only way out.”
He looked at me with narrow eyes. “But you played that scene for all it was worth. It was calculated cruelty. I don’t need the bottle now. I can hate you instead.”
“And you don’t fear me?”
His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “No. That’s ironic, isn’t it? I really don’t give a shit whether you take my hand or not. You can’t have me. My hand, maybe, but not me.” He met my eyes. “Oh, I’ll obey orders, and I’ll salute you and speak courteously, when others are around. But I’ll know, and you’ll know, what I really think of you.”
“Yes.” I turned away. “I’ll know.” Despite what I’d done, this man had stood by me at the armory, saved me from the rebels outside the engine room. And there would be no way to reach him, ever.
“I know what you think of me,” I repeated, my voice dull. “I wonder if you’ll ever know what I think of me.” Blindly I groped for the hatch. The corridor was deserted. I made my way to the ladder, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. He’d given no more than I deserved. I climbed back to the bridge, shut myself into its isolation. Alone with the unblinking cold lights of the simulscreen I plumbed the depths of my self-disgust.
Hours later Dray reported that section four was prepared. I rounded up Walter Dakko and Emmett Branstead, armed them, took them below to the brig. I unsealed the cramped, dirty cell that confined Clinger and the deckhand Akkrit.
Clinger’s look radiated hatred. “Shoulda killed you when I had the chance,” he said. “You an’ your oath. I told Andy it was all goofjuice, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Shut up. I’m taking you to section four.”
“Why? Gonna kill us there instead of here?”
“No. I’m giving you a section. As I promised.” I raised my stunner.” Another word, Mr. Clinger, and you’ll be carried out.” I led the two apprehensive sailors and their guard from the brig to the abandoned section.
When they were sealed into their exile I returned for Andros, Sykes, and Byzer. When I unsealed his cell Andros flashed me a glance that sent a chill down my spine. “This is how you keep your word, joey?”
“Clinger and Akkrit are waiting in section four. I’m taking you there now.”
“What’s the hurry?” He leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded. “Don’ wanna wait awhile? A year or so, maybe? An officer’s word!” He spat on the deck. “That’s what it’s worth!”
“Let’s go.” I fingered my stunner.
“I been waitin’ five days,” he screamed. “You lied! No tricks, you swore!” Walter Dakko’s grip tightened on his rifle.
“Yes, I swore.” I waited for Andros to emerge, but he leaned against the hatch, unmoving. “Let’s go.”
“Or?” His voice was a sneer.
“Or I’ll stun you and carry you.”
“If that’s what you got to do, go ahead. You want me to go on my feet, admit you was a liar.”
Dakko took a menacing step forward.
“Easy, Mr. Dakko. I could change my mind, Andros, and leave you here.”
“Sure.” He spat again. “Break your oath once, what’s another time?”
“I was sick!” I cried. “I barely knew where I was!”
“You promised!” he shouted. “You’re an officer, ain’t you? You promised, an’ Dray and your pretty boy, they heard you, and instead we got stuffed in this box! Twenny years they been tellin’ me about that oath stuff, and look what you did to me!” He crashed his fist on the hatch in rage and frustration. “What a greeniel am! I believed you.”
Dakko glanced at me, took pity. He said quietly, “That
’s enough, Mr. Andros. The Captain was quite ill, and he’s here now to carry out his promise. Come with us.”
“He didn’t say, sit in the stinking brig for five days sick with wonderin’ whether they was gonna hang you!” The seaman’s voice faltered. “No, take you to your section and leave you alone, he said! ‘I swear,’ he told us, and I believed him, ‘cause he was an officer ...” His voice had a ragged catch. “I believed him ...”
Dakko raised his weapon. “Come along, Mr. Andros.”
Eyes downcast, Andros hugged himself, shaking his head. Coolly, Dakko aimed the stunner at his chest.
“Wait.” I pushed the gun aside, stepped into the dirty cell, stood before the wretched seaman. “Andros, before Lord God and these witnesses, I apologize.” His eyes lifted. “I failed to keep my pledge. I was sick and confused, but I could still have taken care of you. A word would have done it. I was wrong, and my oath is not kept and I’m sorry for it. I’m here to redeem my oath. Go with these men. Please.”
His eyes were fixed on me with pathetic gratitude. “Aye aye, Captain,” he whispered. Docile, he followed my two sailors to section four.
The moment the hatch was sealed Emmett Branstead growled, “Excuse me, but why? Why humble yourself before that—that traitor?”
He had no right to ask. No sailor ever had the right to demand that his Captain explain his behavior. “Because he was right, Mr. Branstead. And I was wrong. Now, get Sykes and Byzer.”
“My wife would like to talk with you,” said old Mr. Reeves stiffly. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“Of course.” He’d intercepted me as I made my way to my place in the dining hall. I followed him to the table alongside the bulkhead, where Mrs. Reeves and the Pierces waited for their elderly companions.
The fragile old lady smiled at me from tired blue eyes. “I understand we owe our lives to your courage, Captain. Thank you for all you’ve done for us.”
Despite myself I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Done for you? My God, how do these rumors start?”
“You prevented those wretched sailors from blowing up the ship or cutting our power, did you not?”
Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 29
