Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  I knew Gregor Attani was shaping up well, under Philip’s guidance. Though only months younger than Philip, the cadet treated his senior midshipman with reverence bordering on awe. Recalling the brutality with which Tyre had tormented Hibernia, I couldn’t fathom how he’d achieved such rapport with Gregor. I envied it, though I knew the hostility between us was of my own making.

  Of course it helped that Gregor was not subject to a cadet’s traditional merciless hazing. He was rather too old to benefit from it, and there was no one to haze him save Philip, whose energies were expended elsewhere. Despite Gregor’s unwillingness to volunteer, he accepted ship’s discipline and the constraints of his new role with good grace.

  Still, all was not well with him. Earlier that day I’d gone to the dining hall for a cup of coffee—thank heaven, our supply of that liquid was nearly unlimited. While I puttered unnoticed in the galley, Mr. Bree and Chris Dakko moved tables in the hall outside. Gregor arrived with a query from Philip; Mr. Bree scurried back to the storeroom, leaving Gregor and Chris Dakko alone.

  “Hello, Chris.” Gregor’s manner was awkward. I groaned inwardly. As a prospective officer, he must keep his distance. Instead of making my presence known, I waited to hear out the conversation, uneasy at eavesdropping. Hadn’t I just admonished Philip for doing the same?

  Chris eyed Gregor’s crisp gray uniform with contempt. “Do I know you, joey?”

  “Funny.”

  “Not really. I’d call it pathetic.”

  “Call what?”

  “How you sold out.” Chris coolly contemplated his former friend. “I hear you’re bunking with pretty boy Tyre. Have a good time together?”

  I pursed my lips. To commissioned officers, a cadet was as nothing, but to a crewman like Chris, he was as any officer, and Naval courtesy was due. “What’s eating you?” Gregor’s voice seethed.

  “You heard me. You sold yourself to hardass Seafort and that cute middy. Why bother? In a couple of months we’ll all be dead.”

  “What about you? Whose work shirt do you wear?”

  “This?” Chris flicked his light blue shirt with scorn. “You know why. That trannie gorilla is waiting to beat the shit out of me and no one will stop him. Someday I’ll kill him. I’ve already got it planned.” A sneer. “But you don’t just submit, you go along for the ride. Do they feed you better up there?”

  “I think,” Gregor said slowly, “I never really knew you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, grode. You’ve got your new friends to suck up to, just like old daddy Walter.”

  “Remember who you’re speaking to, Dakko.”

  “Yeah? Who?”

  “An officer candidate. If the Captain heard, you’d be in all sorts of trouble.”

  “You gonna tell him, asslicker?”

  Gregor took a deep breath. “Stand at attention.”

  “Oh, no. I take that crap from the gorilla, but not from you. Not unless you’re man enough to make me.”

  “I am, but you’re not worth the trouble I’d get in.” He turned on his heel, stalked out. Chris muttered something derisive under his breath.

  I waited until Mr. Bree had Chris’s attention occupied and crept out unseen. Gregor had lost control of a crewman, but my stepping in would only make it worse. I filed it among my many unsolved problems.

  Days crept by in dreary succession. I inched the thrusters to full power and kept them at maximum, poring over the readouts more anxiously than ever. They remained steady.

  Our full attention turned to food production; everyone, including passengers, helped convert our unused cabins to urban farms. We had to ration sand, but we had plenty of water, thanks to Captain Hasselbrad. Tomato plants, lettuce, squash, legumes, even carrots began to sprout and were cherished like infants by our fervent gardeners.

  Each meal we ate from our dwindling stores made us more aware of our desperate need to succeed in our gardening. Many of the passengers resented the food I sent daily to section four, the same rations we ourselves were given. I paid no heed, except to assure that the supplies arrived unmolested.

  There was some altercation between Eddie Boss and Dray. I didn’t know the details, and didn’t want to ask. Eddie bore bruises for a week or so, until they faded, and thereafter treated all officers with increased deference. Dray didn’t seem a match for the huge recruit, but he’d been around long enough to know a few tricks. And he ran an engine room, where rough joes were commonplace. Still, it was bad discipline for an officer to scuffle with a crewman. Because this was no time for me to interfere with Dray, I held my peace.

  During these weeks I hardly saw my cabin during waking hours, though I yearned for its seclusion. What time I didn’t spend on the bridge, anticipating with dread an alarm that would signal a deterioration in our course, I spent roving the ship.

  I kept the recycler’s mates taut with tension at my sudden inspections. I constantly appeared at the hydro chambers and our improvised vegetable farms. I lost track of how often I passed through the launch berth lock and roamed the hold, hoping to find supplies or equipment I hadn’t noticed on the manifest.

  I’d retreated to my cabin late at night and was stripping off my clothes when the knock came. I don’t know who I expected, but I was dumbfounded to find myself face-to-face with Philip Tyre.

  “May I have a word, sir?”

  “Is this an emergency?” I made my voice as cold as I could manage.

  “No, sir.”

  “On the bridge, in the morning.” I slapped the hatch shut. As I got ready for bed I seethed; Philip knew the Captain’s cabin was inviolate. True, I’d told him he was free to knock. But that was before he ignored my orders about the mutineers. I snapped off the light, dropped my head on the pillow, waited for sleep.

  Two hours later I turned the light on and, with a sigh of resignation, reached for the caller. “Mr. Tyre, to the Captain’s cabin.” I dressed myself, sat in the chair to wait. It wasn’t long.

  I regarded him coldly. “Well?”

  He came to the at-ease position. “Sorry I bothered you at night, sir. I shouldn’t have.”

  “But you did, so get on with it.”

  He squirmed, gave up the at-ease position, and studied the near bulkhead as if for flaws. “I, uh, came to apologize.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, sir.” Red-faced, he turned his gaze to me. “For my beh—my misbehavior in connection with the rebellion.”

  “You were wrong?”

  “I—yes, sir. I was wrong. I’d be grateful if you’d forgive me.”

  “Why?” I felt no inclination to let him off the hook.

  His eyes filled with sudden tears. “Because—damn!” He twisted away, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

  At once I banished the triumph of revenge to some shabby recess of my mind. “Why, Philip?” I asked more gently.

  “Because I need your respect,” he whispered, his face turned. “Because I’m so lonely, with only Gregor to talk to, and I can’t stand ... knowing you hate me again.” He sucked in his breath.

  Lord Christ, what had I done? I got to my feet. “I don’t hate you, Philip. I never have.”

  “No?” He strove for calm. “I think you do, and I’m sorry for what I did to cause it. It’s”—he faltered—“like the last time.” His voice was low.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “On Hibernia, when everyone said I was hurting the midshipmen. I didn’t understand, I never could; I just knew finally that something had gone terribly wrong. And now it’s happening again.”

  With growing uneasiness I asked, “Why did you apologize, Philip?”

  “I told you!”

  “The truth, this time! Because you felt you were wrong?”

  He whirled to face me, tears streaming. “Why do you make me say it? Isn’t it enough that I apologize?”

  “Only truth matters.”

  “The truth ... No, sir, I don’t think I was wrong, not deep inside. I wish I could, but I don’t.
I came because I need you not to hate me. Oh, God, let me be dismissed. I shouldn’t have come!”

  “Yes, you should!” I slammed my fist on the table, as a door flew open in my mind.

  “Now I’ve made things worse ...”

  I shook my head decisively, not trusting myself to speak.

  “Why not?”

  “You were right!” I dropped into my chair and said again, more quietly, “Because you were right.” The silence sat heavy between us. “That’s why you felt no guilt, and why I’ve been miserable for the last month. God, I’ve wronged you.”

  He stood speechless.

  “When you brigged the rebels, you were acting as Captain. My orders were irrelevant; you didn’t even know yet if I’d recover. And, most important, my oath didn’t bind you.”

  He whispered, “If that’s true why didn’t you say it before?”

  I forced my eyes to meet his. “Because I resented your doing such a good job. I fuddled for five days and accomplished nothing; you took command and sorted out everything while I lay in a stupor. Maybe I did hate you a little, for that.”

  “That’s not fair to yourself,” he protested. “I got us into the mess, didn’t I? I mean, by dropping my weapons so the rebels could get them. And you saved us by your unbelievable bravery. All I did was, well, housekeeping.”

  I smiled wryly. “Then you’re a very fine housekeeper, Midshipman. Very good indeed.”

  He blushed with unexpected pleasure. “Really? You mean that?”

  I nodded.

  “I tried to think of everything. It was the only chance I’ve ever had to, well, run things.”

  “I know.” Midshipmen were taught to follow orders; far between were the opportunities to give them.

  “You called me a sea lawyer and said I was insolent—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “—and it was true, sir. I didn’t try to explain to you; my pride got in the way.”

  “You shouldn’t need to explain.” I stood and began to pace. “You didn’t know me when I was your age, Philip. When I was senior middy aboard Hibernia.”

  “They told me stories, Alexi and Derek.”

  “When Captain Malstrom died before commissioning a lieutenant, I pored over the regs, trying to find a way out. Vax Holser should have been appointed, and we both knew it.”

  Philip smiled bleakly. “He didn’t think so. It’s one of the few things he said about you.”

  “Well, I knew the regs. The Captain is in complete charge of the ship and everyone in it. There’s no difference between Captain and acting Captain, as you were here on Challenger. I knew that then, and I knew it when I sent you from the bridge the day I relieved you. I was just so jealous.”

  “Of me?” he said in astonishment. “But why?”

  “Christ, boy, look at you! You’re young and handsome, and assured, and you’re so competent. I’m not.”

  “Not assured?” he repeated in wonder. “On Hibernia I was terrified of you. You knew exactly what you wanted, and would settle for nothing less.” He shook his head. “Not competent? Then what are you? How many times did you save Hibernia? Or Challenger?”

  “I know my duty, but that doesn’t mean I do it well. You have a knack.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I’d like a chance to command, someday.” He wiped his sleeve across his face. “I’m sorry I burst in when you were getting ready for bed.” He flashed a shy smile. “This time I really mean the apology.”

  I shook my head. “It isn’t that easy for me, Philip. I’ve been treating you badly.”

  “No you haven’t, sir,” he blurted. I raised my eyebrow. “Not badly. You were very ... polite. It was more that you weren’t treating me at all.”

  “Even worse. I’m glad you still want my respect; you have it. I’ll try to do better in the future.”

  “So will I.” Awkwardly he pulled himself to attention. Ignoring that, I offered my hand. He took it. The warmth of his grip made it difficult to speak further.

  After my reconciliation with Philip I bore my watches on the bridge with renewed vigor. To my amazement, Challenger was slowly returning to Naval standards, though Philip had his hands full training the streeters who’d joined the crew. His earnest and patient attempts to explain Navy methods didn’t work; the transients either ignored him or laughed outright, which provoked him to retaliatory discipline that further antagonized them.

  I felt some special obligation to the transients that I had difficulty defining. I was determined that they not be treated as second-class sailors, just as I had been determined that they not be second-class passengers. But how, for example, could we teach them to stand critically important watches in the comm room or the recycler chamber? Many were illiterate, all were essentially uneducated. How could I train them to man the lasers, or the radionics? Could they even understand the concepts involved?

  I was distracted from that problem by another; the caller frantically paging me from section four. It was the deckhand Sykes, exiled with the rest of his unsavory comrades, able to communicate only with the bridge. “Mr. Clinger, he’s hurt bad. Somebody do something, ‘fore he dies in here!”

  “What happened, Mr. Sykes?”

  “Clinger and Andy, they been goin’ at it, needlin’ each other and all. Andy broke up a chair and took a piece of it, for a club ... Clinger’s lyin’ on the deck, and I can’t get him awake!”

  I sighed. If I took Clinger to the infirmary he’d have to be guarded. And what about Andros? If I brigged him, would I be going back on my oath?

  As if reading my thoughts, Sykes whimpered, “Please don’ leave me alone with Andy, Captain. Not without Clinger here.”

  “Belay that, sailor. You got what you wanted.” I paused. “I’ll send a detail down for Clinger. They’ll shoot to kill if you try anything.”

  I gave Walter Dakko the assignment; it seemed he had become our de facto master-at-arms. I decided to give him the title to match his role, and informed him when he answered my summons.

  He seemed unaffected by his new appointment. I wondered how seriously he took any of our Naval traditions, in the privacy of his thoughts.

  Shortly after Clinger was installed in the infirmary, and Dakko and Elena Battel recalled to their medical efforts, Philip conveyed Eddie Boss’s request to see me. That brought a smile; Eddie had learned from his previous attempt. “Very well, send him up.”

  The young sailor came to attention, if not smartly, then passably.

  “Yes, Mr. Boss?”

  “Cap’n, was thinkin ’bout trannies. Crew trannies.”

  I waited. After a moment he continued, “Things you showin’ me. You ’n boss boy.”

  “The midshipman. Mr. Tyre, to you.”

  “Okay, Tyre. Mist’ Tyre.” He checked for my approval before continuing. “He havin’ trouble learnin’ trannies. ’Bout jobs, ‘n all. Dey don’ listen good, ’n he get mad.”

  “No complaints about your superior officer, Mr. Boss.”

  “I ain’ complainin’,” he protested. “Jus’ sayin’. I wan’ ta help.”

  “How?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I know I be dumb, Cap’n. Like learnin’ read, know I don’ think good. But I c’n try real hard. You an’ ol boss bo—Mist’ Tyre, if he show Eddie, I c’n teach trannies. Dey lis when I be talkin, not go laughin’ like wid boss boy.”

  I drummed the console. It might work. Certainly the hulking sailor was motivated; he felt responsible for his compatriots. “Well, Mr. Boss, I’ll—” I broke off as an idea struck. Could it work? It would solve another problem. But if it failed, I’d make things worse ...”

  I thumbed the caller. “Mr. Tyre to the bridge. And Mr. Attani.” I took a deep breath. “And Mr. Dakko. Junior.”

  A few moments later they all stood before me in the at-ease position. Chris Dakko’s demeanor hinted of contempt, though with typical adolescent skill he avoided overt behavior for which I could reprimand him. No matter; I hadn’t summoned him for
a rebuke.

  In a severe tone I said to Philip, “Mr. Tyre, how many transpops are on your watch roster for the recyclers?”

  The midshipman shot me a surprised glance; we had discussed the matter only yesterday. “None, sir.”

  “And on the comm room watch?”

  “None.”

  “I told you to train them to stand any watch.”

  “Yes, sir! I’ll work on it immed—”

  “Work on it with Mr. Attani. Perhaps he’ll succeed where you failed.”

  Gregor radiated sullen anger at my attack on his mentor.

  I turned sharply on Attani. “Cadet, you’re now in charge of crew training. Teach the transients what they need to know to stand watch, or I’ll make you sorry you were born. You’re a cadet; you know what that means?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “You have no recourse, Mr. Attani. When I turn on you, I can do anything, and I will! So be prepared for months of misery, or get the transients trained now.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “You’re educated. Take a crewman who’s had some schooling to help you teach Mr. Boss; he’s got a way with the other transients. Show him what you want the rest of them to know, and he’ll help you teach them. But if I catch you or the crewman slacking off ...”

  “Aye aye, sir!”

  I said, as if in an afterthought, “Use Mr. Dakko here. He’s been to school.”

  Chris opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it.

  “You’ve something to say, Dakko?”

  “No, sir,” the boy said quickly.

  “I hope not. Mr. Attani, as far as sailors are concerned, you’re an officer. You have the right to have your orders obeyed. Mr. Tyre has dithered long enough; now get to work!”

  “Aye aye, sir!”

  “Dismissed, all of you. Mr. Tyre, you will remain.” When the bridge had cleared I gestured to the console next to mine. Philip sat uneasily. I said nothing.