“Well, Mr. Boss?”
“Uppie yellin’ at my fren,” grumbled Eddie. “He don’ know difference teachin’ an’ shoutin’. Not like you, Cap’n. Why doncha tellim,” he appealed. “Like when you teach ol’ Eddie read. You din’ shout, get me more mixed up. Uppie boy, he jus’ show off, thinkin’ he’s smarter.”
“So you grabbed him?”
“A little, maybe. Din’ hurt him.”
“Very well.” I made my note and snapped off the Log. “Ten days in the brig, both of you.” Philip gaped. A stiff punishment for a minor scuffle, one that would have ended harmlessly and gone unnoticed if Philip hadn’t been present to see it. I added, “In the same cell,” and they blanched. “Master-at-arms, escort them to the brig.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Walter took his son’s arm, steered him to the hatch. “Come along, Mr. Boss.”
As they left I heard Eddie mutter, “Help’n run ship, he. tol’ us. What kinda helpin’, dis? Like moppin’ flo’?”
The incident didn’t help morale. The civilian transpops, even Annie, pretended not to notice me when I passed, or worse, they exhibited outright hostility. The transients among the crew were more circumspect, but I sensed their anger as well.
On the other hand, Emmett Branstead, doing work he understood and liked, was affable and eager for my visits.
Not so Mr. Tzee; he seemed to retreat inward when I arrived, as if expecting criticism I never offered. Perhaps he took the failings of his trainees personally.
One night, as the ship lay quiet, I got up from my bed and padded to the bridge. I entered the code, let myself in. Dray, wide awake, glanced at me in surprise. “As you were,” I said, though he’d made no move to stand.
I keyed the alarms. “Battle Stations! All hands to Battle Stations! This is no drill!” Sirens wailed and bells clanged throughout the ship.
“Jesus!” The Chief leapt to his feet. “What? Where?”
“Sit down, Dray, you’re on watch. Kerren, record response times from all stations.”
“No drill,” he rasped, outraged. “No drill?”
“Why should response times differ between a drill and the real thing? We’ll check.”
Crewmen I’d routed from bed raced through Challenger to their stations, shutting airtight hatches behind them as they arrived. Philip Tyre dashed onto the bridge, clothing disheveled. Gregor Attani tagged behind; the cadet had no assigned duty station and followed his mentor.
One by one our stations reported. The comm room was first; Deke’s excited voice in the engine room came last. “Chief ain’ here, sir. Jus’ me an’ Ollie.”
“Hold the bridge, Chief.” I strode down the corridor to the comm room. “This is the Captain. Let me in.” The hatch slid open. I walked past the row of consoles. Walter Dakko, Elena Bartel, and Jonie sat ready, eyes forward, hands at their firing controls. Ms. Bartel’s clothes were awry. Neither she nor I paid any heed.
“Very well.” I went next to the engine room.
An hour passed before I returned to the bridge. Philip, sleepy, shook himself awake as I entered.
“Go back to bed, both of you.” I noted the results of the exercise in the Log, had the crew stand down, and went to my cabin, where I tossed and turned much of the night.
The next morning, short of sleep, I was sipping much-needed coffee when Philip brought Gregor to the bridge for a nav drill. Tyre seemed irritable, and the cadet was stiff and distant, as he’d been ever since I had him sent to Dray.
I thought to lessen the tension before the boy started his practice. “How go your lessons with the streeters, Mr. Attani?”
He said coolly, “As well as can be expected, SIR.”
“What does that mean?”
The young man’s aristocratic features betrayed his distaste. “They learn as fast as trannies can learn.” Unwisely, he added, “I’ll keep at it until you find something better for me to do, sir.” It was staggering insolence.
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you have an attitude problem, Cadet?”
He said bitterly, “Not anymore, sir. Chief Kasavopolous saw to that.”
My tone was even. “I think you do, Mr. Attani.” I understood his resentment, but he was foolish to show it. If the boy pulled in his horns immediately, I would let it pass.
Sullen, he stared past me. “Then you must be right, sir.” His contempt was no longer concealed.
Philip snarled, “Behave, Cadet!” Gregor was, after all, his responsibility.
As my glance strayed to the darkened screen, my gorge rose. Unless we were rescued, we might pass seventy years on this near-derelict vessel. Years with arrogant, half-trained, impudent children. With Dray’s contempt, Chris Dakko’s sullen insolence. With Eddie Boss and Elron Clinger. I slapped the console. “Mr. Attani, report to the Chief Engineer. Tell him he is to cane you for insolence.”
Gregor looked at me, his gaze traveling with disdain from head to foot. He said distinctly, “You bastard!”
“Mr. Tyre.” I barely got out the words. “Take the cadet to the engine room. See that he’s given a lesson sufficient to guarantee good manners for the rest of the cruise. If Dray isn’t adequate to the task, finish it yourself.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Philip, white-faced, spun toward the cadet. “Move!” He propelled Gregor toward the hatch. The boy scrambled to keep on his feet. The last I heard as the hatch slid shut was, “You fool!”
Left seething alone on the bridge, I called up the results of our most recent laser drill. I read the numbers several times before I gave up, snapped off the Log, and threw the holovid on the console.
“Is something wrong, sir?”
“No conversation, Kerren.” I flung myself out of my seat and began to pace. The nerve of young Gregor. Aristocrat he may have been, but now he was a Naval officer in training. At this very moment he’d be learning his manners the hard way. He would give me no further trouble, I was sure. I’d seen Philip’s outrage as he shoved Gregor into the corridor.
Well, so be it. Attani had made his bed; let him lie in it. Muttering, I paced until my adrenaline dissipated. Finally I resumed my seat. I took up the holovid, examined the drill again. The response times were faster than our previous drills, but not by much. I made notes where more practice was needed.
After a time Philip Tyre knocked. He came to attention. “The cadet has been disciplined, sir.” His tone was somber.
“It’s traditional,” I said icily, “for him to report the fact himself.”
“Yes, sir. I thought it best to take him back to the wardroom.” Philip was pale.
“That bad?”
“I—it’s no more than he deserved. I know that.”
“I’m glad you do.”
“Yes, sir.” His manner was humble. “I should have had him under control. It’s my fault.”
“That’s right.” I recalled my own days as senior midshipman. Whatever trouble the middies in my wardroom had given me—and that was plenty—none would have dared abuse his Captain. Had there been question of that, I would have settled it, and fast.
“Dismissed, Mr. Tyre.” I let my voice remain cold.
I busied myself conducting readiness drills for the engine room; it would do no good for Mr. Tzee’s comm room crew to be standing by at their laser controls if the engine room didn’t have firing power on-line.
With practice, I managed to cut the response time by almost two minutes, even with the Chief off duty, as he would be if he was standing watch on the bridge.
It was two days before I encountered Gregor Attani. Philip, called to the conn so I could go below to watch an engine room drill, brought the cadet along. Gregor’s creases were immaculate, his hair carefully combed. He walked with great concentration, pain in his features.
I felt pity. Still, he’d called his Captain a bastard. I asked coldly, “Do you still have an attitude problem, Mr. Attani?”
An ember of pride flickered among the ashes of his misery. “I didn’t think I had one, so I wouldn’t
know.”
I couldn’t fault his pluck, but courage was not at stake. “My compliments to the Chief Engineer, Gregor. And would he please cane you for insolence.”
“Again!” The word was wrung out of him.
“Again. And the correct response is, ‘Aye aye, sir.’ ”
Philip blurted, “Might I take him to the wardroom instead, sir? I assure you he’ll—”
My voice was ice. “My compliments to the Chief, Mr. Tyre. For yourself as well.”
The silence hung between us while Philip grappled with his calamity. “Aye aye, sir,” he managed, crimson with shame. “Come along, Cadet.”
“But—”
“Come along!” He yanked Gregor’s arm. “Now!”
In half an hour they were back. Philip’s hands pressed against the side of his pants. “The Chief Engineer’s compliments, sir, and he requests that Midshipman Tyre’s discipline be entered in the Log.” His eyes were riveted to the deck.
“Very well.” I made the notation.
Gregor shuffled forward. Only his reddened eyes betrayed that he had been crying. He was subdued, his manner without defiance. “The Chief’s compliments, sir,” he mumbled. “Would you please enter Cadet Attani’s discipline in the Log.”
I hated myself for it, but it was necessary to ask. “Do you still have an attitude problem, Mr. Attani?”
The proud young aristocrat’s shoulders slumped. “No, sir,” he whispered. “Not anymore.” He stumbled over the words. “I won’t be rude to you again.”
“Very well.” I made the entry. “Until the next time it’s necessary.” I stood. “You’ll take the conn while I go below, Mr. Tyre. Don’t let the cadet touch anything he shouldn’t.”
“Aye aye, sir.” They remained at attention until I left. On the way to the engine room I realized that I had become the monster every subordinate officer dreaded. Young Dakko in the brig, Clinger set to be returned to his prison, my two officers thrashed into submission. What next? Take off Dray’s hand?
Grimly, I hurried on.
17
MY BRUTALITY TO GREGOR and Philip quickly made the rounds. By morning no one, civilian or crew, chose to meet my eye or speak to me. I suspected that day’s dinner was the last I’d share with my tablemates.
My surmise proved correct. I could have ordered passengers seated with me, of course. But a place at the Captain’s table was an honor, not a duty. So it would remain, while I held command.
I took my seat at the empty table, and when all had arrived I stood to give the prayer. For a moment nobody stood with me. Then, reluctantly, they got to their feet for the traditional ritual. After, I signaled the steward. My table was served first, as always. The self-conscious steward progressed across the dining hall bearing his tray with only my portion on it I appeared not to notice.
Days succeeded each other in monotonous activity. Responding to some inner need rather than any realistic requirement, I brought the ship to the highest state of readiness I could achieve, calling drills at frequent and random intervals. I ordered Philip and Dray to issue the crew demerits for the slightest infractions.
Ill will swirled around my feet as I stalked the corridors, ignoring sullen faces. Above, on the bridge, Philip and Gregor carefully masked their resentment. Our relations were formal, proper, and distant. As they should have been from the start, I realized. The Captain could allow no less.
One day I had Philip and Gregor haul our stock of weapons from the bridge back to the repaired arms locker. It made me uneasy, but if Challenger were to function at all like a ship of the line, we couldn’t operate in constant fear.
I had a holovid sent to the brig with orders for Chris to spend his time teaching Eddie, and for Eddie to spend his time learning. I acknowledged to myself the failure of that particular experiment, but determined to let it run the course of their brig time.
By the third night after I’d sent Philip and Gregor to Dray I wondered whether I’d fomented a revolution; wherever I turned, hostility was palpable. That night I strode into the dining hall through utter silence and took my place at my empty table. As I filled my water glass old Mrs. Reeves stood, whispered to her husband, hobbled slowly across the room on her cane.
“Might I be allowed to sit with you, Captain?” Blue orbs peered from the wrinkled folds of skin.
“You’d subject yourself to considerable displeasure.” I waved at the rest of the hall.
“You should not dine alone.” She made as if to sit, looked to me for permission. Recalling my manners I stood to help with her chair. Across the hall Mr. Reeves beckoned a steward and pointed, then shuffled slowly across the deck. He stared myopically in the general direction of my face. “Would like to join you,” he rumbled. “With y’r permission.”
I indicated a seat. “With pleasure, Mr. Reeves.” He said nothing further for the remainder of the meal. As we ate I waited to see what Mrs. Reeves had in mind to tell me, but she made only small talk. Apparently her presence satisfied her purpose, and she bore no message of warning.
Days passed. When Chris Dakko and Eddie Boss were released from their cell, I had Chris brought directly to the bridge. I let him wait a moment at rigid attention. Then, “I’ve had enough trouble from you, sailor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long were you in the brig?”
“Ten days.”
“Next time it’ll be a hundred days. You have my oath.”
“Yes, sir!”
“The time after will be a thousand days. You’ll be twenty-one before you get out. Do you get my message?”
“Yes, sir!” A sheen of sweat gleamed on his forehead.
“Don’t even dream of stepping out of line, Dakko.”
“No, sir!”
“Very well. Your studies with Mr. Boss?”
He surprised me. “He’s beginning to understand the graph curves, sir. Like the firing consoles show. We’ve been working on those. He’s—” He bit it off.
“Go on.”
“He’s not so bad, when you get past his ways. I mean, he really tries to learn.” Chris colored. “I’m sorry. I’ve given you a very hard time.”
“Thank you. You may go below.”
So one of my efforts was at last succeeding.
That night when I returned to my cabin I found a puddle outside my hatch. Who was on cleanup duty; Deke? How could he be so sloppy? I sniffed, realized it was urine. There was a residue on the hatch where it had dried.
I stepped over the puddle into my cabin, slung my jacket over the chair, dropped my cap on the polished table. I’d seen worse insults. At Academy, frustration and rage were sometimes expressed even more strongly. But the calculated affront was also a warning. I was pushing too hard, and respect for my rank had evaporated.
I brooded. We’d only just begun our interminable voyage. Discipline slackened now could never be reconstituted. That was my motive for the drills: to mold the crewmen into a cohesive unit, responsive to discipline. With a sense of duty, we might survive the years without sinking into the folly of anarchy.
I thought of cleaning up the puddle myself, decided to let it be. I need not notice it.
In the head adjoining my cabin I peered into the mirror, fingered my scar. My eyes were sunken in sallow skin. I was bone-tired from too many hours on watch, too many responsibilities. It would be decades before they ended, unless someone took them from me.
With obstinate determination I continued to drive myself and the crew. We turned the last of our sheet metal stock into a few more grow tanks, to extend our precious gardens another two cabins. Twice daily, I conducted laser-firing drills. Philip and Gregor, as exhausted as I, did their best. As days turned into weeks the pace of training remained hectic.
Philip, his mind on a nav drill, spilled coffee on my console. Furious, I issued five demerits. Protective of his chief, Gregor let his disapproval show. I sent him to the barrel. When he returned, humiliated and in pain, I made him review docking maneuvers for hours.
None dared speak to me.
An obscene drawing appeared on my hatch. I had Gregor scrub it off; he did so without protest. Then, for two days, all was ominously quiet. I waited, reminded of the oppressive calm before a Welsh storm.
It was Walter Dakko who approached. Saddened, I let him speak. I’d expected better of him.
He met my eye. “I’m the bearer of a petition.”
“Oh.” I was almost relieved. “For my removal?”
His look was curious. “No, sir, of course not.” I couldn’t tell if he meant that no one would sign such a petition, or that he wouldn’t carry it. He handed it to me.
Before reading it I asked, “Have you signed?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why involve yourself?”
He considered a long time before responding. “Because a lot of people are troubled and because it’s very important to them. I don’t know how their morale will hold up if you refuse.”
I perused the laboriously written document, the scrawled signatures affixed below. “Repair the drive? You know that’s impossible.”
“I presume so, sir.”
“Then what do you want of me?”
“Try to fix the drive, sir.”
I studied him for a moment. “Since you’re not insane, tell me what you’re talking about.”
A grim, momentary smile lightened his features. “Have you heard—”
“Come to my cabin and sit down.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Before I’d taken two steps I realized I’d made a foolish mistake; I’d worked for weeks to maintain the proper distance from officers and crew, and I’d invited a sailor into my cabin.
About to countermand the order, I realized that doing so would be a worse mistake, and so, lips compressed, I said nothing.
Walter Dakko took a seat at the conference table, unawed by his surroundings.
“Go ahead, Mr. Dakko.”
“I assume you have the facts right, sir, and that the drive is irreparable. But the situation is unacceptable to the crew.”
Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 34
