Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2)

by David Feintuch

  “I will never relieve you.” He spoke with finality.

  “You may go down with me, Philip.”

  He stood. “So be it.” A moment’s silence, while he mustered his courage. Then, “It is a privilege to serve under you; sir.”

  My chest tightened and I couldn’t speak. I gestured to the hatch. He saluted formally and left.

  “FIRE IN THE COMM ROOM! FIRE IN THE COMM ROOM!”

  Feet pounded on the treads of the ladder as fire control parties raced to their duty stations, spurred by wailing alarms.

  “Engine room reporting full water pressure!”

  “Damage control ready!”

  “Comm room controls shifted to bridge!”

  In the corridor outside the comm room I keyed my stopwatch. “Three and a half minutes.” Panting crewmen waited, hoses in hand. “Very well, Mr. Tyre. We’ll try for better next time.” I ignored the glowers my remark earned. “Have the crew stand down.” I returned to my cabin.

  It was four in the morning.

  The next afternoon I ran laser drills and decompression drills. After the evening meal I called an inspection and toured the ship while the exhausted crew stood by at their stations.

  After trudging what seemed like miles I returned to the bridge and gratefully sank into my seat. Philip and Gregor waited attentively; they’d accompanied me on my inspection, stopping first at the wardroom where I sternly checked the bunks and gear stowed neatly in the duffels. I found no irregularities, and expected none. Philip was a seasoned officer, and would have seen to it that Gregor’s gear was in order as well as his own.

  “Pass the word,” I said. “The crew may resume work on the drive project, so long as drill scores remain high.” Though I foresaw nothing but problems when the repair project failed, I had to concede that the crew met my expectations. Their hostility was manifest, but their state of readiness was acceptable.

  When I went back to my cabin to wash for dinner I found outside my hatch a crude rag doll, stuffed with old torn sheets, made to look like the Captain. Its head had been cut off.

  The next morning work parties went Outside for a final inspection of the welds on the drive shaft. I ordered Gregor to accompany them. He did so with reluctance, no doubt recalling my fury at his previous escapade, and its humiliating consequences. This time he was careful not to lose contact with the hull.

  By midafternoon Walter Dakko conveyed a request to allow low-power testing to begin. The Chief reassured me once more that at low power we’d do the shaft no damage. Sighing, I gave my consent.

  I took the bridge, with Philip at my side for moral support. The Chief remained below in the engine room, at his usual station for Fusion. I knew a knot of crewmen from the project committee would be peering anxiously over his shoulder.

  “Bridge to engine room, prepare to Fuse.” I cleared my throat. “Rather, prepare for fusion drive test.”

  The Chief’s flat voice responded almost immediately. “Engine room ready for test, sir.”

  “Very well, stand by.” I looked up to the screen. “Kerren, nominal Fusion coordinates, please.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Kerren flashed the coordinates for home on the screen. I felt a lump in my throat. If only we could use them.

  “Very well.” No point in manually rechecking the coordinates. We weren’t going anywhere. “Go ahead, Chief.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Fusion drive is ... on.” Automatically I glanced at the screens as if expecting them to go blank. The cold pale points of light remained.

  Alarms shrieked. Kerren exploded into life. “Fusion drive malfunction! Coordinates not attained. Improper power settings! Fusion drive failure! Emergency shutdown achieved!”

  “Captain, we’ve lost power to the fusion drive!”

  “I know, Chief!” I muttered a curse as I slapped off the alarms. “Kerren, we’re running low-power tests. No Fusion is expected.”

  Kerren hesitated a full second. “Low-power testing is a dockyard maneuver, Captain. I have no program to accomplish it under weigh.”

  “We’re running the tests manually, Kerren. Disconnect your alarms.”

  “Alarms are operative at all times, Captain.”

  “Override.”

  He paused. “Alarms are overridden as per Captain’s order. Override entered in Log.”

  “Monitor N-wave output and graph it to the screen against expected wave output at similar power.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” he said doubtfully. “That will replicate the engine room monitor displays.”

  “Yes.” I waited but the puter had no further objections. “Disengage your supervision of engine room controls, Kerren.”

  “That violates my directives, Captain. My function is to assure the safety—”

  “Override. It’s part of the test.”

  “Overridden,” he said after a moment. “Engine room power is reactivated.”

  “Engine room, resume testing.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Apply power.”

  A jagged line pulsed on the screen as power reached the drive. A moment later the smooth line representing normal N-wave generation appeared as well. The wave we generated bore no resemblance to the sleek curve of a proper N-wave.

  We watched in silence.

  On my console the gauges fluctuated wildly. Below, in the engine room, the Chief tried without success to modulate the wave. After a few minutes he muttered into the caller, “No use. Maybe if we adjust the baffles ...”

  “Very well. Shut it off.”

  The jagged line faded from the simulscreen. “When do you want to try again, Chief?”

  “Does it matter? There’s no point in—I dunno. Tomorrow I can rig up something.”

  Beside me Philip Tyre said, “I knew it couldn’t work, but still I was hoping ...”

  “So was I,” I said shortly. I stood. “I’m going below.”

  Dray regarded me dourly from the engine room hatchway.

  “Well?”

  He was blunt. “Hopeless.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course!” he snapped. “What do you think I’ve trained in for thirty years?” He pulled himself back. “Sorry, sir. Bartel and Clinger and the others, they watched me like I was a doc trying to save their baby. It got on my nerves.”

  “Yes.” I added cautiously, “It would be best to keep testing, if there’s any possibility of improvement.”

  He glanced at me, knowing. “Yes, sir. I don’t want to think about when they’re finally convinced it won’t work. Tomorrow I’ll try to make finer adjustments on the baffles, and see if varying the wave strength has any result.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gave me an odd look. “You’re welcome, sir.”

  The next afternoon we began another series of tests. Again the wave we produced was a jagged, uncontrollable line on the screen. Off-duty crewmen crowded into the engine room to observe. Our machinists fabricated new controls for the baffles in repeated efforts to overcome the problem.

  By day’s end everyone was short-tempered, including me. Elena Bartel asked for permission to speak with me, and I had her brought to the bridge.

  “There’s one thing we haven’t tried, sir.”

  “And that is?”

  “More power.”

  “I’m no engineer, Ms. Bartel, but even I know how dangerous that would be.”

  “The wave front might straighten.”

  “And it might melt the shaft wall.” Pensively I tapped the console. “We may not be generating true N-waves, but we’re putting out energy in the attempt. If we overheat the shaft—”

  “The sensors will—”

  “Don’t interrupt!” She drew back startled. “You’re a sailor speaking with an officer, Ms. Bartel, and don’t forget it!”

  “Aye aye, sir.” She sounded reluctant.

  “If we melt the shaft the energy could turn back on us and we could destroy the ship.” I stood. “I’ve gone along with this charade, and I�
�m willing to let it continue, up to a point. You may test again only if we can do it without further endangering Challenger.” I glowered. “Dismissed!”

  She saluted, turned on her heel, and left.

  Philip brought me the word the next morning. “Walter Dakko, sir. I was walking down the corridor and he hauled me into the lounge. He actually yanked my arm, sir, as if he didn’t care that I’m an officer. Said he had to talk to you immediately.”

  I felt my arms prickle with a cold sweat. “Right now, then.” I thumbed the caller. “Master-at-arms to the bridge!”

  Moments later-Dakko had joined us. “Things are getting out of hand.”

  “Be specific.”

  “The crew berth, a lot of wild talk. You won’t allow testing at high power because you don’t want us to go home. You know the drive can be made to work but—”

  “Goofjuice!”

  “Yes, sir. But it’s real to them. They’re getting, ah, rather worked up.”

  “Still only talk?”

  “For the moment. But they’re—” He swallowed. I waited. “There’s talk about running tests without your permission, sir.”

  “How could they? I’d have Kerren override the fusion drive circuits.”

  “If you’re in control.” He met my eye without flinching.

  “Break out arms, Mr. Dakko. For you, me, Mr. Tyre, and the Chief.”

  “Aye aye, sir. And one other thing—”

  “Yes?”

  “Chris. I want to keep him out of harm’s way.”

  “How?”

  “Lock him in a cabin, if I must. I don’t want him involved.”

  “Denied. He’s a sailor. He knows his duty and the consequences of rebellion. Go break out the arms.”

  “No. You owe me that much.” He held my gaze, not defiantly but steadily.

  “You too, Mr. Dakko?”

  “If that’s how you must have it.”

  I clapped my jaw shut before I made it worse. He had, after all, repeatedly risked his life to bring me essential information. I changed tack as smoothly as I could. “Mr. Dakko, Chris is seconded to you for special duties until the emergency is over. Break out the arms.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Thank you.” He left at once.

  Philip said hesitantly, “If we go armed, sir, we’ll show the crew we know what they’re thinking.”

  “Yes. It’s time we all knew where we stand.”

  Half an hour later Walter Dakko was back with a load of laser pistols and stunners. I took a pistol, sounded the alarm. “All hands to General Quarters!” The sirens wailed.

  One by one the stations reported. When the last voice crackled in the speaker I said, “All hands remain at General Quarters until inspection.”

  We made the rounds, Philip, Walter Dakko, and I. At each station I checked readiness, on the alert for misplaced gear or other violations. Our last stop was the engine room, where Deke and Jokko stood by with the Chief.

  I paused at the hatch. “Dray, how high can we set fusion drive power without overheating the shaft?”

  Perhaps he’d heard the scuttlebutt; at any rate he made no comment about the futility of our testing. “I’m not entirely sure. Somewhere near fifty percent, I’d think.”

  “If you increase power slowly will your monitors warn us of overheating in time to shut down?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Very well.” I took the caller. “All hands stand down!” I made my way back to the bridge, Philip dutifully at my side.

  “Now what, sir?” he asked.

  “Fire drill.” I reached for the caller.

  “Right after GQ?”

  By way of answer, I hit the alarm.

  During the afternoon I ran two more alerts and a laser drill. The crewmen were brooding and sullen, but my orders were carried out. At dinner, immediately after the prayer, I made an announcement. “Fusion drive testing may resume under the Chief’s supervision. He will decide what power settings do not imperil the ship’s safety.”

  Before the echo of my last words had died Elena Bartel was on her feet. “Does that mean we can start tonight?” Her tone was truculent.

  “Sir!”

  “Sir. May we start tonight?”

  I thought of delaying until tomorrow, in response to her bad manners, but that would be altogether too petty. “Very well.”

  The ragged line flickered across the screen. Rarely did it intersect for more than a moment the smooth curve of the theoretical N-wave. As the Chief increased power the strength of the wave grew but it remained obstinately erratic. I yawned.

  Philip spoke suddenly, startling me. “If that were music it would be some weird kind of jazz.” His eyes too were riveted on the simulscreen.

  I grunted. Through the speaker I could hear the Chief growl at his crew of eager and determined assistants while they wrestled with the new, unfamiliar baffle controls they’d rigged.

  I yawned again. It had been a long day and the drills and inspection had left me exhausted. I glanced at the temperature readouts. The shaft wall was not overheating. I yearned for my bed, decided abruptly, that there was no reason for me not to be in it. “Watch the readouts, Mr. Tyre. Shut down if we overheat.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “You have the conn.” I left the bridge.

  In my cabin I unbuttoned my jacket, hung it neatly over the chair. I had to tend to my own clothes; Challenger, half abandoned, had no ship’s boy to bring the Captain’s breakfast and hang up his jacket. Of course, I was not so long removed from the wardroom that I minded.

  I loosened my belt and yanked off my tie, which as always made me feel better. I wondered for the hundredth time why we still wore the adornments. Naval dress was so rigidly obsolete.

  Something tapped at my hatch. A strange sound, definitely not a knock. It sounded again. I froze, my heart pounding, afraid but not sure why.

  The tapping came again. Too tired for melodrama, I slapped open the hatch.

  Mrs. Reeves had her cane raised, to tap once more.

  “What do YOU want?” I coursed with adrenaline.

  “To talk—”

  “You’re not allowed here.” The extent of my rudeness punctured my fury. I said more civilly, “Passengers aren’t allowed in the officers’ section, Mrs. Reeves.”

  “I know that,” she said tartly. “But this is where you are, and I need to speak with you.”

  “In the morning, then. I’m quite—”

  “Captain, do an old woman a courtesy and stay awake a few moments longer. You’re young enough. It won’t hurt you.”

  Aching to slam the hatch in her face I nodded reluctant agreement. “Come in, then.”

  She hobbled into my cabin, glancing at the sparse furnishings. I indicated a chair at the conference table; she sat carefully, mind turned inward to the mechanics of lowering herself.

  “There.” She settled into the chair. “You don’t know how fortunate you are, young man, to have a body you can trust.”

  I waited pointedly. Recognizing the tactic, she smiled, not at all put out. She waved her cane in the general direction of the engine room. “That fussing with the motors. Will it work?”

  “They’re still testing, Mrs. Reeves. I can’t—”

  Her shrewd blue eyes pierced my equivocations. “Will it work?”

  “No. It won’t.”

  She let the silence continue, very much in control. For a moment I recalled Father, reviewing my lessons at the rickety kitchen table. “You’ve made a great mistake, Captain,” she said at last. “And I don’t know if you have time to correct it.”

  “Allowing the tests? I had to show them that—”

  “No, not that.”

  My anger rose; I wasn’t used to interruptions.

  She said, “If the drive won’t run, you’ll spend at least a generation on this ship. I won’t be with you, thank heaven. I’ve had my time in the sun, as it were.” Her crinkled eyes found mine. “Those people can’t live their whole lives under mil
itary discipline, Captain.”

  “Those are matters you’re not—”

  She overrode me yet again. “I’m talking to you while I may, Mr. Seafort. If I wait much longer you won’t be Captain.”

  “I don’t know that I care,” I said bluntly, astonished I could say such to her.

  “It may cost your life.”

  “I don’t know that I care,” I echoed. I had to look away.

  “Care, boy!” Her cane rapped on the edge of the table, startling me. “Life in its fullness is all too short. And you have a duty to these people. Who else could lead them? The Chief Engineer, who would drink his way out of his dilemma? The midshipman whom everyone treats as a boy because he feels himself one? A committee of untrained passengers?”

  “I’m doing what I know to do.” My voice was hoarse.

  “Bells ringing at all hours, people racing to and fro. What is it all for?”

  “They’re readiness drills.”

  “Readiness for what?” she demanded. “Crew and passengers have to learn to live together, to cooperate. Not to respond like robots to some archaic military drill they’ll never use again.”

  “This is a military vessel.”

  “Was.” The word had a finality that shook me.

  “We haven’t been decommissioned. Challenger is not abandoned and she’s heading home.”

  “At a speed that makes the issue academic.” She leaned forward. “Don’t you understand? We have to create a society that will work under such bizarre conditions. We have to ameliorate their stress and anxiety. Your way only increases it.”

  “My job, Mrs. Reeves, isn’t to create a society. It’s to maintain law and order on board this vessel.” I wondered if I sounded as fatuous as I thought.

  “And are you doing that?” she asked unexpectedly.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Then why were you carrying guns today, you and the boy? Since when has that been your custom?”

  “There’s been tension. I was afraid—”

  “Ah.”

  My fingers drummed the edge of the table in growing anger. “I understand your concern, ma’am, but you have no right to challenge me.”

  Mrs. Reeves raised her eyebrows. “Good heavens, young man. Whatever I’m doing, it’s not meant as that. I want you to see the outcome of your efforts.”