An image rose unbidden, of the passenger lounge in Portia, Eddie hunched over the table, struggling to learn his letters from Amanda.
“Before then,” I said, “Not ‘den’: then.”
His eyes rose to an unforeseen miracle. “Before then,” he said with great care.
“Two hours in the morning with Walter Dakko,” I said. “Two hours in the afternoon with me. Every day.”
He swallowed several times before daring to speak. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Later, when I discussed the project with Walter Dakko, he nodded as if it were the most ordinary request in the world. “It’s more than just how he talks,” he remarked. “His mannerisms. His walk. He doesn’t stride, he shambles.”
“He’s determined to learn.”
“Better to have pride in who he is than to learn to be someone he’s not.”
I glanced up sharply at the rebuke but saw none intended. “It’s what he wants more than anything, Mr. Dakko, and I’m inclined to give it to him.” I did not mention my reasons.
“Of course, sir.” He smiled wryly. “Actually, it will be a challenge. Perhaps I can teach him to behave better than Chris.”
“Perhaps.” I was noncommittal. After a moment I availed myself of the opportunity. “How’s Chris doing?”
“We’re—reconciled,” was all he said. I didn’t press it further. Several times over the next few days I noticed them together.
Dray had to shut down our overburdened recyclers for repair. For an anxious half day we went to canned air. Even afterward, the recyclers were unable to keep up. Our atmosphere was going bad, slowly enough that the effect wouldn’t be noticeable for a while yet. Perhaps our food would run out first.
Still, we carried on day to day as if the end were not clearly in sight.
We’d just sat down to our evening meal when the alarms sounded. I scrambled from my seat and dashed to the bridge.
Kerren spoke endlessly in his urgent warning tone. “Launch berth hatch to the hold has failed! Launch berth depressurized!” Now the width of the launch berth was all that separated us from the end. I switched off the alarms.
It was the fortieth day.
It wouldn’t be much longer.
Gregor Attani, gaunt and hollow-eyed, stood before me, hands twisting anxiously. Eager for the conversational scraps I threw to him, he’d never dared initiate a conversation. Until today.
“Sir, do you think ...” He swallowed, then rushed on. “Is there a chance I could make midshipman, sir, before—before ...” He faltered.
I looked gently at the misery in his eyes. “Will I be needing midshipmen, do you think, Mr. Attani?”
He blushed. “No, sir. I’m sorry.”
I cursed myself under my breath. What had I done? I regarded him somberly while I considered. “Do you want me to give it to you?” I asked at last. “Or do you want to earn it?”
“Earn it,” he replied without hesitation.
“Philip—Mr. Tyre was teaching you navigation, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been looking at the books on my own now, trying to make sense of them.” With a sudden pang I thought of Derek Carr doing likewise.
“Your conduct is exemplary, Mr. Attani. I am satisfied you now have the maturity to be an officer. Study your navigation. I’ll try to help, though in truth it wasn’t my strongest subject. I’ll set up drills for you with Kerren. Spend two hours a day with the Chief to learn the fusion drives. You’re relieved of all other duties until your studies are completed.”
“Thank you, sir.” With a salute worthy of Academy he turned and marched out. Well, it was little enough to give him. Admiralty would never know, and I no longer cared whether they’d approve.
My days were busy now; astronavigation with Gregor in the mornings, sessions with Eddie Boss in the afternoons, sandwiching my chess games between. Sometimes, after our meager, pitiful dinner I would go to the passengers’ lounge and chat, with Annie, Jonie, Mr. and Mrs. Reeves. I discovered to my surprise that I was almost content. Annie, in particular, seemed a nice girl, though her streeter ways put me off.
The mood of completion seemed to be catching; people brought their diaries up-to-date, studied ancient languages, watched holos they’d always meant to view. The activities diverted our thoughts from hunger. Our impending end was, by common consent, not mentioned. I’d decided that if the launch berth hatch showed signs of blowing, there was no point to going to suit air for whatever few hours it would extend our lives. So, with patience that surprised me, I waited for the next and final act of dissolution.
In the meantime, Eddie Boss learned to take a long moment’s pause before he spoke, to marshal his grammar and overcome his crude dialect. He practiced new forms of etiquette with Walter Dakko. Whatever humor his transpop associates saw in the situation they swiftly learned to hide, for his temper was as fierce as ever.
Out of pity I did my best to keep Chris Dakko busy, assigning him to work details and inconsequential projects. He had retreated into a dazed docility, his terror betrayed only by an occasional unguarded expression.
“He’s very afraid of dying,” his father said.
“Yes.” I knew of no comfort I could give. One night, sitting in the corner of the lounge, Chris suddenly and unexpectedly began to cry. We—his father, the other passengers, and myself—froze in awkward embarrassment. It was young Jonie who went to him, boldly took his head into her bosom, and eventually led him off to private comfort. I silently begged Lord God’s blessing on her.
“Maneuvering jets, please, sir.”
“Aye aye, power up,” responded Dray from the engine room.
Gregor sat stiffly at the watch officer’s console while I sat by, with the ritual obligatory scowl. I’d taken Alexi Tamarov, Derek Carr, Philip Tyre, and Rafe Treadwell through these maneuvers, and was an old hand at being an ogre.
Gregor licked his lips. “Steer oh five eight degrees, ahead two-thirds.”
“Two-thirds, aye aye.” The monitors duly indicated the increase in engine power. All simulated, of course. We were no longer a powered vessel.
“Declination fifteen degrees.”
“Fifteen degrees, aye aye.”
Gregor was maneuvering the ship into position to Fuse, in hypothetical interstellar space far from any obstacles. A midshipman had ample time to learn the finer points of piloting. My object was merely to see if Gregor grasped the principles of navigation.
“Ship positioned for Fuse, sir.” He looked at me expectantly, only a fine sheen on his forehead betraying his anxiety.
“Satisfactory, Cadet,” I said gruffly. I snapped off the simulation and the stars faded from the screen. Then I unbent. “Very good, Gregor.” He shot me a pleased smile before reassuming the stiff dignity of his station.
That afternoon I beat Kerren twice at chess. He conceded the second game before I could see clearly that I’d won.
It was the fifty-third day.
During the quiet times between Eddie’s and Gregor’s lessons and my games of chess, I busied myself keeping the Log up-to-date, in case Challenger’s remains should ever be found. I wasn’t sure why I bothered; I had no idea whether we’d even emerge in our own galaxy.
Seven more days passed. Mrs. Ovaugh died in her sleep; malnutrition certainly was a factor.
Even vast amounts of coffee didn’t help my exhaustion. I lost three more kilos, and my appearance was grotesque.
I was asleep in my cabin when the caller snapped me awake. “Captain to the bridge, please.” Disoriented for a moment, I couldn’t place the voice. Then I realized it was Kerren, but the alarms hadn’t sounded. Puzzled, I dressed quickly and hurried to the bridge.
“Please advise if the current condition requires alarms,” he said. “My hatch sensor shows abnormal temperature readings in the launch berth.”
“Abnormal?”
“Higher than might be expected, sir. They’ve been climbing very slowly for several days—”
�
�Then why did you wake me now?” I demanded.
“And the launch berth temperature is up a full degree in the last hour.”
“Oh.” I found it necessary to sit. My heart was racing.
“If you would Defuse, sir, we might determine the cause.”
“I can’t Defuse, Kerren.”
“One Defuses by turning the fusion drive off.”
“Try it,” I invited.
“You know I’m unable,” he said reproachfully. “The monitors don’t respond. They show the drive switched off.”
“That’s because it IS off.”
“Refusal to recognize reality indicates an aberrant mental state, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
I could have the launch berth hatch reinforced, but if the acid was nearing our disk, it might penetrate the bulkhead anywhere, not necessarily at the hatch.
“How much hotter than this did the hold sensor register before it failed?”
“Eight degrees, sir.”
I decided that was comforting. Then I decided it wasn’t.
“Sound the alarms when the temperature is five degrees higher than at present.”
“Aye aye, sir. What shall I sound? Battle Stations?”
“General Quarters and decompression alert.” We had no weapons with which to do battle, and no one to fight.
“Very well, sir. Have a good night.”
I slapped the bridge hatch control with extra force and went to my cabin, my hand stinging.
Have a good night. If only he were a midshipman.
21
THREE MORE DAYS PASSED without incident. Then Walter Dakko approached me, face grim. I took him to my cabin without ceremony. “I’m the bearer of a petition, sir.”
“Again.”
“Yes.” His terseness warned me of trouble.
“Go on, then.”
“Everyone agrees our situation is desperate. Many of the crew want you to try turning on the drive.”
“What?” I rose from my chair.
“Ignite the drive and see if that will kick us back into normal space.”
“Good God.”
He said nothing.
I sighed. “Who’s behind it?”
“I’m not sure where the idea started. Just about everyone’s behind it now except me, Chris, and Eddie Boss.”
“You threatened Chris again?”
He smiled tightly. “No, sir, this time he reached the conclusion on his own.”
“What conclusion is that?”
“That trying to Fuse will destroy us.”
“Or catapult us into another galaxy. We can’t Fuse blind, even if we could Fuse at all!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s talk to Dray,” We headed below to the engine room.
The Chief listened impassively, shook his head. “No. One of the globs they threw during the last attack melted the drive shaft wall. There’s no possible way to generate an N-wave, even a skewed one. All we’d accomplish is to overheat the shaft and most likely blow out the engines. That’s if we were lucky.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” He regarded me almost angrily. “I’ll give you ignition, if and when you give me a written order. I don’t expect we’ll discuss the results afterward.”
“I have no intention of turning on the drive, Dray. Meet me in crew berth one in an hour. Mr. Dakko, gather the crew.”
An impatient hour later I faced them. “Chief, tell them what would happen.”
“We’d vaporize the drive shaft walls, for one thing. We’ll overheat the engines. As it is, we’ve barely enough power to sustain our internal systems. As to the navigational effect, I have no idea, and neither does anyone else.”
I said harshly, “Any questions?”
As I might have expected, it was Elena Bartel who stepped forward. “What’s going to happen to us if we don’t ignite the engines, sir?”
I was forced to answer. “We’ll die.”
“When, sir?”
“We don’t know that. We’ll begin starving in earnest in about two weeks. If the ship remains intact.”
“Does anyone know whether the fish could stay in Fusion if we turned on the engines?”
I said bluntly, “I don’t know if the fish would continue to exist if we turned on the engines. The energy we’d put out would bear no resemblance to N-waves.”
“But it might force the fish to Defuse.”
“You don’t know that, Ms. Bartel. There’s no way to guess the likelihood.”
“What do we have to lose?” Behind her, crewmen nodded agreement. I noticed Elron Clinger gazing at her sorrowfully, making no effort to intervene.
“Our lives, immediately.”
“We think it’s worth the risk.” She spoke with defiance.
“I don’t. It’s not your decision to make.”
“I didn’t say it’s my decision,” she said coolly. “That’s why we petitioned rather than demanded.”
I concentrated on her words rather than her tone of voice. “Very well. The meeting is concluded. Chief, Cadet, come along.” I left with as much dignity as I could muster.
Soon after, we consumed the last of our canned foods and had only our meager crops to sustain us. They were not enough.
On the fifty-seventh day Gregor Attani offered his dinner to Mr. Reeves, who refused it. My mood snappish, I ordered the cadet in no uncertain terms to eat every bite of the food he was given. It was little enough; we were reduced to weak soup and boiled vegetables, a few spoonfuls apiece.
That night in my cabin I prayed to Lord God not to prolong our misery.
All day long, I could think of little but food. Our meals, mostly boiled water with weak dilutions of sustenance, failed to satisfy in any respect. The crew’s discipline began to dissipate, and there were fights. There would have been more, but for the lassitude of starvation.
I retreated to the bridge and endless games of chess. I played the game openings over and over, trying minute variations after the sixth or seventh move. It seemed as if there was something I could do with the Queen’s Bishop’s Pawn, if only I could work out the permutations. But I was so tired, so hungry.
I was deep in thought when the speaker crackled. “Bridge, engine room reporting. We have, um, a situation here.” Dray’s voice was stiff with tension.
Wearily I tore my attention away from the board. “What now, Chief?”
A new voice gave the answer. Elena Bartel. “We’re going to ignite the drive.”
I bolted from my seat. “What? You can’t!”
“We have to, Captain. I’m sorry. It’s our only chance.”
“Dray, throw her out of there!”
“He can’t do that,” she said calmly.
“Dray!”
“Yes, sir. My hands are tied behind me. She coldcocked me, sir, with some kind of pipe. And she’s got a big knife.”
I said, “You can’t fire the drive. The bridge override is set.”
“I’ve direct-wired it, Captain. At least, I think I have.”
I tried to slow the pounding of my heart. “What is it you want, Ms. Bartel?”
“Nothing. I’m going to turn on the drive. I wanted you to be ready when we come out of Fusion.”
“Wait.”
Her tone was inflexible. “There’s no point in waiting, sir.”
I stumbled for words. “Yes, there is. Don’t just fire up the drive; make sure the baffles are set properly! You want full power on the first try; I don’t think you’ll get another.”
“Dray can show me how.”
“No!” I roared. “It’s my ship! I’ll show you!”
A laugh of derision. “No, Captain Seafort. I’m not that stupid. You have a well-earned reputation for ingenious trickery.”
“I won’t trick you.” I fumbled at the safe, holding the caller between my neck and shoulder.
“That’s right, sir. You won’t get the chance.”<
br />
I said slowly and clearly, “Do not fire the engine before we set the baffle. That is imperative.”
No answer.
I took a deep breath. “Elena, I want to go down and supervise. I give you my oath before Lord God Himself: I will attempt no trickery, I will do you no harm, I will in no way interfere, and I pardon you your acts. I so swear, by Lord God’s grace. I understand your desperation. Perhaps it’s the best way.”
“You really understand, sir?” She sounded wistful.
“I do. Please let me come down.” I shut the safe.
“All right. But remember the knife at Dray’s throat. I’ll use it if you try anything.”
“You already have my oath not to interfere,” I snapped.
A pause. “All right.”
Gregor Attani came bounding up the ladder as I started down. “You heard, sir? What she—”
“Yes.”
“What are you going—”
“Be silent, Cadet.”
His mouth shut with a snap. “Aye aye, sir.”
“Wait on the bridge in case I need you.”
“Aye aye, sir.” I left him behind.
Walter Dakko waited at the foot of the ladder. “I’m sorry, sir. I should have known—”
“It’s done.” I gave him a fleeting smile as we walked toward the engine room. “Who else is involved?”
“Kovaks and Jokko helped her take the engine room, sir. But she insisted on being the only one inside.”
“Where are the others now?”
He looked grim. “In the brig. I had help. Chris, Eddie Boss, Emmett Branstead. Mostly Eddie.”
“Very well.”
“Sir, we could hear you on the corridor caller.”
“Very well.”
“Sir, your oath. Are you going to let—”
“Mr. Dakko, I order you to be silent.”
“Aye aye, sir.” His obedience was instant, for which I was grateful.
“Wait here, around the bend from the engine room hatch.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
I rounded the corridor bend. Only a few crewmen were afoot, among them Elron Clinger, who shifted miserably from one foot to the other, like a joeyboy who needed to relieve himself.
Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 41
