“I’m sorry, Captain. I tole her, honest, I tole her not to! She wouldn’ listen to me!”
“Out of my way.”
“I tole her it was wrong, after you trusted us an’ all! I’m sorry!”
“Move!” I shoved him aside.
“I’m sorry what she done!” He needed me to know, and to acknowledge.
“I understand, Clinger,” I said wearily. “Stand aside.”
“Aye aye, sir. Please don’ be angry with her. She don’ know, it’s not like with me, I was crew a long time.”
I ignored him, pounded on the hatch. “Ms. Bartel, it’s me. Open up:”
“What are you going to do?” she asked. Her tone was suspicious.
“Nothing. You have my oath. No tricks. I’ll just help set the baffles. I’m alone and unarmed.”
“Very well.” The hatch slid open.
Dray sat heavily on a bench, hands trussed behind him. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.
Elena Bartel held the knife near his throat. “Close the hatch and seal it, please.” Her thin, bony figure was stiff from tension.
I did so. “Shall we get at it, then?”
She gazed at me, reflecting, and nodded. “I’m sorry, I really am, but somebody had to do something.” She looked at me with forlorn appeal.
I nodded. “Mutiny wasn’t the answer.”
“Perhaps there was none,” Elena said. “But we had to try. Can you understand?”
“I understand,” I said.
“I don’t suppose you’ll forgive me?” she asked wistfully.
“No,” I said shortly. “But I’ll pardon you.” I gestured. “Let’s get on with it.”
Elena lowered the knife. “The baffles are over here, sir.”
“I know.” I pulled the laser pistol from my back pocket and fired into her heart. Elena spun and fell. Dray screamed.
The knife clattered to the deck. I picked it up and waited for a dizziness to pass before I hacked at the cords binding Dray’s wrists.
I tossed the knife onto the table. “Have her body disposed of.” I turned to the hatch, stepping over a puddle of Elena Bartel’s blood.
Dray was ashen. “Sir—you—I mean, you said—” He stumbled to a halt.
“Have you a problem, Chief Engineer?”
“No, sir! None, sir! I—please forgive me.”
“Very well.” I slapped open the hatch.
Elron Clinger slouched against the far bulkhead on the opposite side of the corridor. He glanced into the engine room and froze in shock. His face crumpled. I started for the ladder.
“I tole her!” he wailed, beating his thigh with his fist. “Oh, Lor’ God, I tole her not to!” His chest heaved in a sob. “Elena! Whadda I do now, honey? Whadda I do without you!” He ran after me, gibbering. “Captain, what’m I gonna do? She loved me! She wassa only person loved me, ever! What about me, now?”
Mercifully Walter Dakko appeared. Clinger’s grief faded into the background. I proceeded up the ladder. I passed the bridge and continued to my cabin. I took off my jacket and hung it on a hanger. I washed my face. I dried myself with the towel. I looked into the mirror with loathing.
I sealed the hatch and turned off the lights. I lay down on the bunk.
It was the sixty-third day.
On the sixty-fifth day I sat at my console, staring at the darkened screen.
“Will you have some tea, sir?” Gregor Attani asked. His voice was hoarse.
“No.”
“I could get you a cup of coffee.”
“No.” I felt very tired, very weak. But for Walter Dakko, I’d have remained in my bunk until the end. For two days he periodically knocked at my hatch. I never answered. He finally put his mouth to the hatch and announced that if I didn’t open he would get a torch and cut his way in.
I’d let him steer me from my cabin to the officers’ mess, and drank the cup of near broth he gave me. Then I combed my hair and went to the bridge.
Every day I found myself straightening my tie, adjusting my jacket, wanting to wash my hands and face. Over and again.
Gregor hovered like a mother hen. I paid no attention. Even his barely concealed misery didn’t move me. I tried to invent an errand that would send him elsewhere, but it seemed too much trouble.
I checked the Log to see that its entries were current. I was meticulous about that. Everything must be shipshape now, everything ready.
I remembered something left undone. “Cadet.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Stand at attention.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He did so at once, worry evident.
“I’ve been examining the Log.”
It called for no answer but he said, “Yes, sir.”
“You’ve completed the engineering course with Dray.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you have studied navigation to my satisfaction.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Though your conduct was not always laudable, especially at first, I am satisfied that you now understand what is required of you and will do your duty.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Kerren, record. Therefore, I, Captain Nicholas Seafort, do appoint Cadet Gregor Attani as Midshipman in the Naval Service of the Government of the United Nations, by the grace of God.”
“Thank you, sir!” His face was red but he held himself rigid.
“As you were.” He relaxed and his gaunt face broke into a slow grin. I couldn’t leave it at that. “Congratulations, Midshipman.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
My answering smile was brief. “You won’t mind if we dispense with the tradition of Last Night, cad—uh, Midshipman Attani. We suffer enough trials that additional hazing wouldn’t be tolerable.” I paused. “Get the purser’s key from Mr. Dakko and find a proper uniform. A midshipman wears blue, not gray.”
“Aye aye, sir!” His salute was magnificent. He wheeled and left the bridge.
I relapsed into my stupor. Hours passed.
“Would you like to play chess, sir?” Kerren inquired.
“No.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Mind your own business!”
“Aye aye, sir,” he said sadly.
Brooding, I realized how much I missed Portia’s puter, Danny. Kerren’s officious manner put me off, while Danny’s naive impudence attracted as well as irritated.
“Do puters have souls, Kerren?” I asked suddenly.
There was a pause of at least a second. “The question has no referent, sir.”
“Have you read the Bible?”
“I contain several versions of it, Captain. I have applied analysis to them without productive result.”
“Humph.”
There was a longish pause. “Do you have a soul?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve damned it.”
“How so?”
“I foreswore my oath. I gave my oath for the purpose of deceit, knowing I intended to foreswear it.”
“I am not equipped to discuss your theology, sir.”
“That’s a relief.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ve decided that I do not have a soul as you probably define the term, sir.”
“Thank you.” I stood. “I’ll be in my cabin. Summon me when necessary.”
“Aye aye, Captain Seafort. Incidentally, the hatch temperature has risen another two degrees.”
I swallowed. “You know where to find me.”
I fell on my bunk. Chills alternated with drowsiness and sweaty tossing.
I lay in bed the remainder of the day and into the next. Walter Dakko brought Gregor and Annie to tend me. I tried to push them away.
“Let me, Mista Dakko. I make him eat.” Annie proffered the spoon. I turned away, but she forced liquid through my lips, and it was easier to swallow than fight her. After a few moments I slurped greedily at the hot broth, stronger than I’d had in weeks. Then I turned and slept. When I w
oke, I was alone.
Time passed. Gregor brought me more broth, which I accepted without protest. While he waited, I tottered to the table and was spooning the last of it when the General Quarters alarm sounded.
Our eyes met. “This is it, then.” My voice was dull.
Gregor turned away with a whimper, then straightened himself. “Sorry, sir.”
“Help me into my jacket. I’ll go to the bridge.”
“Will you suit up, sir?”
“No. I prefer not.”
Eons later the hatch slid open and I made my way to my console, hot and feverish, alarms still shrilling in my ears. I slapped the switches and they subsided into silence.
“Report, Kerren.”
“Engine room has Defused, sir. There seemed to be no one on watch.”
“What?”
“We are Defused and in normal space. If you will permit me, you really should have a word with the Chief Engineer, sir. It’s most irresponsible to Defuse without—”
“Shut up!” I reached for the caller. “Chief?”
Dray responded. “Aye, sir. I’m here.”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing down here, sir. We haven’t touched anything.”
“Kerren, what do your outside monitors show?”
“Sensors aft show we are in normal space. No sign of the aliens. As I have no reference coordinates it will take some time to determine our location. Sensors forward are nonfunctional.”
“Would forward sensors help determine our location?”
“Yes, Captain. Or you could turn the ship.”
“No, we can’t; propellant tanks are bone dry. Midshipman, you’ve never been Outside on your own.”
“No, sir.”
“Go below, find someone in the original crew who’s been Out. The two of you suit up, exit by the aft lock, and dismount the wide-band sensor portside aft, remount it forward of the disk.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Keep your suit radios on at all times.”
Half an hour later they were clambering along the hull with the aft sensor. I waited impatiently. “Look forward, Gregor. Can you see anything?”
“Not beyond the disk, sir. The disk obscures the bow. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Bridge, comm room reporting.”
“What is it, Mr. Tzee?”
“It’s—I think you ought to listen to this, sir.”
“Listen to what?” My voice was irritable.
“We’re picking up something odd.”
“Oh, my God!” Gregor.
“What is it, Midshipman?”
“A fish. The hull. The whole front of the ship.”
“Bow.”
“I mean bow. Oh, Lord God!”
My fingernails drummed the console. I muttered, “One of you had better tell me what’s going on.” My tone was ominous.
Mr. Tzee said, “Captain, you won’t believe—”
The simulscreen sprang to life as the new sensor came online. I gasped. Gregor had mounted the camera at the bow end of Level 1, aiming forward. The screen was filled with the pulsing mass of the fish we’d rammed. The remains of our hull, melted and fused, disappeared into its side. A mass of inert protoplasm surrounded the hull, walling it off. It reminded me, I realized, of a scab. The fish’s skin looked gray, unhealthy.
A tentacle began to form, ever so slowly, while I watched mesmerized.
I found my voice. “Get away from that, Gregor!”
“You better believe it, sir!” I made a note to rebuke him later, then realized my foolishness.
Kerren rotated the camera in all possible directions. The screen swung dizzily.
“Hey!”
“Sorry, sir. Data input.” When the puter was finished he refocused the camera on the fish.
The tentacle had stopped growing. Dots and circles of protoplasm in the fish’s skin seemed to flow away from the scabbed hole in its side. Then, while we watched, it stopped moving altogether.
The pulsing ceased. Some essential element seemed to be gone.
“Captain, please let me put this on the speaker!”
“Huh? Oh, go ahead, Mr. Tzee.”
Kerren said over the speaker’s blare, “I have confirmation of our location, sir. It went faster than expected because for obvious reasons the data was stored first on my retrieval disk. We’re—”
I turned to the speaker. My mouth worked. “Good Christ!”
The six o’clock news.
“—home,” announced Kerren. “Just outside Jupiter’s orbit, about forty-five degrees off elliptical.”
I lay back in my chair, the sounds and lights dimming. I shut my eyes. Philip swam before me, then Amanda, holding Nate.
Lord God, please don’t let me live.
Please don’t make me live.
After a time I stirred myself. “Mr. Tzee.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Broadcast this message on all Naval frequencies and emergency rescue channels. Message follows: U.N.S. Challenger, returned to Solar System, requests immediate assistance. Dead, injured, and starving aboard. Must have immediate food supplies and medical aid. Class A decontamination procedures must be observed entering and leaving Challenger. Alert Naval Intelligence. We have with us the nearly intact body of an alien. Extreme caution, advised regarding viral contamination. Suggest the remains be examined to determine means of organic Fusion employed by aliens.”
I wiped my hand across my face, discovered my cheeks were wet. “End of message. Add our coordinates. Broadcast continuously until answered.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Mr. Tzee’s joy was unconcealed.
After a time Gregor appeared at my side.
“Well, boy, enjoy your walk?”
“As much as anything,” he said casually. Unbidden he sat at the watch officer’s console, an offense for which a middy would commonly be caned. “Sir, why home? Of all the places in the galaxy?” He shook his head. “The odds against that are ...” He fell silent.
“Who knows? We were already, heading that way at a quarter light-speed. Maybe it knew. Our Fusion coordinates were set for home; perhaps it heard that. Or maybe it was following the Fusion tracks of our other ships leaving Earth-port Station.”
“You agree that’s what they do, then?”
“Probably.”
“But why, sir?”
I shrugged. “Why do moths seek the flame, Mr. Attani? It is a thing we may never know.”
22
“THE ADMIRAL WILL SEE you now, Commander Seafort.” In the comfortable office within Lunapolis Base, the young ensign held open the hatch.
“Thank you.” I tucked at my jacket and ran my hand through my hair, again a nervous young middy summoned to the awesome heights of the bridge.
I came to attention before Admiral Brentley’s desk. I held my salute just a moment longer than necessary, taking in his appearance. He’d aged greatly in the year and a half since I’d seen him. And he’d shrunk. Before, he was an old lion. Now he was just old.
“As you were.” He shot me an appraising glance. “You’re looking more fit than the last time I saw you, Nick.”
“Thank you, sir.”
His glance was shrewd. “You don’t remember, do you?”
“Truthfully, no, sir. I wasn’t all that well.”
“You were about two days from starving to death, my medics say.”
“Perhaps. I wouldn’t know.”
“Sit down, then. Forgive me, I should have suggested it sooner.”
“I’m all right, sir.” But I sat anyway, gratefully.
He settled in the comfortable sofa next to my straight chair. For a long moment he gazed at me, saying nothing. Then, “Hell of a cruise.”
I nodded agreement.
“I’m so sorry, Nick. About your family.”
“Thank you.” I spoke with stiff dignity, holding it at a distance.
I’d been debriefed weeks before. Interviewed and reinterviewed, interrogated a
nd challenged. Heedless of the consequences, I’d answered every question as truthfully as I could. Challenger’s Log, from her initial sailing, and the copy of Portia’s Log, through the time of my removal, verified what I told them.
They held their investigations shipboard and here at Lunapolis Base. I suspected that though we were examined minutely and believed free of contamination, no one wanted to risk sending us groundside just yet.
The Board of Inquiry found me not culpable in Challenger’s destruction.
Dray testified vehemently on my behalf. I said as little as decently possible. When it was over I went back to the quarters they provided me in Lunapolis and saw no one, while I slowly regained my strength.
Brentley said, “You’re becoming fit again, Commander. Would you like shoreside duty or another ship?”
“If I’m not to be cashiered, I’d like a ship, sir. I don’t want to go ashore.”
“Cashiered?” he echoed. “Is that what you deserve?”
“I’ve twice foresworn my oath, sir. I have no honor.” Nor any hope of salvation.
His lip curled in a smile. “How? When you perpetrated a ruse against that madwoman?”
“When I swore no harm would come to her, intending to shoot her.”
“A legitimate ruse of war, Commander.”
“I don’t see it that way, sir.”
“Absolutely necessary to save your ship.”
“Yes, of course.” It made no difference. An oath is an oath. It is what I am. Now I am nothing.
He shrugged. “What was the other time?”
I was tired of his toying with me. “I believe you already know, sir.”
“Perhaps I do. What was the other time, Seafort?”
I accepted the implied rebuke. “While Admiral Tremaine was transferring passengers from Portia to Challenger. He gave me a lawful order to accept them. I refused, in violation of my oath of loyalty and obedience.”
His hand slapped against the arm of the sofa. “Tremaine, yes. There’s another story.” He stared at the bulkhead, brooding. Eventually he looked up again. “I’m sorry, Nick. About him. He—” The Admiral lapsed silent and turned away. “He isn’t my doing,” he said finally. “That’s all I can tell you. He’s—I had no choice in the matter.”
“He was my legitimate superior officer.”
There was anger in Admiral Brentley’s voice. “He started as that, yes.”
Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2) Page 42
