I was halfway to the hatch. “Vax, page Mr. Vishinsky to the lounge! Three seamen with stunners. Flank!” I dashed out.
I don’t remember using the ladder but I must have plunged down at least three steps at a time. I fetched up panting against the Level 2 corridor bulkhead, outside the lounge.
Philip Tyre poked out his head, saw me, slipped into the corridor, saluting. “They’re inside, sir. The far end. I tried talking to him but he—”
I brushed the middy aside, strode in. Behind me, the hatch slid shut.
Ricky’s right arm dangled as if useless. Jared Treadwell, Rafe’s father, had an elbow wrapped around the boy’s throat, holding him nearly off the floor. Ricky’s head was pressed tight into Treadwell’s chest. The cadet’s good hand pawed at the throat hold, seeking air.
The knife was poised a millimeter from Ricky’s eye.
Treadwell’s voice was a snarl. “Want to bet I c’n take an eye before you stun me?” His swarthy face glistened with a sheen of sweat.
“Easy, Mr. Treadwell. Just put—”
“You think this is how I wanted it, Seafort?”
“No, of course not—”
“Give me my son! And Paula!” The knife flickered. Ricky’s breath hissed in terror.
From the corridor, pounding feet.
“Mr. Treadwell, Ricky Fuentes has nothing to do with—”
“We tried petitions. We tried going through the courts. No matter what, you had to have your way!” A wrench of his elbow; Ricky squealed. “Call Rafe in here, or so help me, I’ll blind him.”
The hatch burst open. I whirled. “Out, until I call!”
“But—” The master-at-arms.
“Out!”
Vishinsky backed through the hatch. I spun back to Jared Treadwell. “Listen, sir, I know you’re upset—”
“No more talk! I’ll do the first eye to show you I mean it!”
I roared, “By Lord God, you’ll let me finish a sentence!”
It was so ludicrous he was stunned. So was I, but I knew for Ricky’s sake I had to keep the initiative. I flung off my jacket. “You don’t need the cadet. You have me.”
“Get away!” The knife flicked; Ricky moaned.
“I’m your hostage.” I moved closer.
“Don’t, sir!” Philip Tyre, behind me. I hadn’t seen him enter.
“This was my doing,” I said. Fitting that I pay the consequences.
“Sir, you mustn’t!”
“Another word, Mr. Tyre—just one—and you’re dismissed from the Service.” My tone was ice. “Now, Mr. Treadwell ...”
“Here goes the eye.”
“Do it and I’ll kill you. With my bare hands.” Something in my inflection gave him pause. I took another step.
His manner became almost conversational. “Irene went groundside this morning. Three lawyers she called, all she could reach. The first told her nothing could be done; you’d already ordered the judge not to hear the case. The others wouldn’t even talk.”
Another step. “You’ll let the boy go. I’ll take his place.” Now I was quite near.
“You leave us nothing, see. No law, no court, no appeal.” Suddenly his voice was a shout of torment. “Who appointed you Lord God?”
I swallowed. Who, indeed?
Mrs. Donhauser had warned me, months back, of the hazard I’d blundered into. Protecting children was a basic human urge. And I’d set it against me.
“Mr. Treadwell.” My tone was more gentle. “First, let the boy go. I’ll take his place. Then we’ll call Rafe and Paula. If they want to leave with you, I’ll allow it. Else, they stay.”
“What good’s that, after you’ve brainwashed them?”
“Would you keep them by force?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know what—Lord, help me!” A rasping breath, akin to a sob.
I gave the terrified cadet what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Ricky, in a moment Mr. Treadwell will set you free. Mr. Tyre, when I sit down in that chair, take Cadet Fuentes out to the corridor and explain to Mr. Vishinsky. Then bring Cadets Paula and Rafe Treadwell to the lounge.”
“Sir, if he takes you host—”
“AYE AYE, SIR! SAY IT AT ONCE!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
I sat, kicked my chair to within Jared Treadwell’s reach.
For a moment we were frozen in anguished tableau.
With a cry of hurt, Ricky tumbled free to the deck. Treadwell wrenched back my hair, caught my chin, yanked upward. His knife dug at my throat. It took all my strength not to move. Please, Lord. Keep the children safe from harm.
In the edge of my vision I caught sight of Ricky’s face. It was unharmed. “Philip, take him—”
“Shut up, Captain!” The knife pressed.
“—out to the corridor. Flank.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Tyre darted forward, helped Ricky to his feet. The two of them stumbled out.
Silence. Then Treadwell’s voice came in a hiss. “I hate you. I hate your arrogance, your certainty that you’re doing right no matter how much you hurt others. If it weren’t for my children, I’d slit your filthy throat and have done with it!”
I made a sound.
“What?”
“I said, do it.”
“Jesus, you’re crazed.”
I could think of nothing to say.
A knock on the hatch. “Are you all right, sir?”
The knife tightened. “No tricks!”
“Fine, Mr. Vishinsky. Remain outside.”
Now that the die was cast, I felt more peace than I had in months. I waited, watching the hatch. “They’ll be here in a moment, I think. If I might suggest ...”
“Hah. As if I care what you—”
“Do you want your children to see you with the knife?”
“There’s no way I’m letting you—”
“I give you my word I’ll sit still.” My chin ached. It was hard to talk, with his fingers grinding into me. “Do you want their sympathy or their horror?” Nothing. “Mr. Treadwell, you haven’t a chance to persuade them if they see you hurting me.”
“Are you insane? Why would you help me?”
I thought a long while. “So the test will be fair.”
His hand wavered. “Shut up. I want to despise you.”
A knock. A tremulous voice, from outside. “Cadet Rafe Treadwell reporting, sir.”
I said quietly, “Put the knife away, Mr. Treadwell. I’ll stay seated where you can reach me.”
His moment of decision. Slowly, the knife lowered, disappeared. “Go ahead. Betray me.” Vast bitterness.
“Come in, Cadet.”
Rafe entered, snapped a rough salute. He hadn’t had much time to practice. “Sir, I heard—what’s ...” He gave up, came to a ragged version of attention.
“As you were, Rafe. It seems your father wants you to go ashore. To resign. I’m willing to let you.”
“No!”
Behind me, a hiss of breath.
The boy cocked his head, looked at his father strangely. “Jared, why are you doing this? I’m a cadet now. I’m where I want to be.”
“You can’t just walk away from your family.” Treadwell’s voice was hoarse. “You’re barely thirteen.”
“Old enough to enlist.”
“And you left us nothing but a note. You didn’t have the guts, the courtesy to tell me to my face!”
The boy’s eyes teared. “Would you have listened?”
I said, “Rafe, it may have been a mistake. You decided so fast. Wouldn’t it be best if—”
“You said it was for five years, and I couldn’t change my mind!”
I nodded.
Rafe cried, “That’s what I want, not a chance to back out! You think it was easy, signing up?” His jaw jutted. “See what you’ve done, Jared? Now he’ll have me whipped for insolence. Can’t you leave things alone?”
At the hatch, a knock.
“Son, I ...” Mr. Treadwell sounded uncertain. “Your mother and I,
we thought—” His voice broke. “Rafe, why do you run from us?”
“Because I’m not your son!” Rafe’s face twisted. “I’m a creche boy. Sheila was my nurse, and Martine. I had forty brothers and sisters. God, how I miss them!” He ran fingers through his short-cropped hair. “It was your choice to creche us as babies. When you took us out, Paula and I warned you: we weren’t really a family. Irene paid no attention, and neither did you.”
“She’s your mother!”
From the hatchway, a quiet voice. “She was once.” Paula. Her eyes roved among us. “Are you all right, Jared?”
“I—yes, I think so.” Her father seemed uncertain.
“Captain, sir?”
“I’m not hurt,”
She took two steps in, halted. The rebuke in her face pinned Jared to the bulkhead. “Why did you break Ricky’s arm?”
“He tried to get away, and I needed—”
“The poor joey is hunched in the corridor, crying. He won’t go to the Doc until Mr. Seafort is safe. Nobody wants to hurt Ricky. He’s too good-natured. How could you?”
“I—” No words came.
She faced me, came to attention. “Sir, Mr. Tyre said you had a question for me?”
“Do you want me to annul your enlistment?”
“No, sir.”
Her gaze, when it met her father’s, held pity, and something more stern. “I’m sorry, Jared, really I am. But it isn’t the way you thought it was.”
My mouth was dry. They wouldn’t be leaving Hibernia with their father. That meant his attention would be turned to me. So be it. “Cadets, you’re dismissed.”
Paula saluted, turned to the hatch. Rafe clumsily imitated her motions. Seated, I couldn’t return salute; instead, I nodded.
“Before you go ...” I was proud of them, and probably wouldn’t have another chance. “You’ve done well. This isn’t your fault. No matter what happens—” It was the wrong line. I cleared my throat, and tried again. “The Navy will take care of you. That’s all.”
“Yes, sir.” Paula hesitated. “May I?” I nodded. “Jared, I’m sorry. For hurting you, for Irene, for all of us. Please don’t make it worse.” Another salute, and she was gone. Her brother followed.
A hand, on the back of my neck. I flinched, steeled myself.
“There’s nothing left. Except you.” Treadwell’s voice was ragged. “At least I can see that you don’t ruin any more lives.”
“Yes.” I raised my head, exposing my throat. “If I ...”
After a moment, he said, “Well?”
My voice was unsteady. “If I come for you, afterward. It’s just a dream. Sooner or later, I’ll go away.”
“Lord God.” A whisper.
Then a sob.
Eventually I lowered my head. It was beginning to cramp.
Vax smoldered; I did my best to ignore him. After a while I gave up. “Get it said, Lieutenant.”
“How could you let him go!”
“You’d rather I hanged him? And then ate at mess with his children?”
“He threatened you with a knife!”
“I’m unhurt. He’s groundside, so’s Irene, and the matter is closed.”
Vax shook his head with stubborn negation. “If I may say so, you—”
“No, that’s enough. I understand you disapprove.”
Vax subsided, muttering.
Earlier, in the quiet of the lounge, I’d picked up the knife Jared Treadwell had let fall, tossed it aside. Half a dozen steps saw me to the hatch. “It’s all right, Mr. Vishinsky. Dismiss your detail.”
“Sir, is he—”
“Help him remove his things from his cabin, and escort him to the lock.” I turned to Ricky. “You’ll be all right, boy. To the sickbay. Now.”
“Aye aye, sir. Did he hurt—Captain, I’m sor—”
Philip Tyre snapped, “Cadet, two demerits. About-face, march! When the Captain gives an order, jump. I’ll deal with you in the wardroom!”
I managed to hold my tongue until Ricky was out of sight. Then, “Mr. Tyre, you argued with your Captain, twice!” I shook with fury. “My compliments to Lieutenant Chantir, and tell him I’m displeased—no, tell him I’m thoroughly disgusted—with your conduct, and he’s to correct it forthwith!”
Philip blanched. “I didn’t mean—aye aye, sir!”
“Go!”
After, I leaned against the bulkhead. Rafe and Paula were in quarters, the master-at-arms with Jared Treadwell, Ricky having his arm attended. Philip had gone to his chastisement.
I stopped at my cabin, changed my shirt, sat awhile on my starched blanket.
My life had been at risk, and I felt nothing. Well, perhaps not quite that. When the knife had fallen, I’d felt relief. But not much.
I’d think about that later. Time to return to the bridge.
From my seat beneath the blank screens, I reviewed the Log. Mr. Chantir had recorded a caning. Philip Tyre was banished to the wardroom. I sighed. Now more than ever, the boy would lash out at his juniors. And of all of them, Derek had been pressed the hardest.
I thumbed the caller. “Mr. Carr to the bridge.”
A few moments later Derek appeared, his uniform immaculate, hair brushed neatly. “Yes, sir?”
I indicated the chair next to Vax. “I need you tonight, Mr. Carr. Assist Mr. Holser. A double watch.” Absolutely unnecessary, docked at an orbiting station.
“Aye aye, sir.” Derek knew better than to question orders. I could say nothing to explain. Abruptly his eyes flooded with gratitude, as he realized I was keeping him out of Philip Tyre’s reach.
“Mr. Carr has had a hard day, Lieutenant. If he dozes, let him be.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Vax’s face lit. “We’ll manage.”
Satisfied, I went to bed.
The next day we began taking on passengers for Hope Nation and Earth, as well as cargo of metals and manufactured goods. I noticed from the manifest that we would carry the Detour Olympic team home to Earth for the decennial interplanetary Olympics. I suspected the exercise rooms would be well used.
“Aft line secured, sir.” Lieutenant Holser, at the aft airlock.
“Forward line secured, sir,” Lieutenant Crossburn, at the forward lock.
I tapped my fingers, waiting for the routine to play itself out.
“Forward lock ready for breakaway, sir.”
“Aft lock ready for breakaway, sir.”
“Very well.” I blew the ship’s whistle three times. “Cast off! Take her, Pilot Haynes.”
In response to the Pilot’s sure touch, our side thrusters released jets of propellant, rocking us from side to side. We broke free.
Lieutenant Crossburn, on the caller. “Forward airlock hatch secured, sir.”
“Secured, very well.” I paced the bridge while the Pilot held our thrusters at full acceleration, speeding us ever farther from the station and Detour’s field of gravity. In two hours, we’d be clear enough to Fuse.
Our return voyage had begun. Seven weeks to Hope Nation, then the long grim journey home. I would endure it. I must. I settled into my chair to prepare coordinates.
At last, all was ready. “Engine room prepared for Fusion, sir.”
I looked to the Pilot, raising my eyebrows. He nodded.
“Fuse the ship.” I ran my finger down the screen and the drive kicked in. The stars faded from the simulscreen. We entered the subetheral realm of nonspace, sailing from Detour on the crest of the N wave we generated.
That evening at dinner I played host to several young members of the Olympic team. Though sociable and friendly, they seemed unimpressed by the honor of the Captain’s table. They talked animatedly among themselves, including me on occasion merely out of courtesy. After months among passengers who’d taken seating at the Captain’s table so seriously, I found their attitude refreshing.
Later, restless, I wandered the ship, where excited passengers explored corridors, lounges, and exercise rooms they’d soon find all too familiar. I wander
ed back to Level 1. Outside the wardroom Rafe Treadwell stood at attention, his nose to the bulkhead. Well, he’d asked for it. Enlistment was his own choice.
I slept badly, still keyed up from the bustle of departure. I knew it would take days to settle back into the dreary routine of Fusion. Nonetheless, I haunted the bridge, with nothing to do.
“Have you noticed the Log, sir?” Lieutenant Chantir pointed to the past two days’ entries. “Mr. Tamarov, slothfulness, three demerits, by Mr. Tyre. Mr. Tamarov, uncleanliness, two demerits.”
So it had started again. I snapped off the Log without comment, leaned back.
“How long will it go on, sir?”
I opened one eye. “Until I say otherwise, First Lieutenant Chantir.”
He flushed. “Sorry, sir.”
“You’re a good officer,” I said. “But don’t nag.”
His smile was weak. “Aye aye, sir.” He changed the subject. “Have you ever played chess, sir?”
I came awake. “Yes, why?”
“I’m not very good, but I like to play. I’ll bet your puter plays a mean game, though.”
“Thank you.” Darla, in a dignified tone.
“I can’t play on the bridge, Lars. You know that.”
“Really? Captain Halstead played all the time. I loved to watch. Once he actually beat the puter.”
The speaker said, “She must have had an off day.”
“Butt out, Darla,” I growled. Then, “He actually played on watch?” Hope stirred.
Chantir said, “Sure, when we were Fused. What else is there to do?”
“Isn’t it against regs?”
“I read them again, sir, before bringing it up. They say you must stay alert. They don’t say you can’t read or play a game. All the alarms have audible signals, anyway.”
“I’ll warn you if we have a problem,” the puter said helpfully.
“Is this a conspiracy? Darla, did you ever play with an officer on watch?”
“Lots of us do. Janet said she sometimes let Halstead win just to keep his spirits up.”
“‘Captain Halstead’ to you. Janet is their puter, I suppose? When did you talk to her?”
“When her ship docked at Hope Nation to bring you your only intelligent officer, Midshi—I mean, Captain Seafort. I tightbeamed with her as a matter of routine.”
Midshipman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 1) Page 39
