Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  A trooper ran up. “Sir, I have General Ruben.”

  The colonel spoke into his caller. “Wirtz reporting. Sir, former SecGen Seafort is here. Yes, on One Tenth, outside the park wall. I’m not quite sure, it’s rather confused. He demands we call off the operation; I told him I’d put him through to HQ. Assemblyman Boland is with him.”

  He handed the Captain his caller.

  “Hello?” Seafort faced away, a hand to his open ear. “Yes, of course I remember; a stirring occasion. General, there’s been a ghastly mistake. How quickly can you call off your troops? My son’s life depends on it.”

  He listened.

  His replies were vehement, but he kept his voice low. I heard only part of what was said. After a few moments he threw down the caller, thrust his hands in his pockets.

  Adam Tenere said, “Well?”

  “He’s sorry for my situation, but there’s nothing he can do. He’ll try to get through to Kahn.”

  I doubted Ruben would talk SecGen Kahn into calling off the U.N.A.F. sweep. The SecGen had taken some persuading, and having moved, he wouldn’t abruptly withdraw the troops. That would look indecisive, the dread of any politician.

  Besides, there was no love lost between Kahn and Captain Seafort. Though only a junior Senator at the time Seafort’s government fell, Kahn helped speed the process with a series of bitter attacks on the SecGen’s integrity.

  Arlene’s hand flitted to her husband’s shoulder. She seemed exhausted. “Nick, let them go in with gas. Better P.T. have some chance than none.”

  “The Subs aren’t helpless, you know.” The Captain’s voice was surprisingly mild. “They’ll resist. There’ll be more death.”

  “Joeys will die regardless.” Her arm spread in a sweeping gesture that took in the city. “Do you think this will stop short of pacification? But if we catch the Subs off guard, while Philip’s yet alive ... for God’s sake, tell Colonel Wirtz to prepare a gas attack!”

  “The decision isn’t ours.” Seafort frowned at the troopers. “Kahn’s in charge, and Ruben.” He paced alongside the troop carrier. “But calling off the assault is the only way to prove to Halber I wasn’t behind it.”

  Arlene waited, saying nothing.

  A long sigh. “No, Arlene. I can’t lend my approval.”

  A quarter hour passed, and the first hint of morning light unwrapped the grim ruined structures of the city. I tried to focus on the wall, but it kept moving. I’d already refused one offer of transport to a hospital. Dizziness be damned; I wanted to see this through.

  To my surprise, SecGen Kahn returned the Captain’s call. I’d have guessed he’d choose to be conveniently absent. Seafort sat within the troop carrier; I could hear nothing of their conversation, but afterward, the Captain’s face told us all.

  “I’m going back to Forty-second,” he said. “Colonel, could we have a lift in your heli?”

  “Sir, it’s a battle zone. Civilians are prohibited—”

  “My son is in danger.”

  Wirtz shook his head stubbornly. “I’m under orders not to risk civilian casualties. That is, among, um, our own kind. I can’t let you—”

  The Captain’s tone was savage. “I’ll walk.” He spun away, strode toward the street that ran the length of the park.

  “Sir, it isn’t safe, trannies are still about. Look!” He pointed at a shadowy figure loping north along the wall. “Every damn one of them’s armed. I’ve lost a dozen men to rocks and spears, and the bastards swiped their lasers. Get down, ma’am. You too, Mr. SecGen.”

  I moved uneasily behind the shield of the troop-carrier.

  “Stewart, Vesca! Pick that one off!” The Colonel pointed. “Ma’am, will you please get—”

  Arlene screamed. “Stop!” She hurled herself at the trooper taking aim, swung to the other soldier. “Don’t fire!”

  The Captain stared. “Oh, my God in heaven.” He broke into a run.

  The loping figure slowed.

  Arlene sobbed, “Don’t shoot!” She ran back and forth between the soldiers, the last vestige of her composure dissolved. “He won’t hurt you! Please!”

  As the Captain ran, a high-pitched voice floated across the dawn, tentative. “Fath?”

  Philip sat, wan and dejected, on the step of the troop-carrier.

  When the paroxysms of joy at their reunion had passed, he’d separated himself from his parents’ embrace. “I almost found Jared,” he said. “I saw him.” He looked to Adam, and his eyes fell. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tenere.”

  “Lord, P.T, it’s not your fault.”

  “Yes it is,” the boy said.

  “Nonsense. How?”

  A long pause, as if he were reflecting. “I’m not ready to tell you, sir.”

  Arlene knelt at her son’s side, drinking in his presence in a sort of dazed bliss. “We were so frightened ...”

  He regarded her somberly.

  “Philip ...” Her hand flitted to the boy’s hair, touched the laceration behind his ear. “After you left Mr. Chang, what happened?”

  P.T shivered. His eyes darted to the Park, and back. “I won’t talk about it.” He tugged at his father’s hand. “They have Jared in the Sub. We have to go back.”

  Arlene’s eyes met her husband’s. “Let’s take him home.”

  “Fath, Jared’s not at Forty-second. I was there, but—”

  The Captain nodded to Arlene. “The hotel. A meal, a warm bath, and rest. Let’s go, son.” As he turned, his eyes fell on Adam, and he stopped, stricken. “Lord, I’m sorry,” he said.

  Tenere said, “Sir, it’s all right.”

  “I’ll stay with you. Arlene, take him—”

  “Commandant ...” Adam braced himself, took a deep breath. “Jared is beyond helping. Either he lives or he doesn’t. Go with Philip.”

  “It’s not over. I swore—”

  “Sir, I’ll never forget your promise, but I release you. Colonel Wirtz, as Mr. Seafort’s son is safe, you need not hesitate to use knockout gas. My boy Jared is somewhere in the Sub, and it’s his best chance.”

  The colonel regarded him gravely. “It’s within my authority, but are you sure?”

  “Yes.” To the Captain, “I’ll see you later at the skytel.”

  P.T. dug in his heels. “Fath, help me find Jared.” He gazed at his father with urgent appeal.

  “Son, it’s too late. The troops have to do their job. We’ll wait at the hotel until we have word. Robbie, are you coming?”

  I roused myself. “Yes, sir.” With his boy safe, the Captain might yet be brought around, and political disaster avoided. But the less he saw of the streets, the better.

  We climbed into a heli, waited while the engine revved.

  From time to time during the flight P.T. shuddered, lost in some memory. Before we landed he stirred, and said a remarkable thing. “Father, when this is over I need to be punished. But not now.”

  “I know, son.”

  And it seemed he did.

  We set down on the skytel roof as dawn was breaking. In a few minutes we were in our adjoining suites. I shook off my shoes, lay on the bed pressing a cold compress to my aching temple. I dialed Washington. If I closed my eyes, the room stopped spinning, and I could think. “Senator Richard Boland, please.” I waited. “Dad? Listen.” I brought him up to date on the latest developments.

  He said “Rob, your voice is slurred. Are you all right?”

  “Just a bit dizzy. Now, about Franjee. Let his syndicate know it was I who lit the fire under Kahn. And naturally, tell them you were instrumental in moving me.”

  “Of course.” His tone was dry.

  “Luckily, P.T. is no longer an issue. The Tenere boy is most likely dead.”

  “A tragedy.” He meant it. “But it has no political effect.”

  “I’ll need to spend time with Adam, after.” It was the least I could do.

  A knock. Arlene peered in, through the door between suites. “Rob?”

  “I’ll call you back,” I
told Dad, and rang off. “Yes, Arlene?”

  Her expression was troubled. “It’s not over, in Nick’s view. He intends to go back the moment P.T.’s asleep.”

  “Has he lost his mind?”

  “He’s furious. With me, with you. At Kahn. Talk to him.”

  “I can’t.” I shook my head vehemently, and immediately regretted it. I closed my eyes. “He won’t listen.”

  “He trusts you.”

  My ribs stabbed, whether from my sharp breath or her words, I couldn’t tell.

  She caught a sob. “I went to rest my head on his shoulder, and he pushed me away. We can wait, he said; the tribes can’t. He wants to see Halber, arrange some sort of truce before they’re all dead. But Halber wants to kill him. I don’t want to ... want ...” She forced herself to finish. “... to lose him.” I wondered if she was aware of her double meaning.

  “Wait here, Arlene.” I took a long breath, straightened my clothes, walked with careful steps to confront the man who, in my cadet years, had been to me as a god.

  He stood at the living room window; the bedroom doors were shut. Behind one of them, P.T. would be recovering from his ordeal.

  He snapped, “Don’t start on me, Rob, I warn you.”

  I gaped.

  He came close, and his eyes were pained. “You’re a decent man. How could you do it?”

  “Do what?” I asked, knowing full well.

  “Talk her into that abomination.”

  “I didn’t exactly—”

  “Not that she needed much persuasion.” He pulled me to the window, jabbed a finger at the street. “They’re people down there, Rob. As Assemblyman, you even represent them!”

  I said forcefully, “No I don’t. I represent citizens in the towers, taxpayers, decent joeys who—”

  “Oh, Rob. Did we teach you nothing?” His anger had vanished, and was replaced by a grim sadness. “Trafalgar. The cadets.” For a moment he couldn’t speak further. “Don’t you remember?”

  “Yessir.” Suddenly I was fourteen again, and petrified.

  “That day, we sacrificed forty-two cadets and nine midshipmen. You were aghast at their loss. When you testified, you never once let your eyes meet mine.”

  I’d worn my dress whites, and stood before the row of seated Admirals, my heart pounding so hard I thought it could be seen through my starched jacket.

  He said, “In His wisdom, Lord God let me imagine their death was necessary. But you’re sacrificing a hundred, a thousand times that number, for political ambition!” He spat the last words with venom.

  I swallowed.

  “Boland, look at me!” For a moment, I was before my Captain, on Farside.

  “Yessir.” I managed to meet his eye.

  He said, “It’s wrong.”

  Softly, barely audibly, I said, “I know.” I grabbed at his arm, fighting a wave of dizziness.

  I slumped on the Captain’s couch, trying over and again to get through to SecGen Kahn, who had now flown to London in a gesture to downplay the gravity of the uprising. I’d had Van pull every string possible, even called Dad and asked his help. The Captain himself was on the other caller, begging old friends, cajoling, threatening, pleading. Seafort told everyone he spoke to that his son had been found; the point of the mission accomplished.

  We couldn’t reach the SecGen.

  I’d known it would be so. From Kahn’s point of view, it was understandable. We’d made a deal, he’d gone out on a limb, and we were trying to renege.

  While we called, Arlene had settled herself in an oversize chair, rousing herself every so often to check on Philip. The boy wouldn’t or couldn’t sleep.

  Abruptly she snapped awake. “What’s that damned commotion? How’s he supposed to settle down if—” She flung open the hallway door.

  Running footsteps. Shouts of alarm.

  The caller rang, and both the Captain and I dived for it.

  “Attention hotel guests.” A recording. “The Sheraton Skytel is under precautionary evacuation. Please move immediately to the rooftop heliport, or if access upward is blocked, to the south streetside exit.”

  The Captain said, “What the bloody hell—”

  In the hall, a piercing alarm shrilled.

  “All elevator assemblies and shafts are guaranteed fireproof for one hour after commencement of alarm. Doors will not open on floors where—”

  He spun to Arlene. “Wake P.T! Flank!”

  She was already on the move, but the door to the boy’s room flew open of its own. “Mom? What’s the siren?” He wore only his underwear.

  She snapped, “Pants and shoes! Go!”

  Her tone galvanized him; he spun back into his room, reappeared a moment later, struggling into his slacks, boots in hand.

  I keyed the caller, trying to reach the desk. “Why won’t someone tell us—”

  “Easy, Rob.” In a crisis, Arlene was her steady self. “Nick, bring your laser.” She fished hers out of a deep pocket.

  “Where’s your stunner?”

  I said, “I lost it in the Park.” I felt like a hapless cadet.

  “Everyone bring a caller, set it to your personal code. You too, Philip.” Cautiously she opened the hallway door. “Let’s go. No, wait. Wet towels.” She ran into the bathroom.

  Within a minute she was back. She slung a sopping towel over P.T.’s neck, another over mine. “All right, we’re ready.” She shepherded us into the hall.

  The elevator alcove was jammed with apprehensive guests. The atmosphere was quiet, but with an undercurrent of high tension.

  The chime sounded. After a moment the door slid open. The elevator was already jammed full.

  An instant’s pause. The crowd battled to squeeze in. One joey flailed at a nearby face. A scream. Curses.

  Pandemonium.

  Someone hauled on my arm so hard I staggered, and a lance of pain shot through my ribs.

  Arlene. “Come on, Rob!”

  “Where?”

  “The stairs!”

  Gripping P.T, she flung open the door. In the stairwell, a wisp of smoke.

  The Captain looked up, “How many flights?”

  I struggled to think. “We’re on sixty-two.”

  “The heliport’s at eighty-one.” He grimaced. “Let’s go.”

  I took two steps, reeled with dizziness. “I can’t make it. I’ll go back and wait for an elevator.”

  Arlene snapped, “Goofjuice. We’ll carry you.”

  “Not nineteen flights.”

  “Nick?”

  “I’ll take his left.”

  My head spun, and my ribs hurt; I really should have let the Unies at a Hundred Ten send me to a hospital. Protesting, I let the Seaforts guide me.

  We weren’t alone in the stairwell. A nimble young man jogged upward, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He said not a word, his eyes fastened on the tread ahead. Others shouldered past us, some with curses. From below, shouts and screams. Smoke curled lazily up the stairwell.

  It was seven flights before the Captain stopped to rest.

  “Nick, smoke rises.” Arlene’s tone was anxious. “It’ll be worse at the top.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be, so far. Maybe the outside door’s propped and letting it out.”

  She nodded. “P.T., you all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Stay with us, unless I tell you to run ahead. Rob, here we go again.”

  From below, pounding feet. Whoops and hollers. I peered over the rail. “What in the name of ... ?”

  “Come ON.”

  Laboriously, we toiled upward.

  A clang.

  Philip was half a flight ahead of us. “Mom, look!” He seemed near panic.

  Above, the hallway door was wedged open. Angry black smoke billowed into the stairwell, and upward.

  “Philip, down. Now!” Her voice was a lash, and he raced down the stairs. “Help Mr. Boland,” she told him.

  Cautiously, she climbed the stair, wrapping a towel o
ver her right arm and hand.

  “Arlene, what are you—” The Captain.

  “Closing the door.” A grunt. “Damn. It’s stuck.”

  “Stay here.” Seafort trotted up the stair. I peered up. Arlene was on her knees, the Captain crouched at her side. Together they tried to wrestle the door shut. Their faces were darkened with smoke and grease. “It won’t budge.”

  “If we—DOWN!” She pulled him to the deck. A gout of flame blasted through the opening.

  “Mom!” Philip careened up the stairs.

  As the blaze receded Arlene got to her knees, cursed, rolled on the deck. “God damned sparks!” She slapped at her smoking jumpsuit. “Nick, are you—”

  “I’m all right.” He pulled her down to the landing below. “P.T., I said to wait with Rob!” The Captain turned the boy’s shoulder, pushed him to the stair.

  From somewhere below, a scream of pain.

  I called, “Can we get past the door?”

  “I’m not sure.” He crawled toward the doorway, peered through. Above his head, smoke poured into the stairwell. “Even if we could, the smoke may be toxic.”

  “Fath, look!”

  “Not now, P.T.”

  “Lever the door shut!” The boy jabbed at a hose compartment, and the fire axe within.

  “It might work.” The Captain wrenched loose the axe and wedged it between the door and the wall. Together, he and Arlene strained at the handle. As he rose to his knees, he was caught full in the face by a huge billow of smoke. He fell back, coughing as if he’d never stop.

  “Fath!”

  “Easy, son,” he wheezed. “I’m not hurt.” His eyes streamed. He redoubled his efforts. Suddenly the door gave way with a scream of protest. Together, they pushed it shut, but it wouldn’t close the last few inches.

  The Captain stopped to cough anew. When he could breathe he hurried down to our flight.

  Arlene took her position at my side. “Rob, this may hurt, but we’d better hurry.”

  I braced myself. We made it past the burning hallway, up two more flights.

  Several floors below, exultant shouts. Again, feet pounded.

  We managed half a flight, then they caught up with us: half a dozen trannies in wild garb, their faces streaked. “Uppies!” A fearsome whoop of joy.

  Three of the streeters bore torches.

  “Nick, watch Philip.” Arlene planted herself, pistol extended in both hands.