Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  “But that’s not reality!”

  “Reality won’t elect me SecGen. When the dust settles, I’ll have a chance to make clear how brutal was his response. We’ll call trannie survivors before the Committee, introduce a bill to recompense. You know the drill. But I will not, at this juncture, go public.” He paused. “Besides, Ruben has agreed to target the sites we need for Franjee II. At least some good will come of this debacle.”

  “Dad, intervene privately. As soon as your sites are cleared, get through to Kahn, you have the clout. Tell him it’s gone far enough.”

  “For forty years my word has been good. It’s the only currency a politician has, Rob. I won’t debase it.”

  “Dad, in Washington you don’t know how bad the slaughter—”

  “The hell I don’t!” Only his eyes showed his fury. “How dare you lecture me on morals! Do you think I haven’t seen Ruben’s confidential reports? Think I don’t know what orders Thorne is giving even now? What data Ernst is feeding him? How many casualties the U.N.A.F. took, and the estimates on trannie losses? This got out of hand, it’s sickening, and it’s without moral foundation. That’s why Kahn has to be replaced. Would you like that to happen, Rob?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Do you want me elected?”

  I swallowed, tasting the sour flavor of defeat. The worst of it was that he was right.

  “Yes, Dad. I want to see you elected.”

  “Then we’ll do nothing to raise doubts about me in this critical moment.”

  I nodded.

  “About your friend Adam; have they recovered his body?” Dad never ended a call on a bitter note if he could possibly help it.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Horrid. Did Seafort ever locate the Tenere boy?”

  “P.T. actually saw him, at one point, a prisoner of the trannies. He may still be alive. That’s all I know.”

  “I wonder who’ll raise him.” I knew Dad was just making conversation, to let our emotions cool.

  “I have no idea. I’m sorry I shouted at you. Good night.”

  “I love you, Robbie.” It startled me.

  He rang off.

  I sat a long while, staring at the caller.

  As a boy I’d yearned to go to Academy.

  I liked Naval life; at times I even loved it. But though I’d made lieutenant, I never felt all that competent. In politics, I discovered a flair, an innate sense of what was practical, what would appeal. I’d set goals, achieved them, raised my sights.

  I was a political man.

  I could have been more.

  Had I stayed in the Navy, I might have become Captain. Had I pursued Elena before she chose Adam, I might be raising a family.

  Had I stood up to Dad tonight, I might not loathe myself so.

  When history was written, who would know, save I, of my part in this dreadful fiasco? By manipulating Arlene’s anxieties, I’d managed to parlay a family’s search for lost children into a war of extinction. The blood of thousands of trannies was on my hands.

  Adam’s blood was on my hands.

  I could do nothing to make amends. Meanwhile, two decks below us, the deadly lasers did their work.

  Unable to sit alone any longer, I strode back to the console. “No luck. He won’t—”

  Thorne held up a hand. His face was apoplectic.

  An anxious face filled his screen. “Sir, Lieutenant Bjorn ordered me to call without informing the bridge. SecGen—uh, Captain Seafort’s taken over the ship and relieved Captain Flores. No one knows what to do.”

  I thought he was speaking directly to Thorne, but an unseen voice responded. “All right, I’ll tell him. What else?”

  “He’s put the ship about. Mr. Bjorn says we’re returning to Earthport.”

  “Very well, stand by. I’ll page the Admiral.”

  The screen flickered, and a new face appeared. A portly Captain, one I didn’t know. “Well, sir? Shall I connect you?”

  Thorne snarled, “The devious son of a bitch! What’s Seafort’s length of service?”

  “Wasn’t it six or seven years?”

  “Something like that. Look it up.” The Admiral slapped the console, and swore. “I forgot Flores was junior.”

  “Yes, but ...”

  “There’s no ‘but’; the wily bastard’s put us in a box. For the sake of fleet discipline, we have to uphold the regs.”

  “He’s hijacked a warship!”

  “Not yet, Ed. In fact, he seems to be returning to base. I told him his impressment was over when Galactic docked. I assume he merely wants off.”

  “What will you tell the comm tech?”

  “Not a thing. I’m not involved yet, and I need maneuvering room. Stall. You can’t find me. But I won’t be hung out to dry on this one. Log Galactic’s call, and all my responses. Other than that, put a lid on it. Absolutely no one is to know.”

  “Aye aye, sir. What’s your next move?”

  “I’ll call Seafort, find out what he’s doing. Hopefully he just wants to go home. We’d better wait a few minutes or he’ll realize someone on his ship snitched, and we can’t acknowledge that; bad for discipline. How long before I can say we noticed their course is altered?”

  “Station computers can notice any time, I’d imagine.”

  “Very well. Lord Christ Almighty.”

  “Amen, sir.” They rang off.

  Jeff Thorne cursed in a steady monotone.

  The speaker crackled. “Sir, General Ruben’s got more coordinates. He has a second officer on the line.”

  “Damn.” Thorne snatched the caller. “Not now, Ernst. Something very urgent’s come up. I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.” He set the caller down. “You know Seafort as well as I, Rob. What’s he up to?”

  “I’m not sure. Would he threaten to blow up the Station? Fire his lasers at Ruben’s HQ? He’s not exactly predictable.”

  “Would he go that far?”

  I said, “He’s savagely angry, and you betrayed him. Where sane men would rein in, he charges full speed ahead. Have you other ships you can send against him?”

  The Admiral’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care for the sound of that. We do not have a mutiny on our hands. Just an orderly and legal transfer of authority, though somewhat unexpected.”

  “Tell that to Flores.”

  “I probably will when it’s over. Rob, we damned well have to treat this as routine. Imagine the holo newsleads if we admit a hijacking on top of a trannie rebellion.”

  I shook my head, disturbed by the threat to the world’s sense of stability. Nonetheless, I had a sneaking admiration for the Captain’s gall.

  Traffic Control estimated Galactic’s return at seventy-two minutes. Thorne busied himself rechecking the regs, while I paced with growing anxiety. If the Captain’s intention was to disembark, well and good. If not, Lord God knew what wrench he’d throw into the works. I was glad of Thorne’s gag order; if word of a fiasco got out, Dad might be compromised.

  The Admiral glanced at the time, keyed his console. “Ed, have Traffic ask Galactic to explain their change of course.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” A few moments later he was back on the line. “She doesn’t answer.”

  “Preposterous. A comm room is always manned.”

  “Yes, sir, unless the Captain orders otherwise.”

  Thorne grunted. “If they think he’s lost his mind, they’ll relieve him.”

  That was unlikely; the risk of hanging was too great. On our interstellar liners, authority must be maintained at virtually any cost. How else could ships sail for many months between stars, cut off from any communication with home?

  “Keep trying, Ed.” Thorne turned to me. “It’s a chess game. He’s forestalled communication; what’s our next move?”

  “I don’t know. What’s his?”

  Thorne folded his arms, stared at the console.

  Little more than an hour later, we had our answer. Galactic lay a few kilometers off Earthp
ort’s Naval docking bays.

  She maintained radio silence on all bands.

  Her two gigs sailed to the station’s airlocks, braked, disgorged a handful of suited figures. Galactic’s officers.

  Minutes later, Captain Flores and Lieutenant Bjorn were before us. Nine other officers fumed in the outer room.

  Bjorn paced, unable to contain himself. “He stole our ship, sir. Refused to consult you, ordered us to disembark, refused—”

  “I know.” Thorne made a placating gesture. “That’s not the issue. Did he say why?”

  “The bastard ordered us silent when we asked. Sorry, sir.” For a moment the lieutenant looked abashed. “Even Captain Flores! In front of the lot of us, he told our Captain to be still!”

  Thorne asked drily, “And was he?”

  Flores snapped, “Of course. It was a direct order.”

  “I apologize, Ramon. We’ll make it up to you. Do any of your joeys know more? Are your officers all here?”

  “All but Allen Zorn, the first middy. He—”

  “Ahh.” Thorne brightened. “Seafort kept an officer aboard?”

  Bjorn snarled, “The prick broke Zorn down to crewman!”

  The Admiral reared. “Sir, your language!”

  “He revoked Zorn’s commission, sir! Entered it in the Log, neat and proper! And with no cause; the boy’s a fine young officer and did nothing to offend.”

  Flores said, “Sir, give me back the ship, at least long enough to rescind Zorn’s—”

  “Of course. That goes without saying.” The Admiral exhaled slowly, and rubbed his face. “That’s all. If you think of anything else, inform Captain Wilkes. I’ll make sure Ed is available to you.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Bjorn hesitated. “If anyone asks, what should we say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Flores sputtered.

  “For the moment, Captain, this is a routine change of personnel. In fact, confine your officers to barracks; we can’t have the story come out or we’ll make the Navy a laughingstock.”

  “But—”

  “Do as I say, until I get him relieved and off ship.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Reluctantly, they left.

  I said dryly, “So much for Nick’s going home.”

  “The least he could have done is dock.” Thorne’s tone was sour.

  “You know better, Jeff.”

  “Yes. Even if we didn’t storm the ship, by my own command his impressment ends the moment Galactic docks. But that’s disturbing: he’s not done with us yet.”

  “Why don’t you rash the ship where she lies?”

  “Don’t be a fool. Her lasers could pick off anything we send, and I don’t want her damaged.”

  A comm tech came on the speaker, his voice tense. “Sir, call for you. From Galactic.”

  “At last.” Thorne dived for his caller. “Seafort? You’re to relinquish command forthwith and—”

  “Is this Admiral Jeffrey Thorne?” An unfamiliar voice, exceedingly nervous.

  “Yes.”

  “Seaman First Class Erin McDonald reporting. My orders are first to advise you that until further notice U.N.S. Galactic will not monitor or receive incoming signals. Then, to transmit the following recorded message and to remove myself from the line, or face immediate court-martial. Which I now do.” A click, and he was gone.

  “What the—”

  Captain Nicholas Seafort’s austere voice filled the room. “In ten minutes, my ship’s launch will begin offloading passengers. I won’t allow the launch to dock, or to receive broadcasts. However, she’ll sail to within a hundred feet of the nearest open bay, and they’ll put the passengers out in suits. I leave it to you to arrange their passage through the airlocks.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Thorne spoke softly.

  “Admiral, I defer to you as to how public you want this affair. If you use only Naval personnel, you might manage to avoid excess publicity. Of course, that may require a quarantine of the passengers. You might want to consider some mention of a virus. When the passengers are offloaded I’ll contact you again on this frequency. I suggest you hold it open.” Another click, and silence.

  “Excess publicity!” Thorne’s fist hit the console.

  I hid a smile. The only way the matter could be kept secret was to lock up ninety outraged passengers. Even then, the Admiral would have his hands full keeping his own joeys from talking.

  Thorne must have been thinking along similar lines. On the caller, his voice grew hoarse issuing a rapid stream of orders. A shuttle bay was isolated; Galactic’s own former officers were drafted for the delicate task of rounding up ground-siders and herding them to the bays.

  The drama played out on our simulscreen, against the stunning depth of the stars. At two-thirds full magnification, Galactic loomed vast.

  The ship’s launch was completing its fourth trip to the Station.

  Naval personnel swarmed about in thrustersuits, towing, pushing, propelling suited figures to the airlocks.

  The Admiral summoned two of them, a husband and wife, from the first shuttle. “What is he up to?”

  “I have no idea. It’s insane. Will we get a refund? When will our trip be rescheduled?”

  Thorne roared, “Answer me!”

  The man grew red; it was the woman who responded. “He made an announcement ... something about a virus, so we couldn’t dock. It didn’t sound—what were we supposed to do? The crew came for us, ordered us into suits. He seemed so nice, before. In the lounge he gave Darwell an autograph, and—”

  Her husband growled, “Never mind that.”

  “Well, I’m just saying. Cantra Ilena, the singer, said the crewmen in her section were laughing like a bunch of joeykids on holiday, as if they enjoyed putting her friends off the ship! It’s an outrage!”

  “Very well. We’ll look into it.” Thorne herded them out with scant ceremony.

  I chewed my thumbnail. “I think I’ll call Dad.”

  “Refused. We’re all under quarantine on this one.”

  My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Because I’m Richard’s political ally? For the moment we’ll keep this buttoned. The Navy comes first with me, Rob. Always has, always will.”

  “And if I choose to leave?” I looked at the hatch.

  His smile was bland. “I could use your help. Please don’t.”

  Fuming, I nonetheless respected his integrity. A man who didn’t buckle to political pressure would be invaluable in Dad’s administration. I sighed. “Then explain what’s going on.”

  “In a moment. I can’t put this off any longer.” He keyed the caller. “Ed, get me through to SecGen Kahn. Code double A priority. Tell his flunkies it can’t wait, and it’s person to person, no one else on the line, scramble comm. Make sure they’re using the new codes, the one’s the trannies haven’t seen.” He swung back to me. “Now, you were saying?”

  “What’s Nick doing?”

  “You’ve heard everything I have.”

  “Yes, and I know Seafort; there’s a reason for every move he’s made. I don’t recall the regs all that well. Help me.”

  On the screen, the launch expelled propellent, glided toward Galactic.

  Thorne folded his arms. “Remember standing regs during wardroom hazing? The shipboard classes, with their constant review of regs? Nicky knows them intimately, plays them like a fiddle.”

  “Nicky.” The name startled me, until I realized just how far back the two of them went. At one time, in Academy, Thorne had been Seafort’s superior. His close friend.

  “My orders to him are effective no matter how delivered. Once he hears them, he’s duty-bound to obey. So he isolated his ship, or claims he did. Supposedly, orders I issue won’t be heard. I can’t relieve him.”

  “Seize his launch when it opens its locks. Or put a man on it with—”

  “Rob ...” His tone was gentle. “He’d let us have the launch, and simply eject the passengers alongside his vessel. He
’s cooperating as best he can.”

  “With what?”

  “The Navy. He loves it as much as I, and he detests personal publicity.” His pause seemed uncomfortable. “Unless he jettisons crew as well as passengers, he’ll be done in one more trip. What a canny bastard. He ejected every officer.”

  “Except that Zorn joey.”

  “No, every officer. Zorn’s now a common crewman. It offends you? It’s nothing; Nick knows his demotion can be reversed in a moment. Zorn probably knows too.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  “Under the regs, a ship’s officer could relieve him. A crewman can’t.”

  “But why didn’t he offload Zorn as well?”

  “That’s what disturbs me. He feels he needs an officer. Or someone with an officer’s skills.”

  I paced, battling a mounting alarm. Dad had been a key member of the Seafort Administration. If Seafort went off the deep end, it would impact on Dad’s campaign. And yet ... was I utterly against what he attempted?

  The caller buzzed. Thorne took it, glanced at me, slipped on the privacy hood. He spoke urgently, for a long while. Then he slipped off the hood. “I told SecGen Kahn you were present, and he wants your input.” He switched the call to the speaker.

  I took a deep breath. “Mr. SecGen?”

  “Is Seafort sane?” Kahn’s tone was blunt.

  Are any of us? I stopped myself from saying it. “I ... think so.”

  “What’s your father’s position?”

  “He doesn’t know about Galactic. As to the insurrection, he said he’d back you publicly, and he’ll honor his word.”

  Kahn’s tone was sharp. “Why do you mention Galactic and the trannies in the same breath?”

  “My, ah, working assumption is that Seafort’s goal is to stop our pinpoint laser fire.”

  “Jeff told me he seemed upset.” Kahn sounded pensive. “I’m not on the scene, and we have our hands full here. Chicago’s on the brink; we’re readying a standby force. Take back your ship, Admiral, whatever the cost. Even if it means destroying her. I will not have an armed vessel overhead defying our authority.”