Feintuch, David - Seafort 02 - Challenger's Hope

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David Feintuch

Seafort Saga 2: Challenger's Hope

v1.0 02-apr-2002 Keleios/Jade Beetle (author info from html headers). Original in MS Word HTML format.

v2.0 05-apr-2002 4i Publications. Converted from MS word HTML into proper HTML. Original didn't include

any italics/bold, looked like a text->html conversion. Removed extra page numbers and titles. Corrected

common OCR errors (approx 100). Corrected orphan lines (approx. 130). Did full proof w/o DT,

corrected/guessed approx 250 errors. Added some scene changes. Still has some unreadable/unclear senteces

(25), marked those with [???].

Being the second voyage of Nicholas Seafort, U.N.N.S., in the year of our Lord 2197

PART I

November, in the year of our Lord 2197

CHAPTER 1

"Carry on!" Geoffrey Tremaine strutted to his place at the head of the Admiralty conference table. Scowling, he

set down his sheaf of notes and flicked invisible dust from his gold braid. As the assembled officers stood easy, I

tugged at my jacket, made sure my tie was straight.

While the Admiral settled himself, we took our seats. Each of the eleven men and three women at this briefing

in the Naval warren of down-under Lunapolis captained a ship in the UNNS squadron ready to sail to Hope

Nation, sixty-nine light years distant. The Admiral's sloop, Portia, fitted with the newest L-Model fusion drive,

was docked aloft at Earthport Station, So was my own sloop, Challenger, though I hadn't yet boarded her.

Tremaine's cold eye roved the table. "So," he said finally, as if disappointed, "My command is gathered

together at last." Short, florid, he seemed on the edge of rage.

I glanced to either side. Length-of-service medals on Captain Hall's dress jacket indicated twenty-four years'

service; Captain Derghinski, on my right, had twenty-two. Each of them had been a Naval officer longer than I'd

lived. Challenger was my first command. I was, I knew, the youngest Captain in the entire U.N. Navy.

"We sail tomorrow, gentlemen. As your written orders indicate, we'll Defuse seven times to provide the most

accurate navigation checks possible."

Again I wondered why he wanted us to waste time and propellent with so many jumps, but as the most junior

present, I kept my opinion to myself.

A Fusion drive was accurate to within six percent-whoops, no longer. Within one percent of the distance

traveled. That change was astonishing; during my long cruise to Hope Nation, vastly improved control baffles

had been devised and Admiralty was retrofitting them on ships as they returned to Home System.

Navigation wasn't my strong point, and even the refresher course they'd made me attend left me a touch shaky

on the mechanics of Fusion. Thankfully, the ship's puter and our Pilot would carry out most of the calculations,

though I'd confirm them myself no matter how long it took.

Theoretically we could now Fuse to within three light months of Hope Nation, and follow with a short

corrective jump. For greater precision, it was customary to make smaller jumps instead of one long one. We

might normally expect to Defuse for nav checks twice during the sixty-nine-light-year voyage to Hope Nation.

Seven times was absurd.

"I'll sail on Challenger," Tremaine said.

My jaw dropped. Could I have heard right? True, Challenger was somewhat larger than Porria-the Admiral's

flagship was one of the smallest vessels in our fleet-and I could arrange suitable accommodations, but-the

Admiral himself? On my ship?

Tremaine glared, as if reading my thoughts. "With Captain Hassclhrad."

"What?" I heard my incredulous voice, as from a distance.

"I'm moving my flag. Naturally, I'll want a Captain with more experience. Seafort, you'll be taking Portia,

They'll cut your new orders this afternoon. Pick them up from Ops."

"But-" I swallowed. "Aye aye, sir."

While he glanced through his papers my head spun with unasked questions. Challenger, the ship whose specs

I'd studied until my eyes blurred, was no longer mine. All I knew about Portia was that she was a two-decker,

tiny by comparison. And what of my crew? I'd had Alexi and Derek Carr assigned as my junior officers. And

Vax Holser. They'd all be lost to me. How could I cope with the demands of an unfamiliar bridge without their

dogged support?

Tremaine tapped his notes. "Portia and Freiheit will remain at each station until the rest of the fleet has Fused,

Their L-Model drives will allow them to arrive first at the next rendezvous, to clear any, er, encroachment."

So that was it. The only, er, encroachment we might encounter was the bizarre alien creature I'd come upon

during Hibernia's voyage to Hope Nation, after I'd been catapulted from midshipman to Captain upon the death

of Hibernia's seasoned officers. The skirmish with the fish still brought nightmares, which my wife Amanda

gently soothed away in the solitude of our cabin.

Lord God! Amanda had gone ahead to settle on Challenger while I struggled through Admiralty's refresher

courses and my briefings. She'd be unpacking in our cabin-now the Admiral's. The sudden change of vessels

would infuriate her-and I couldn't blame her.

I studied Tremaine glumly. Apparently he considered Portia expendable, so long as we protected his better-

armed flagship, The fleet would Fuse and Defuse seven times to make sure my sloop and Freiheit were always in

the lead to intercept a hostile force.

A gray-haired officer across the table intervened, "What will be our posture, sir, in case of unexpected

contact?"

I grinned sourly at Captain Stahl's choice of words. Like most Naval officers, he found it difficult to concede

that we'd really stumbled onto hostile aliens. At times I had trouble believing it myself, and I was the one who

found them. After all, in two hundred years of exploring, man had discovered no animal life other than the

primitive boneless fish of Zeta Psi. Thank Lord God our puter Darla recorded our contact. Without her playbacks

and the few other eyewitnesses from Hibernians bridge, I'd be confined to a schizo ward for hormone

rebalancing.

"Contact is highly unlikely," Admiral Tremaine paused, shot me an irritable glance. "However, you must not

undertake threatening maneuvers without absolute proof of the hostile intent of the other party,"

I blurted, "Absolute proof will likely result in the destruction of your ship." Unwise, but I couldn't stop myself.

The Admiral half-rose from his seat, his face red, "Flippancy and insubordination are what I'd expect from you,

Seafort!"

"I wasn't flippant, sir," My tone was meek, "As far as we saw, the aliens don't communicate by radio contact or

signals. The first sign of hostility could be their acid eating through our hull. It's what took out Telstar, and-"

"Admiralty chose to give you a ship, Seafort." Vinegar was in Tremaine's tone. "I wouldn't have. Frankly, I

doubt your whole report; puter disks can be faked. I don't know if you saw anything out there, but your report

conveniently diverted attention from Captain Haag's death."

I gaped. Before the entire squadron, my new commanding officer had accused me of lying, of faking my report,

perhaps even of murder. "I went through polygraph and drug testing before Admiralty offered me another ship."

My throat was tight. "Mr. Holser and the others saw-"

He grunted. "Yes, for what that's worth." Before I could object he added, "At any rate, Seafort, your orders are

to avoid initiating hostilities. Disobey and I'll relieve you so fast your head will spin." He turned away.

I sat through the rest of the briefing in a daze, doing my best to pretend calm. It was, I thought ruefully, a fit

end to my shore leave.

When I'd brought Hibernia home with the startling news of the aliens, Admiralty hadn't known what to do with

me. After they reluctantly accepted my verified report, Admiral Brentley, head of Fleet Operations, personally

intervened to reward me with another ship and the rank of Commander, though most of my classmates at

Academy hadn't yet made lieutenant.

When the gruff Admiral had concluded with me, I'd brought Amanda to Cardiff for a gloomy introduction to

Father; afterward we set out on our delayed honeymoon.

I don't know why we'd chosen New York, except that she didn't know when she'd have another chance to see it.

I'd been there and had no desire to return, but I held my peace for her sake.

Neither of us had really enjoyed the tense, busy luxury of Upper New York. Uncomfortable with my new

celebrity, my mind flitted between memories of my recent voyage and the anticipation of a new ship, while

Amanda struggled with her advancing pregnancy.

Waiting out the weeks of mandatory leave, I stared out of skytel windows while helibusses glided between

sleek towers, high above decaying streets overrun by the ragged transpops, our ever-present urban homeless.

Once, Amanda and I descended to ground level to take a Gray Line tour, locked behind thick protective steel

bars on an armored bus that wended its way through the teeming city. Well before nightfall we were returned

safely to our hotel aerie, to which supplies were brought by air to avoid the hostile and savage transpops below. I

wondered why the Sec-Gen didn't send in the Unies to wrest control from the streeter gangs. An entire city was

crumbling beneath our eyes.

In the evenings Amanda and I took helitaxis to plays, concerts and once, to my dismay, to an art show where I

stared helplessly at holograms that dissolved in incomprehensible patterns. Around me, cognoscenti nodded with

appreciation.

When our leave was over, we'd flown back to Houston; I had to attend more dull briefings while Amanda took

the shuttle to Earthport Station and Challenger.

I recalled the irony of those incessant conferences, Our self-appointed experts in xenobiology offered guesses

about the nature and intentions of the aliens I'd encountered, while glancing nervously to see if I suddenly

recalled some detail that would contradict their theories.

I shook myself back to the present; Admiral Tremaine's briefing was finally ending. As we rose, Tremaine

shook hands with several senior officers. I edged away, anxious to be gone, but his cold eye fixed me with a

disapproving stare. He beckoned.

I approached, waited until he'd finished with my seniors. Could I get him to reconsider taking my prized ship?

"About Challenger, sir. I personally selected her officers. I was hoping to sail with-"

"The ones who backed your tale about that fish? I imagine you would." His tone was sharp. "You'll have your

way. You'll find their orders with your own."

"To Portia?"

"Of course. I won't sail with children manning my bridge. This is my first squadron, and everything must be

shipshape.

Hasselbrad knows whom he wants, and I trust his judgment." The remainder of his thought was unspoken, but I

blushed nonetheless. "Now, listen, Seafort."

I waited, hoping for a sign of conciliation.

"I told Brentley I wanted no part of you. In fact, I made it clear it was insane to give you a ship. He insisted on

my leaving you in command, but I'll be damned if it will be a vessel of any importance. Each time we Fuse, take

Portia to your station and stand guard. If those loony aliens you reported really exist, dispatch them before we

arrive."

"But you said-Aye aye, sir." How could I dispatch a fish without initiating hostilities?

"That's all." Glowering, he took my salute.

As I left the room I sighed. I was disconsolate, hungry, rocket-lagged, and too far from my wife.

"Wait your turn!" A heavy-jowled woman, her face a mask of disapproval. I hesitated, blushing, but Lieutenant

Alexi Tamarov pushed to the head of the line of impatient passengers at the Earthport Station ticket counter.

Sheepishly I followed.

"G Concourse?" he called.

The attractive young lady looked up from the boarding passes thrust at her from all sides. "End of the corridor

and downstairs, Lieutenant." She turned back to her forms.

"Thanks, ma'am!" Alexi ignored the civilians' hostile stares. "You have to learn to be aggressive, sir," he

admonished. Only our years of service together on Hibernia permitted such a remark, notwithstanding his

congenial tone.

We threaded our way through the station's main concourse. Harried families clutched children and baggage

while mag-netronic carts whizzed past with station staff. Roughened crewmen sprawled in seats, awaiting the

arrival of their ships.

Earthport Station, the largest orbiting station ever built, moved all Earth's interstellar traffic and much of its

interplanetary shipping too. Its many levels held bonded warehouses for the duty-free zones, dozens of shuttle

bays, administrative offices, staff housing, waiting areas, rest rooms, restaurants and snack bars. News of the

aliens had done little to slow the frantic pace of traffic.

"I keep forgetting how big the place is." Alexi hurried to keep pace. A year younger than I, at nineteen Alexi

was no longer the handsome boy just out of Academy I'd met three years before. He had grown into an athletic,

confident young man.

"A lot of joeys moving out," I said. Perhaps fewer folk would embark on the sixteen-month cruise to Hope

Nation until the danger from the aliens had passed. I lengthened my stride. In the two days since Admiral

Tremaine had taken my ship, I'd grown almost desperate to be done with the interminable briefings and to board

my command, whatever she might be.

"This way, sir. I remember now." Alexi diverted me to a staircase at one side of the corridor. I followed,

grateful that he'd taken the trouble to meet my incoming shuttle, despite the inconvenience of resettling himself

at short notice.

Only a few sailors and civilian workers hurried along the lower corridor as we strode past successive airlock

gates. We were now at G-12; Portia was moored at G-4, almost halfway around the rim of the station. I

shouldered the heavy duffel Alexi had twice offered to carry.

We slowed a bit, but kept a steady pace. Alexi offered a few remarks about ships outlined in the transplex

portholes we passed, but subsided when I only grunted in reply.

The truth was that I was nervous; never had I boarded my own ship to take command. My captaincy of

Hibernia had begun in tragedy and confusion, light years into our cruise from Earth to Hope Nation. Now I was

to command U.N.S. Portia, a vessel that shipped sixty passengers and a crew of thirty. Among them two

lieutenants, three middies. Far smaller than Hibernia or Challenger, she was a significant ship in the United

Nations Naval Service despite Admiral Tremaine's disparaging remarks.

I knew that Lieutenant Vax Holser and my three midshipmen had already transferred aboard, along with the

Pilot and Chief Engineer I had never met. As to the crew belowdecks, I had no idea whom I might find. I

wondered again why Vax had turned down his own command to sail with me, considering how badly I'd treated

him during our years in Hibernia. I nonetheless felt more secure for his steady, dependable presence.

As we reached G-4, I stopped to run my hands through my hair. When I tugged on the jacket of my dress

whites, Alexi grinned. "It's not funny," I snapped. "I need to make a good impression."

"Right, sir." He was still smiling. Alexi was as close a friend as I had, but at times I wondered if our long

voyage would chafe. I bit back a cutting remark, knowing my own tension and not Alexi's irrepressible good

cheer had spawned it.

"I'm ready." I picked up my duffel. At the lock two armed marine sentries stood guard. I pulled out my papers.

One sentry remained standing with his hand on the butt of his pistol; the other saluted the bars on my dress

uniform, took my papers. "Commander Nicholas Seafort?"

"That's right." I waited patiently while he compared the holopic to my face. After the rebellion we'd blundered

into at Miningcamp, I appreciated their security measures; any orbiting station now left me ill at ease.

"There's your ship, Captain." He gestured.

Alexi followed me into the lock. As Portia maintained the same atmospheric pressure as the Station, the airlock

had no need to cycle; Portia's inner hatch would be opened as soon as we sealed the outer for safety.

Through the transplex airlock panel I caught a glimpse of sailors milling in the ship's corridor. "Gawd, there he

is!" someone hissed within. The hatch slid open.

"Attention!" Vax Holser's bellow rang through the corridor. Utter silence greeted me as I took a step forward.

Correctly, Alexi waited behind, in the lock. Vax's muscular frame stiffened to rigid attention as he snapped an

Academy salute.

"Permission to come on board." My tone was formal.

"Granted, sir." Vax's grin was heartfelt and wanning.

I strode through the inner hatch. Vax, Midshipman Derek Carr and two seamen remained at attention, eyes

locked front.

I unfolded my orders. "To Nicholas Ewing Seafort, Commander, United Nations Naval Service," I read aloud.

"Effective November 4, 2197, you shall command U.N.S. Portia, a vessel assigned to the squadron commanded

by Admiral Geoffrey Tremaine. You are to voyage to Hope Nation and thence to Detour Colony in such manner

as may be ordered by the Admiral commanding..." I read through the orders and folded the paper.

"As you were." As they relaxed, I looked about. We were at the fore airlock, adjacent to the ship's launch berth.

The aft lock was below, on Level 2.

From a distance our vessel-or any Naval starship-would look like a pencil stood on end; the disks in which we

lived consisted of two rings fitted tightly over the pencil about halfway from bow to stern. Portia had only two

Levels rather than the three of Challenger and larger ships.

I turned to the waiting midshipman. Derek Carr, lean and youthful at eighteen, stood confidently in his crisp

blue middy's uniform, buckles and shoes shined to perfection. As his eye caught mine I winked. Derek, whom I

recruited from among the passengers of Hibernia, was maturing into a fine naval officer, despite occasional

traces of the haughty young aristocrat he'd once been.

"I'll show you to your cabin, sir," Vax offered.

I made a quick decision. I still knew virtually nothing about my new command. "No. Mr. Carr, take my duffel

to the Captain's cabin, and tell Amanda I'll be there in a while. Vax, show me everything, bow to stern."

"Aye aye, sir," Vax said automatically. No other response was possible to a Captain's command. As the others

drifted away, he hesitated. "It won't take long to see. Compared to Challenger, this is a toy. He had no right-"

"Mr. Holser!" My voice was tight. "Don't even think of saying that aloud."

"I-no, sir."

"Did you forget an Admiral is senior to a Captain? The squadron is his to deploy. No criticism, now or ever."

"Aye aye, sir." His tone was subdued. "Shall we start at the bridge?"

"If you like." As I followed him along the corridor I remembered that I still wore my dress whites; I'd get them

dirty poking around the ship. I'd also be hot. I decided against stopping to change; better not to appear indecisive

my first day aboard.

As we were still moored, the bridge hatch was open and only a nominal watch was kept. Midshipman Rafe

Treadwell came to attention when I entered. My eyes took in the control consoles, the navigation equipment, the

simulscreens covering the front bulkhead. I would spend many of my waking hours in this compartment. Smaller

than Hibernians bridge, still it had ample room to move around. I wondered if Naval designers knew Captains

liked to pace.

I looked down at Rafe, fourteen, promoted from cadet at my recommendation so that he could join my next

command as midshipman. "Enjoy your shore leave, Mr. Treadweil?"

"Uh, yes, sir." He blushed furiously. It must have been an interesting leave indeed. As midshipman, Rafe had

his majority by statute of the General Assembly, and could frequent the bars and dives of Lunapolis. He'd been

but eleven the last time he'd seen home port.

"Good; carry on. Vax, where to?"

Lieutenant Holser led me from the inactive bridge to the sickbay, and I chatted a moment with the Doctor, I'd

see a lot of that place now that our baby was near. Down the circular corridor just past the ladder was the

officers' mess, a tiny compartment barely larger than a passenger cabin. We officers would take our evening

meal in the ship's dining hall with the passengers, and few enough of us would share the mess for morning and

noon meals, as we stood our staggered watches.

Belowdecks, I glanced at the engine room and took a long look at Hydroponics, on whose output we would all

depend, Outside the crew berth the chief petty officer brought a gaggle of seamen to attention. "Akrit, stand even

with the others! Wipe off that idiot smile, Clinger. Sorry, sir."

I nodded curtly. The petty officers would have their hands full for a time, one of the pitfalls of guaranteed

enlistment. Virtually any able-bodied person was guaranteed acceptance into the Service, and got a half-year's

pay in advance as a bonus.

Back on Level 1, I surveyed a few passenger cabins as well as officers' quarters. I said little, trying to memorize

what I could. We came across Alexi in the passengers' lounge chatting with two civilian girls; he detached

himself and joined our tour.

Vax knocked on the wardroom hatch. By custom the wardroom was the midshipmen's private territory; except

for inspection, other officers entered only by invitation. The hatch swung open. Seeing us, Midshipman Philip

Tyre came rigidly to attention, in regulation naval slacks and tee shirt. His white shirt, tie and blue jacket lay

neatly on his bunk.

"Mr. Tyre." I regretted my impulse to include Philip in my new command. I should have let him resign when

Hibernia's homecoming had released him from his purgatory. Tyre, at seventeen, was still as breathtakingly

handsome as the day he'd first come aboard Hibernia. But now he wore a wary look, a legacy of the undying

enmity he'd kindled in Alexi Tamarov, when Tyre had been Alexi's senior in the wardroom.

"Yes, sir," Philip waited anxiously. The middy was always obedient to his seniors, eager, cooperative and

helpful. It was to his juniors that his unbearable traits were exposed. After Alexi's promotion, on the long trip

back from Hope Nation, Lieutenant Tamarov had exacted vengeance by setting Philip over the barrel for a

caning whenever opportunity arose.

Time to face the issue, "I wish you a good voyage, Mr, Tyre." I meant it as a signal; Alexi heard but gave no

sign.

Philip's look was almost pleading. "Thank you, sir," Wisely he said no more. We left him to contemplate his

future.

"Are you ever going to ease up, Alexi?" Together, we descended the ladder to Level 2.

"When you order it, sir," His tone was flat.

There was little more I could say. By tradition, the Captain was expected not to involve himself in wardroom

affairs, Alexi, an amiable, goodhearted joey, could normally be depended on not to harass a middy, but In his

misery under Mr, Tyre, Alexi had sworn an oath of revenge to Lord God himself. Lieutenant Tamarov meant

literally what he had told me; he would stop when ordered, but not a moment before.

Fortunately for Philip, the miscreants' barrel was now in First Lieutenant Vax Holser's cabin, rather than Alexi's

where it had sat most of our voyage home.

Shrugging, I continued my tour. Philip had made his own bed. Now, as with all of us, he must sleep in it.

"God, Nicky, where have you been?" Amanda shifted her bulging body to the side of her cushioned chair. The

baby was due very soon.

"Hi, hon. Inspecting the ship." I tossed my jacket on the bunk and bent to nuzzle the soft brown hair I'd admired

ever since I'd first seen her, an awkward young middy on Hibernia.

She gave a rueful grin."She's not quite what Challenger would have been."

"Well ..."

"I couldn't pack fast enough when they told me you were transferred. I dreaded that somehow you'd ship on

Portia and I'd be left where I was. What on earth were they thinking of, changing Captains at the last moment?"

It wasn't a topic I cared to dwell on. I sat, made a lap, beckoned her to it. "You didn't want a rest from me?"

She settled cautiously, rested her sweet-scented hair in the crevice of my neck. "Not that long."

I loosened my tie, sighed. "My feet hurt."

From my collarbone came what sounded like a growl. "Try changing places. Everything aches these days."

I knew Amanda's pregnancy was trying, but she'd borne it with a good grace for which I cherished her all the

more. She'd refused even to discuss a host-mother embryo transplant, prenatal rearing, or other alternatives that

would have eased her discomfort.

My eye wandered around the cabin, examining my home for the next three years. It was the largest stateroom

on the ship, far larger than the wardroom I'd shared with several midshipmen in earlier days. An open hatch led

to the Captain's private head. Our cabin had its own shower compartment, similar to the one I'd had on Hibernia.

That was one luxury I'd grown used to.

Amanda stretched, rose to her feet. "Learn anything in your briefings?"

"Only that Admiral Tremaine doesn't like me." I slipped out of my dress uniform, wishing I'd done so hours

earlier.

"Why not?" She sounded indignant.

"It doesn't matter. He has his ship and I have mine." I donned my regular ship's blues. "I'll hardly see him at

all."

"I missed you." Her voice was soft. "They boarded me on Challenger three days ago, while you were still in

that Fusion course." She frowned. "A whole day I spent, checking their reference library. Wasted." Earlier, I had

arranged for her appointment as Challenger's civilian education director, the same post she'd held on Hibernia.

Luckily, I was able to have her given similar duties aboard Portia.

"Have you checked out Portia's library?" I asked, to divert her.

"It seems complete enough." A whole library could be contained in a trunkful of holovid chips, so storage

space wasn't a problem. I knew Amanda would examine the booklist carefully; as ed director, her task would be

to teach children who wanted education, and to supervise adult classes during the long, dull Fuse to Hope Nation

and to Detour beyond. It was common for passengers to use the uneventful months in space to learn new skills or

carry out research.

I checked my watch. "Seven o'clock. Hungry, hon?"

"I'm always hungry," she admitted. She flashed the smile that had captivated me as a fumbling midshipman.

"Don't worry, I won't stay fat." We headed for the dining hall.

Most of the passengers and all of the crew had already boarded. However, many passengers had chosen to

leave the ship to wander in Earthport Station's vast concourses, watch through the observation ports as other

ships arrived and departed, or sample the many expensive restaurants the station provided. Dinner that night

aboard Portia was sparse and informal.

At the Captain's table Amanda and I were joined by only two passengers. Normally we sat eight to a table; nine

large round tables would seat my officers and Portia's sixty passengers.

I felt uneasy beginning the meal without the traditional Ship's Prayer, recited every night while under weigh,

but it was not the custom to pray in port. Instead, I said a silent grace.

Amanda introduced me to Dr. Francon, a synthetic cardiology specialist on route to Hope Nation to run Hope

General's cardiac generation unit. Our other guest, Mr. Singh, told us he had no reason for traveling except to see

as much of the known universe as his lifetime would let him.

"The galaxy is a hundred thousand light-years across, Mr. Singh. You won't have time to see but a fraction;

why did you pick our corner of it?"

The small, tan-skinned man smiled delightedly. "Pure chance, Captain Seafort. Fortuity. As you know, I had to

arrange my cruise before you returned on Hibernia, so I had no idea when I chose Hope Nation that I might

actually get to see alien life."

"Let's hope you don't," I muttered. A chill prickled my spine.

"It isn't foreordained that our contact must be hostile," he said in his gentle singsong voice. "Now that we each

know of each other's existence, perhaps more positive, loving contact may be had."

"Not by me." I changed the subject. As we progressed from soup to the main course I was distracted by

boisterous children and teenagers at a table across the hall. I ignored them, though their presence surprised me.

Hibernia had carried few youngsters.

Under the table, my wife pressed her hand on my knee. I hoped no one noticed; I could hardly maintain the

dignity of a Captain while an attractive woman fondled me.

After dinner I escorted Amanda to our cabin and returned to the bridge. Lieutenant Tamarov had the watch; he

was sitting comfortably at the first officer's console when I came in.

"Are we all set, Alexi?"

"All supplies loaded, sir. The last contingent of passengers arrives late this evening. The mail comes aboard at

04:00 standard time, then we'll be ready to cast off."

Idly I tapped the back of my soft leather watch chair."Why would passengers reboard so late?"

"The Lower New Yorkers, sir. The station didn't want to bring them aloft any earlier than necessary."

"Who?" I gaped. "Street people?"

"Transpops, yes, sir."

"On my ship?" I sank into my chair, dismayed. "Are you joking?"

"Not at all. Didn't you read the memo?"

"What memo, Alexi?" It came as a growl.

"From Cincfleet, sir." He glanced at me, hurried on. "While you were away. It's a pilot program arranged by the

Reunification Church, endorsed by UNICEF. They're rounding up teen transpops and sending them outward.

Give them a better life while harnessing their raw energy to productive use, or some such folderol. Our band is

headed for Detour, in the custody of a UNICEF social worker."

Appalled, I pictured my honeymoon in New York. Our tour bus had crawled down Fifth Avenue along the

ruins of Central Park, past the old Central Park Zoo, long bereft of animals they couldn't protect from hungry

human scavengers who prowled its cobbled stones.

As we came upon the twenty-foot wall topped with broken glass and barbed wire that ringed the ancient Plaza

Hotel, the bus was abruptly surrounded by a mob of ragged, frantic youths brandishing what I at first thought

were homemade weapons, but soon realized were tourist artifacts carved or pressed from sheet metal, worn

pieces of rubber tire, and other scrap.

"Getcha Newyawk souvs!" a grimy boy shouted through the grillwork welded to the tour bus windows.

"TraCenta, Empiyabuildin', lookadem heah!" He waved his crude skyscrapers at any prospective takers. Amanda

pressed my hand tightly.

The driver glanced at his mirrors, decided it would be safe to stop. While he and the guard grasped their

stunners, two of the wild children were allowed to enter the fortresslike bus to peddle their wares. After five

minutes they were hustled off and we'd continued on our way to Timesquare.

I slammed my fist into the chair arm, startling Alexi. "I won't have it!"

By day, Lower New York maintained a semblance of civilization; tour buses such as ours penetrated its outer

reaches. Not by night. In the darkened alleyways and torn avenues of Lower New York, rival Hispanic, Black,

and Oriental gangs preyed on the transient population, the transpops, our permanent and ever-increasing urban

homeless.

Rarely, if ever, did anyone descend to street level; residents of Upper New York flew in and out of the city

from rooftop heliports. Derek Carr, the young aristocrat I'd befriended and enlisted in the Service, was of that

urbane and civilized culture. Buildings such as Derek's home generated their own power and were heavily

fortified against invasion by the transpops.

How could Admiral Brentley think of infesting my ship with such savages?

"How many?" I demanded.

"Forty-two, sir,"

I was aghast, "Out of sixty passengers?"

"No, sir." Alexi took a deep breath, eyed me warily. "We have our sixty passengers. And forty-two transpops."

I came out of my seat, fists bunched, controlling myself only with effort, "We have cabins for only sixty!"

"Yes, sir. A number of scheduled passengers will double up. The, uh, transportees will bed six to a cabin,"

"That's worse than the wardroom! How can you cram six bunks into a stateroom?"

"Pardon, sir, but they've already been installed." A nervous adolescent voice, from the speaker. "Double bunks

against each bulkhead."

I glared from speaker to speaker. "Who are you?"

"Danny, sir. Uh, hi."

"Danny?" I turned to Alexi.

"Our puter."

"Oh." I paused. "Hello, Danny." I glowered at Alexi. "Supplies? Hydro ionics and recyclers?"

"Adjusted, sir, but we'll be at near-maximum utilization the whole cruise."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner about the transpops?" My voice was dangerously quiet.

"I thought you already knew." Alexi eyed me steadily.

Petulant, I threw myself into my seat. "Patch me through to Fleet Ops." Alexi picked up the caller. "This isn't a

prison ship," I muttered, half to myself. "Are they insane?"

"Perhaps, sir," said Alexi gravely. Despite my agitation, I had to smile; Alexi had taken the opportunity

provided by my question to suggest criticism of his superiors, which otherwise would have been unacceptable.

Neatly done, but it reminded me that I had just criticized Admiralty in front of my lieutenant.

It was an hour before my call got through to Admiral Brentley on Lunapolis. The conversation was brief. "I

can't do a thing about it, Nick. This comes straight from the Secretary-General's office. I know you're

overcrowded but I can't help you."

"But what possible good could it do to haul forty transpops from among the hundreds of thous-"

"Ask the Council of Elders of the Church; it falls under 'charitable works' and they have the ear of the SecGen,

I gather that if the experiment works, they'll begin mass shipping of trannies to the newer colonies,"

"But, sir-"

"I know, I know. As a means of relieving population pressure it's nonsense, and you'd think they'd know better.

A nuisance for you, but it's out of my bailiwick. Put up with the overcrowding as best you can."

"It's more than overcrowding, sir. The recyclers aren't meant to handle-"

"I know, Seafort, but there's ample safety margin built into the specs. As for food, we'd provided extra canned-"

"Sir, they're dangerous to the ship and the other passengers!"

"I'd feel the way you do if Portia were mine. But the U.N.'s desperate to relieve pressure in the urban centers.

The program is set. Anyway, they've sent you younger ones who have no known parents, and a supervisor to

watch over them.

I understand the most violent cases have been screened out. Do your best, Seafort."

"Aye aye, sir," I said automatically. The connection went dead. I turned to Alexi. "Make sure the purser is

prepared. Set up additional tables in the dining hall. Have extra crewmen stand by when they arrive. Good

Lord!"

"Yes, sir. Aye aye, sir." Alexi's faint smile was almost hidden by the hand propped in front of his mouth.

I knocked at the Level 2 corridor hatch, waited as it slid open. "Chief Engineer Hendricks?"

A thin, graying man, whose officer's jacket ill fitted his long, skinny arms. "Yes, sir." His voice was flat and

emotionless, his mouth unsmiling.

"You were bunked down when I visited the engine room," I said. "Good to meet you."

"Thank you,"

"Are we ready for departure?"

"Yes, sir. I would have told you otherwise."

"Uh, right." I felt like the awkward middy I'd once been. "Carry on. We'll talk later." I continued along the

Level 2 corridor, Philip Tyre at my side, "Which cabins, Mr. Tyre?"

He pointed ahead. "There, sir, just past crew berth one." We strode past the crew berth. Two seamen lounging

in the corridor stiffened to attention. I ignored them. Tyre opened the cabin hatch.

Upper and lower bunks were stacked alongside three of the four bulkheads. The two extra dressers utterly filled

the rest of the compartment, leaving barely enough room to move about. "A few nights is one matter," I said,

"but seventeen months of this ..."

Philip shrugged, unconcerned, "They're just trannies, sir."

I was outraged."Two demerits, Mr. tyre! Make that three!" I ignored his stricken look. "On my first posting, we

middies were taught to show respect for passengers!"

"Yessir," he said quickly. "I'm very sorry, Captain, I only meant they're probably used to it. Not that they

deserved it." His tone was meek, "I'm sorry if I offended, sir."

Perhaps I'd overreacted, but a few hours of calisthenics couldn't hurt him. It only took two hours to work off

each demerit, unless he reached ten and was sent to the barrel. "Very well. Are all their cabins like this one?"

"Yes, sir. Pretty much."

"They're all on this Level?"

"Yes, sir, 211 through 217, I think Mr. Holser wanted them near crew quarters, sir, in case of trouble,"

I considered a moment. Vax was probably right, and I certainly didn't want them on the same Level as the

bridge. Anyway, the transpops were due to board anytime now; too late for changes. "Very well, Mr. Tyre, we'll

go back up. You'll help the purser when they board."

"Aye aye, sir," As we climbed the ladder to Level 1 he blurted, "Sir, I already had seven demerits."

Alexi must have been at him again, I hesitated. Canceling demerits was bad for discipline. But still... ten meant

the barrel, "Very well, Mr, Tyre. Two demerits instead of three,"

He shot me a grateful look. "Thanks, sir. Thanks very much."

Exhausted, I contemplated returning to the bridge. There was no reason to stay awake; Vax could settle our

passengers, I had to be alert in the morning for our departure. I headed for my cabin, and Amanda's soothing

care.

Straightening my tie and checking my jacket I strode onto the bridge, a confident young Captain about to take

command. Still I paused before taking the chair at the left console. The seat was empty, of course; it would have

been unthinkable for a junior officer to be found in it.

I nodded to Vax Holser in the chair across, and turned to the unfamiliar figure at the console at my right. "Pilot

Van Peer, I presume?"

The red-haired young man smiled engagingly as he stood and saluted. "Walter Van Peer, yes, sir. Glad to meet

you," Mr. Van Peer was a holdover from the ship's last voyage to Casanuestra.

I glanced at my instruments, "We're ready, gentlemen?" I keyed the caller to Departure Control, "Station,

U.N.S, Portia is prepared for departure from G-4,"

After a moment the reply crackled in the speaker. "Initiate breakaway, Portia,"

"Roger." I thumbed the caller. "Attention, aft and forward airlocks. Cast off!"

"Aye aye, sir!" Alexi and Rafe Treadwell were at the aft lock; Derek was forward. With a pang I remembered

Hibernia's departure from Luna Station on my first interstellar flight, three years ago. I'd been at the aft lock

where Rafe now served, Lieutenant Malstrom supervising my every move. Impulsively I jumped from my seat.

"I'm going below," I said. "Hold breakaway until my command."

Vax glanced at me in mild surprise; the Pilot's mouth opened in astonishment. Of course neither said a word

except to acknowledge my order.

I hurried down the corridor to the ladder. At the forward airlock Derek Carr was calmly supervising the seamen

who were unhooking our steel safety line from the stanchion in the station lock. At my approach he raised an

eyebrow, but said nothing.

Portia, like any vessel, secured herself to a station with its capture latches, and the ship's airlock mated to the

station lock with rubber seals, but ever since the Concorde disaster, backup safety cables were mandatory.

A sailor wound in our cable, pulling it into our own lock. The cable bent with difficulty through the gloves of

his space-suit as he folded it. "Line secured, sir," he called to Derek.

"Forward line secured, sir," Derek repeated, though I stood at his side.

"Proceed, Mr, Carr." Then I blurted, "I'm not inspecting. I just wanted to watch." Idiocy, explaining myself to a

midshipman.

"Yes, sir." Derek turned to the sailor. "Close inner lock, Mr. James. Prepare for breakaway."

"Aye aye, sir." Seaman James pressed a coded transmitter to the inner lock panel. The thick hatches slid shut

smoothly, forming a tight center seal.

"Disengage capture latches."

The seaman keyed open the latch control panel, touched the pad within. "Disengaged, aye aye."

Derek glanced at me. "Forward lock secured, sir. Shall I report also to the bridge?"

"I suppose, Mr. Carr." I looked helplessly at the outer lock still mated to the station. What I'd wanted to see was

our actual breakaway, but my duty was aloft. I sighed, and reluctantly headed back topside.

In my seat again I thumbed the caller. "Departure Control, Portia ready for breakaway."

"Proceed, Portia. Vector oh three oh from station. Godspeed."

"Thank you. Station." I touched a button on my console three times. Three deep blasts from the ship's whistle

resounded, signaling imminent breakaway to all on our vessel.

"Pilot Van Peer, you have the conn."

"Right, sir." His tone was cheerful. He signaled the engine room. "Chief, auxiliary power, please."

Chief Hendricks's dry, unemotional voice. "Auxiliary power, aye aye."

"Hang on, folks, here we go," the Pilot said with an irreverit grin. He gently fired our side thrusters; jets of

propellant lot from the nozzles imbedded in the ship's hull. Portia ked, her airlock suckers stretching. Abruptly

they parted im their counterparts on the station lock; U.N.S. Portia fted slowly clear of Earthport Station. Stars

slid across the simulscreens on the forward bulkhead. After a few moments the Pilot asked casually, "Would you

care to close the outer locks, sir?"

I flushed. It was my responsibility to give the order, but I'd been too busy gawking at the receding station.

"Very well." I thumbed the caller. "Secure outer hatches!"

Red console lights switched to green as the outer airlock hatches slid closed. "Forward hatch secure, sir."

Derek.

Alexi's steady voice followed. "Aft hatch secure, sir."

"Secured, very well."

The Pilot maintained us on course. I watched the station in the simulscreens until it was swallowed by the

starry backdrop. Long minutes stretched into an hour.

"We're clear to Fuse, sir," the Pilot said.

"Danny, Fusion coordinates, please,"

"Aye aye, sir," the puter said promptly. He flashed the figures onto my console screen.

As I began to punch calculations onto ray screen I felt sweat gathering under my jacket, as always when I

plotted Fusion coordinates.

The Pilot stirred. "I ran our coordinates myself and checked them against the puter's figures, sir."

I ignored him.

"They check out to six decimal places," he added.

"Vax, you too," I said.

"Aye aye, sir." My first lieutenant tapped figures into his console.

Pilot Van Peer looked from one to the other of us, perplexed. "Is there a problem, Captain?"

I made no response.

"I thought it's customary for the Pilot to calculate Fusion coordinates." He sounded plaintive.

I grunted. "On my ship we all do. Nothing personal." I returned to my laborious calculations.

"The puter's figures and mine are in full-"

"Pilot, shut up!" Nav didn't bring out the best in me.

"Aye aye, sir." His hurt was manifest.

Half an hour later I had my figures. They checked with Danny's and Vax's. "Very well." I fed them into the

puter.

"Coordinates received and understood, Captain," Danny sounded breathless.

"Thank you." I thumbed the caller. "Engine room, prepare to Fuse."

"Prepare to Fuse, aye aye." After a moment the speaker came alive. "Engine room ready for Fuse, sir."

"Chief Engineer, Fuse."

"Aye aye, sir." The Chiefs voice was flat. "Fusion drive is ... ignited." The simulscreens abruptly blanked.

I remained in my seat, the melancholy of our isolation pressing. In Fusion, all our external instruments were

dead; we rode the crest of our N-wave out of the Solar System at superluminous speed, blind and deaf. Even

communication was denied us; nothing we broadcast could travel as fast as the N-wave itself. Now we had only

our own resources to sustain us until we reached safe haven sixty-nine light-years away. Vax had the watch; I

knew he was reliable. Besides, there was nothing on the bridge that needed doing. After a while, morose, I left.

Amanda wasn't in our cabin, so I wandered to the Level 1 passengers' lounge, where I found only unfamiliar

faces among the holovids, easy chairs, and game machines.

I could have remained; officers were free to use the lounge and we weren't discouraged from socializing with

passengers, but I withdrew, ill at ease. I followed the circumference corridor to the west ladder, climbed down to

Level 2. Perhaps I'd find Amanda in the library.

"Here's cap'n! Here's cap'n!" A teen joey pranced around me, sandals flopping on the deckplates as his high,

excited voice beckoned his mates. He pointed at my jacket. "Mira, mira da man!" Rough-trimmed hair hung over

his ears. His scrawny body was covered by a blue denim jumpsuit.

"He da man! He da man! Mira threads!" Grimy hands pawed at the braid on my jacket. I slapped them away,

but other curious youths pressed close.

A voice sliced through the jabber. "Knock off, joeys! Knock off!" A meaty hand flung aside one ragged

youngster, A short, chunky woman pushed through the opening she'd made. "Gi'im room! Knock off, gi'im

room," Her words tumbled. Slowly the crowd drew back. She smiled briefly. "Sorry, Captain, Melissa Chong.

I'm supposed to make sure things like this don't happen." Apparently unaware of ship's protocol, she stuck out

her hand.

Awkwardly I took it. "You're the supervisor?"

"Right, I'm a UNICEF DSW, but these joeys call me Mellie," She collared the youth who first approached me.

"Say sorry, Annie! Teirim sorry cap'n!"

"Naw!" Her charge tried to squirm away.

"Noway toucha cap'n, Annie! Noway!"

"Din' hurtim," he-she?-said sullenly. "Jus lookm'!"

"Say sorry," repeated Dr. Chong, a firm grip on the youth's neck.

The look Annie shot me was wrathful, "Din' mean nothin'," she muttered, "Din' hurt, just lookin', sorry."

I nodded. "No harm done. Your name is Annie? You're a girl?"

Her face flashed into an elfin grin. She wiggled her hips. "Cap'n wanna fin' out?"

"Knock off, Annie!" Dr. Chong said sharply. She thrust the girl away. "Inna room, allyas. Inna room."

Reluctantly they drifted away toward their cabins.

"How do you speak that jargon?" My tone was mild.

"You pick it up after a while. Mostly it's just fast." Her round Oriental face broke into a grin. "I'll teach you, if

you wish. In case you ever go transient."

I shuddered. "Lord God forbid." I glanced about, frowned at the litter that hadn't strewn the deck a few

moments before. "Well. You'll have your hands full."

"Yes, 'til Detour. Then they're someone else's responsibility."

Seventeen months, with such rabble. I sighed. "How do you control them?"

"I'm trying to meld them into a single tribe. Most of them respect tribal authority. It's all they know."

I raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "I thought trannies were-"

"Don't use that word!"

"I beg your pardon?" My tone was frosty.

"Say 'transpops,' or 'transients.' The other is a racial slur, like 'chic' or 'black.' They'll take offense, and the

consequences could be violent."

"I've heard it used." I wrinkled my brow. "Very well, I'll take care. Anyway, I was asking ..."

"About tribes, yes. Most Uppies don't realize there's more than one transpop subculture. Transpops live in

social units based on location. Some homelands are contained in a few small blocks, others quite large. They get

along by trading, or selling sex. Or warring. For instance, the Unies-"

"How many tribes among our group?" I was impatient to be on my way.

"Several, and it's caused no end of problems. If UNICEF had only listened-" She sighed. "Anyway, I'm sorry

for the disturbance, Captain." On that note we parted.

I found Amanda sorting through holochips in the library. "Look, Nicky, they even have Marx and Engels! I

could do a comparative economics course."

I grinned. "For whom, hon? The transpop joeys?"

"I'll have you know we've plenty of educated passengers this trip." She racked a stack of chips. "We'll have lots

of guest lecturers. In fact I was thinking of-ungh!" She flinched.

"What's wrong?" I couldn't hide my alarm.

"I got kicked. I think he wants out, Nicky."

"Right now?"

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