David Feintuch - Seafort 6 - Patriarch's Hope

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侵权投诉

PART I

July, in the Year

of our Lord 2241

CHAPTER 1

"... and so we gather to commission UNS Galactic, the greatest

ship ever built, the pinnacle of human interstellar endeavor."

Surreptitiously, to avoid the attention of the pulsing hok>-cams

focused on the dais, I eased my aching leg, fixing a glazed stare

at Admiral Dubrovik's broad back and the crowded London auditorium

beyond. At my left Derek Carr smiled in sympathy.

Would old Dubrovik ever wind down? As SecGen and nominal Commander

in Chief of all U.N. forces I could have blocked his posting to

Lunapolis Command, but I'd interfered enough in U.N. Naval

appointments over the years. These days, I tried to limit myself

to where it would do the most good. Amid the dignitaries and

officials patiently listening were a considerable number of

officers Id advanced because of competence rather than

connections.

Yet also among the sober blue uniforms and starched dress whites

were a few disgruntled Earth First sympathizers, disgusted that I

wouldn't support retaking the few interstellar colonies that had

achieved independence. There might even have been a few enviro

fanatics, although zealots of that stripe were rare in the Navy.

No doubt among the audience were quite a number who didn't give

Christ's damn, as long as no one tampered with their pay billet

**... not since Earth's first convulsive leap into space two

hundred fifty years ago have so many individuals, so many

thousands of diverse corporations, participated in a public

project.

And with good reason; their profits were enormous. Galactic was an

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PART I

error of judgment; I'd let myself be persuaded by Admiralty's

unbounded enthusiasm and Senator Robbie Roland's deal with the

Territorial Party, our opposition in the General Assembly, to give

us a free hand on the Naval budget through the next Secretarial

election—if we shared the lucrative construction contracts with

their allies. What we needed were Alpha-class vessels like my

first command, UNS Hibernia, not the vast and expensive behemoth

we'd constructed.

I grimaced past my wife, Arlene, to my old friend Admiral Jeff

Thorne, with whom I'd shared my misgivings.

Yes, Galactic, along with the nearly completed Olympiad and men1

two sister ships on the drawing boards, would help seed new

colonies, but home system had been establishing colonies for

nearly two centuries, and the existing colonies needed servicing

too. I doubted it would prove efficient to send a huge vessel such

as Galactic to supply Derek Carr's home colony of Hope Nation.

I glanced at the huge holoscreen, and the magnificent vessel that

dominated its view. Lights blazing, she floated high above the

planet, off Earthport Orbiting Station, at whose Naval wing she'd

been built.

I shook my head. After the fiasco with UNS Wellington many years

past, there was no thought of assembling a throng of dignitaries

on ship for her dedication. We'd been lucky to escape with our

lives that day, after the fish attacked. The aliens were gone now,

victims of the caterwaul stations I'd devised. From time to time,

in the dark nights when Lord God reproached me, I wondered whether

to add genocide to the roll of my sins.

"Could even SecGen Seafort have imagined just twelve years ago, as

he began his second administration, when the world was reeling

from the Transpop Rebellion and not yet recovered from the attacks

of the dread fish mat he did so much to abate—"

My bream came in a hiss. Arlene's bony fingers squeezed my right

elbow in warning.

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PART I

I scowled at her. 'The damned sycophant! Did you hear what—"

My wife leaned close, the ghost of a smile smoothing the wrinkles

that caressed her still-bright blue eyes. "Cover your lips, Nick.

They'll read you."

"By Lord God, let them. I—" Common sense finally intruded. I

subsided, seething.

To my left, a cough that might have been a chuckle. I shot Derek

Carr a steely gaze that would have withered him as a Naval

midshipman, but unfortunately those days were decades past My old

friend had a laser glare of his own mat had held him in good stead

since he'd become First Stad-holder of Hope Nation, and he was

unimpressed by mine.

"... with her vast cargo holds, a crew of eight hundred ninety,

transporting over three thousand passengers, bristling with

armaments, she'll carry U.N. prestige and authority to our far-

flung colonies across the infinite reaches of..."

Derek leaned close. "He does go on."

I turned to Jeff Thorne, whispering. "Do you hear? Now the idiot's

making policy. 'Carry U.N. authority' indeed. As if we need a

warship these days to deal with our own dominions."

"With some of them, you might." He raised a hand to forestall my

reply. "I think Dubrovik's wrapping it up."

"... and so, to commission UNS Galactic, I have the honor to

present His Excellency Nicholas Ewing Seafort, Secretary-General

of the United Nations." Turning, the Admiral flashed me a pleased

smile, like a toddler expecting a parent's approval.

Welcoming applause rolled across the crowded hall, whose coolers

labored to counteract the sweltering London summer.

I groped for my silver-headed cane, hoisted myself from my seat,

and winked at Artene, graving, gaunt, and lovely. "Shall I fire

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PART I

Dubrovik right nowr I was half-serious.

Her tips barely moved. "Of course, dear. The Territorials would

love a martyr as a candidate, next election.**

With a sigh, I limped to me waiting microphones.

"Voyager is landing," Mark TUnitz, head of my security detail,

muttered into his throat mike. Our hen* set down precisely on the

cross that marked the center of Devon Naval Academy's pad.

TUnitz was an assignee of U,N, Investigations. General Donner was

drawn from U.N.A.F., Karen Bums from Naval Intelligence, other

security agents from New York Police Command. An odd system, but

giving all services a hand in the SecGen's protection deterred the

formation of a praetorian guard, with the resultant interservice

jealousies.

I climbed out, under the sullen Devon afternoon sun. A security

joey was waiting, to hover at my arm lest I slip. "Do I look

feeble?" My voice was caustic. Perhaps I feared the answer. "Let

me be. Here, Artene.** I extended a hand.

Ducking through the hatchway, she climbed slowly down toe steps.

"What's wrong, Nicky? You've been cross all day."

"Nothing." My knee ached. "I hate those public ceremonies,** I

forced a smile as Commandant Hazen hurried to greet us. Overhead,

the helis and jets mat constituted my unwieldy protection detail

moved off.

Normally, security accompanied me everywhere, but from my first

administration I'd drawn the line at Academy or the Naval wing at

Earthport. Under no circumstances would I allow Tilnitz and his

eclectic crew to pretend I needed guarding from the United Nations

Naval Service, in which I'd served so memorably. I would wander

the Academy grounds unprotected, except by the Commandant or his

staff. It wasn't, after all, as if Academy were an open campus.

I looked about. A tall iron fence surrounded the compound, meeting

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PART I

itself at the guardhouse gate. As always, mulberry and juniper

abounded, tended by Academy staff and cadets. Above, tall maples

tent then- shade, Devon Academy had once been far from town, bat

shops and pubs had sprung up to serve it Still, our buildings were

set well back from me fence, obscured by the extensive plantings,

which allowed a modicum of privacy,

Artene and I had just escaped the huge reception that followed my

dedication of Galactic, and my cheeks were sore with the aftermath

of my frozen smile. At least, standing about greeting dignitaries,

I'd had time for a few amiable words with Derek Carr, before he

went off to rejoin his Hope Nation trade legation, I'd be seeing

him again in a day or so, at my retreat outside Washington.

"Welcome, Mr. SecGen." Hazen came to attention. Florid, the hint

of a paunch lurking underneath his Naval blues, he still managed

to look distinguished, a few touches of gray gracing his locks.

I rammed his salute. "As you ware." For a moment my heart eased,

Devon was home to me. I frowned. Had been home, before my betrayal

had forfeited all claim to it Hastily, I turned my thoughts

elsewhere. I'd made my peace with my transgressions years before,

or thought I had. Either Lord God would forgive me, or He would

not

As we walked the unchanged footpath to the administration building

I scrutinized the Commandant I'd met but once, at a Rotunda

reception. Once, the Navy had been my entire life, and I wouldn't

have dreamed of allowing the Board of Admiralty to appoint a

Commandant I didn't know well. But since the Transpop Rebellion,

I'd been ever more preoccupied with civilian issues, and the

nurture of our economy.

I cleared my throat "You've met Ms. Seafort, I believe?" Arlene,

knowing me well, smoothly took over the conversation while I

brooded. A former officer herself, she knew Academy as well as I.

We strolled past the Commandant's quarters I'd once occupied, past

dorms I'd inhabited as a cadet. Knowing my wishes—my aides had

made them clear—Hazen hadn't interrupted Academy routine to put

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PART I

the cadets on show for me; his charges were at their usual

classes. Nonetheless, the compound seemed almost deserted.

Typically, a handful of cadets could be found scurrying about on

special duty or, as punishment detail, set to manicuring the lawn

with meticulous precision.

Trie Commandant seemed to read my thoughts. "I canceled outdoor

activities, Mr. SecGen." He glanced upward, shading his eyes.

"Sorry, 1 should have brought lined umbrellas."

I snorted my disdain. "1 don't need shielding." Nonetheless, I

hurried my pace.

"We've a radiation alert for the rest of the week, despite the

seeding. If the gamma count gets much worse I'll send most of the

joeys to Farside." Lunar Academy, whose warrens were on die far

side of the moon, where cadets did advanced training. "Over time,

it's getting better," He shrugged. "So they say, but were you ever

kept indoors at DevoaT"

"That was a half century ago." I made a face. "Things change." To

my relief, we were nearing the Commandant's quarters. My knee

throbbed, and besides, I wanted Arlene out of the newly menacing

sun.

"How about Grierson?" I looked across the gleaming rosewood

conference table.

Sergeant M'bovo replied; the boy was of his barracks. "Good

attitude, willing worker, sir. Still waiting to see his Vail."

Give your all, we cadets had been exhorted. Over the years the

"Navy all" had become a catchword, shortened to theYall.

"He's only fifteen," Arlene's tone was gentle. Where I was often

harsh with green young middies, she tended to be more kind. Her

parenting, even more than my own, had nourished our son, Philip.

Of course, in his adolescence even P.T. had learned that Arlene's

tolerance had limits. Lord God protect the youngster who

overstepped them.

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PART I

Not so many years ago, as Philip had reached manhood, Arlene and I

had spoken seriously of having more children. But, with the cares

of office... I signed. Over my long career youngsters seemed to

seek me out, as if expecting guidance or assurance only I could

provide. In return, I'd gotten too many of diem killed.

"Mr. SecOetiT Hazen held the file, waiting.

I snapped my attention back to our conference, "Very well, we'll

see." I slid his folder into the "undecided** pile. Though a putar

screen was inset into the table in front of each seat, the Navy

cherished its ttaditioni. One of them was using old-style paper

folders for cadet candidate files,

The purpose of my Academy jaunt was twofold. First, Devon was one

of the few places outside my own walled home in which I was free

of the ubiquitous mediamen. The Academy pounds were closed, and

woe betide the heli that overflew it

My other motive was more complex. Once, as Academy Commandant, I'd

selected a few cadets as special aides. It hadn't worked out; I'd

gotten them massacred in one of my senseless follies. Yet my

successors, blind to my misconduct, continued the tradition,

Years later, when I returned to public life as a Senator,

then as SecGen, I'd tired of the self-serving blather of my

politically astute assistants, and sought out younger adjutants.

I'd coopted midshipmen fresh out of Academy, and to my dismay,

watched them grow into political creatures as unacceptable as

those they replaced

The solution I'd devised was to select them at Academy, before

they became middies, men—with an occasional exception—send them to

a year or two aboard ship. Thereafter, when they were offered a

shoreside posting at the U.N. Rotunda, I had at least a hope

they'd remember their traditions and the discipline of Naval life.

Most of mem did, as long as I didn't keep them too long. My

current aide, Charlie Witrek, was a willing joey, one I'd come to

like, but in a week he would be rotated back aloft, and we'd bring

down some middy I'd chosen in previous years.

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PART I

The system worked well, overall. Of course, none of the selectees

must have any idea he'd been chosen to ripen in the fleet, else he

wouldn't take his shipside duties seriously. For that I needed the

cooperation of Academy's staff, and of course I had it They too

wanted their minions to mature as young midshipmen, and if mat

weren't enough, none cared to risk a SecGen's enmity.

Still, I found the selection process uncomfortably reminiscent of

Final Cull, the miserable job of choosing who, among the myriad of

applicants, was to attend Academy. One of my great pleasures as

SecGen had been to return to the Navy the long-sought privilege of

selecting its own officer candidates.

Today, for two hours, Hazen, Arlene, and I reviewed files with the

staff sergeants, noting which youngsters showed promise.

Over the years Arlene and I had developed a fine working

relationship. By my authority, she sat in on many of the

conferences I was required to endure. Here, at Academy, her views

were particularly valuable; we'd been cadets together and shared a

knowledge and love of the Navy.

I opened another folder. "What about—"

The door flew open. "Commandant!" A sergeant, his breath coining

hard. A red-haired midshipman was close behind.

Hazen reared up. "How dare you burst in like—"

"We couldn't reach you; your caller was set to 'don't disturb/

We've had an, uh, accident Suit training, the pressure room. Rve

cadets..."

I grimaced, recalling cadet days. First, Sarge had taught us how

to suit up. We'd endured his drills several days in a row,

skylarking when his eye wasn't on us. Then, one day, after

suiting, Sarge sent us one by one into a foggy room with an

airlock at each end. About half of us, when we emerged, turned

green. The other half had known how to seal their suits properly.

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PART I

The five cadets who'd gotten a whiff of the gas would suffer no

more man a day's sore stomach and the indignity of losing their

lunch. A tough lesson, but far more gentle than that of

unforgiving space.

"Take them to sickbay, Oregon." Hazen shot me an apologetic

glance. "I'm sorry, Mr. SeeGen,"

"Sir, two are dead. The rest... the medics are working on them,

but—n

"Oh, Lord God." My voice was strained.

The Commandant blinked. "Impossible! How? What..."

**I don't know!" Oregon sounded near

I scrambled to my feet, lurched to the door.

"Nick, wait" Arlene.

I paid her no heed. Leaning heavily on my cane, I strode through

the admin wing, outside to the late-afternoon sun, along the

walkway toward the classrooms, the dorms, the suiting chamber

halfway across the base.

By interfering, I was muscling in on Hazen's prerogatives, but

anxiety drove me onward. Cadets didn't die in suiting practice.

Not at Devon. Farside was another matter, there was no appeal from

the laws of vacuum. If some of our

charges were dead—I took a deep breath—Academy faced a scandal.

Someone had been unforgivably negligent And the Commandant would

write letters this night, that would ravage families' lives.

By the time I neared the classroom area, all had caught up with

me: the staff sergeants wbo'd joined our conference, the

Commandant, Arlene, the agonized Sergeant Gregori, the middy who'd

burst in with him.

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PART I

Hazen panted to Oregon, "Full report!**

"Aye aye, sir. I took Krane Barracks to the suiting room at

seventeen hundred hours. Later than usual, but we were keeping

them out of the sun.** The sergeant paused for breath. "Twenty-

nine cadets; Cadet Robbins was confined to barracks. I had them

help each other suit up. Same as always, sir."

"Get on with it!**

I opened my mouth for a rebuke, but held my peace. Hazen was in

charge, not I.

"Then I sent them through. Midshipman Anselm, here, was helping. A

canister of the emetic was already in place; Sergeant Booker used

the chamber this morning. The first four cadets went through

without incident"

Where in God's own Hell was the suiting chamber? I'd never

remembered it as so distant

Gregori slowed his pace, to match mine. "Cadet Santini doubled

over as she came out the lock. I helped with her helmet and gave

her a piece of my mind, but my eye was on the cadets going through

the room." Abruptly he came to a halt, his gaze withdrawn to a

private hell.

"I told you to report!" Hazen.

"Belay that!" My voice was a lash. Protocol be damned. I was

Commander in Chief, and could do as I pleased. I limped to

Gregori. "Are you all right, Sergeant?*' He was responsible for

the cadets' safety. Lord God knew what he must be feeling.

"Sir..." His eyes beseeched mine. "Other cadets were

flailing ill. It's not their fault they're young, they don't know

to double-check the seals. I was trying to watch them all, and

Santini had her helmet off. I knew she'd be all right Except ..

.** He shuddered. "When I looked down she was in convulsions.

There was nothing I could do. Nothing!" His voice broke.

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PARTIPARTIJuly,intheYearofourLord2241CHAPTER1"...andsowegathertocommissionUNSGalactic,thegreatestshipeverbuilt,thepinnacleofhumaninterstellarendeavor."Surreptitiously,toavoidtheattentionofthepulsinghok>-camsfocusedonthedais,Ieasedmyachingleg,fixingaglazedstareatAdmiralDubrovik'sbroadbackandthecrowde...

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