I wondered if I’d ever see deep space again. On the other hand, it didn’t much matter. I’d come to know I had no gift for command. My hitch would be up by the time I was sent back to Luna, once again a midshipman.
I didn’t intend,to reenlist. It was one thing to contemplate life in space as a successful career officer in the star fleet; it was quite another to pass my life in a dead-end berth as a midshipman. Well, I was ahead of myself. Who knew if they’d even let me remain a middy? There was Sandy Wilsky to account for, along with my other follies.
Evening meals in the dining hall were almost jolly. Several passengers asked to join the Captain’s table; I preferred to dine with the few who had sat with me through my isolation.
Amanda and I didn’t confide as once we had, but she was civil and occasionally even smiled.
Poor Amanda. The same unyielding rectitude that had forced her to abandon me also made her side with me to protest the other passengers’ ingratitude. By her lights I had saved the ship, not almost lost it. She was a victim of her skewed sense of justice.
The night before our final Defuse she waited outside the dining hall. “Nick, I don’t want to leave it... like this.”
Her voice was gentle. “With the strain between us.”
Being close to her made me uncomfortable; I moved back a step. “I’m still a murderer. Even more now than before.”
She blushed. “Yes, I said that, and I suppose I still mean it. But people are more complex than I was willing to admit.
You did what you thought you must, and you’re still Nick Seafort.”
I said coldly, “Thank you. There were times when I wondered.”
“Oh, Nicky.” She put her hand on my arm. “It must have been horrible.”
“I’ve been”--I thought of putting her off, then chose honesty--”very lonely. Sometimes.”
“I’m sorry. I wish you well.”
“That’s all that’s left?” Wounded, I turned to go. She still had the power to hurt.
“I do care for you!” she cried to my retreating back. I stopped. “How I wish it could have been different, Nicky. I missed you too!”
“But it wasn’t.” I managed a small smile. “I wish you well also, Amanda. Good-bye.”
“Come see me in Hope Nation,” she said impulsively.
“You’ll be in port for weeks.” After cruising interstellar for more than six months, crew and officers alike were entitled to four weeks of shore leave. The regs were firm on that, and I agreed. Our men were enlistees, not prisoners.
I nodded assent. “All right. I’ll look you up.” If I wasn’t under arrest pending court-martial. On that note we parted.
The next morning I had the watch, with Lieutenant Vax Holser. The Pilot was also present, waiting for his moment.
“Bridge to engine room, prepare to Defuse.”
“Prepare to Defuse, aye aye.” Chief McAndrews was ready, as always. “Engine room ready for Defuse, sir. Control passed to bridge.”
“Passed to bridge, aye aye.” I traced the line on the screen from “Full” to “Off’. Once again the simulscreens came alive with a blaze of lights.
“Confirm clear of encroachments, Lieutenant.” Whenever possible I used Vax’s title rather than his name, to help him settle in.
“Clear of encroachments, sir.”
“Plot position, please, Lieutenant.” I noticed the Pilot quietly doing likewise. He would not dock Hiberniaunder someone else’s calculations. After a few minutes the two men checked their coordinates with each other and with Darla.
“Auxiliary engine power, Chief,” I said.
“Aye aye, sir. Power up.”
“Pilot Haynes.” My tone was formal. “You have the conn.”
“Aye aye, sir. Steer oh three five degrees, ahead onethird.”
“One-third, aye aye, sir.” Our last jump had placed us within a few hours of Hope Nation and its Orbit Station. The planet gleamed bright and welcoming in our simulscreens, bringing a lump to my throat.
The watch changed, but I remained on the bridge, my thoughts fastened on what might have been.
Hours later, my long reverie was interrupted. “Sir, Orbit Station reports locks ready and waiting.” The comm room.
“Confirm ready and waiting, understood.” The Pilot was busy at his console.
“Relative speed two hundred ten kilometers per hour, sir.” Vax, to the Pilot.
“Two hundred ten, understood. Maneuvering jets, brake ten.”
I picked up my caller. “Comm room, patch me to Orbit Station.”
A pause. “Go ahead, sir, you’re patched through.”
“Hiberniacalling Orbit Station.”
“This is approach control; go ahead, Hibernia.”I said, “Identify yourself, please: name, rank, and serial number.”
“What?” The rating’s astonishment was evident.
Pilot Haynes shot me a glance. After a moment the corner of his mouth turned up. He nodded grudgingly.
“You heard me. Identify yourself.”
“Communications Specialist First Class Thomas Leeman, U.N.A.F. 205-066-254.”
“Darla, serial number check, please.”
A moment’s pause. “Prefix 205 is interstellar rating; suffix 254 notates communications specialist. 066 within valid ID ranges.”
“Who is your commanding officer, Mr. Leeman?”
“General Due Twan Tho, sir.”
“I’d like to speak to him.” I turned off the caller. “Darla, his file, please.”
Another pause. Then, “General Tho here. What’s the problem?”
“Visuals, please, General.” Once burned, twice shy.
“What nonsense is this?” His glowering visage came onto my screen. “Are you satisfied?”
He matched the picture Darla projected overhead. “Quite.
Thank you. We’ll be docking shortly.”
“You identify yourself too, Hibernia!”He was within his rights. My request appeared ridiculous, and he was returning the favor.
“Captain Nicholas Seafort commanding, U.N.N.S. 205387-0058.”
After a moment he said warily, “I’d like to speak to Captain Haag.”
“Captain Haag is dead of an accident. I am senior officer aboard.”
“Visuals, please.”
I switched on my video.
“My God, how old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“You were a lieutenant?”
“No, a midshipman.” I let him chew on that awhile. There was no further communication.
Pilot Haynes carefully edged the ship closer to the station until the airlocks gently made contact. “Stop all engines.”
“Stop engines, aye aye, sir.”
“Join capture latches, fore and aft.”
“Forward latches engaged, sir.”
“Aft latches engaged, sir.” Vax, from his station at the aft airlock.
“Begin mooring, Lieutenant. Open inner locks.” Belowdecks, a suited rating pressed his coded transmitter to the lock control. As the thick transplex hatches opened, the indicator light on my screen flashed.
“Inner lock ready aft, sir.”
“Open outer lock. Secure mooring line. Pressurization check.”
A pause, while the seaman labored under Vax’s watchful eye. “Line secured, sir. Pressure maintained one sea-level atmosphere.”
“How does it look, Mr. Holser?”
“Peaceful, sir.”
“Very well, open inner lock.” I sagged. I’d given my last significant order. Though still nominally under my command, Hiberniawas controlled now by the station commandant.
I thumbed the caller. “Mr. Leeman, patch me to Admiralty groundside, please. And I’ll want transport as soon as possible.”
“No problem, Captain,” growled General Tho. He’d stayed on the line. Well, our arrival had been unusual, to say the least.
Clicks and beeps from the speaker. “Admiralty House.”
“Commander U.N.S. Hiberniareporting. I’d like your senior duty officer, please.”