the shuttle pilot said as we drifted clear off the station.
“Thank you.”
“A ship from outside is a major event. You’re the first since Telstar,half a year ago.”
“TV/star made it, then?”
“Of course.” He waited for me to explain.
“She didn’t reach Miningcamp.”
“Where is she?”
“No one knows.” I stared bleakly at his console.
The pilot shrugged. “She’ll turn up. Anyway, have you brought us the polyester synthesizer?”
I tried to remember my cargo manifest. “I think so. Why, are you short of clothing?”
“Somewhat. We’ve made do with cottons over the years, but all the fashions are in polyester and the ladies are restless.
Hang on, atmosphere is building.” In a moment the buffeting from pockets of denser atmosphere occupied his full attention.
Detour was considerably smaller than Hope Nation, smaller in fact than Earth, but its greater density made for nearterrestrial gravity. I peered through the porthole. Much of the planet was still barren, with patches of lichen and moss taking hold on the outcrops of bare rock. If I could see the patches from our height they must be huge, evidence of massive terraforming.
We swooped lower into a horizontal flight pattern. Now I could spot patches of greenery, and soon, checkerboard fields dotting the landscape. Tall trees grew in random patterns. I found a road, then another. We were approaching what habitation we’d find on this recently barren planet.
The pilot powered back for touchdown. We glided over the runway, wings in VTOL position, and hovered before drifting to a landing. Silence assaulted my ears. The Pilot grinned. “Welcome to the center of civilization, Captain.”
I smiled back. “Thanks. It’s good to be here.” The hatch opened and I took a deep breath. A distinctly sulphurous smell. My eyes watered. “Gecch. Do you get used to this?”
He looked surprised. “Used to what? Oh, the air? Sure, just takes a week or so. Don’t worry about it.”
I climbed out of the shuttle. About twenty men and women were gathered beyond the wingtip, waiting. One of them came forward, a tall, graying man with an air of authority.
“Captain Seafort? Welcome to Detour.” He held out his hand. Around his shoulders hung a blue and white ribbon from which was suspended the bronze plaque of office.
I shook his hand, then saluted. “Governor Fantwell? I’m honored.”
The colonial Governor smiled. “Let me introduce you around. Mayor Reuben Trake, of Nova City. Walter Du Bahn, president of the Bank of Detour.” I began shaking hands. “City Council President Ellie Bayes, Jock Vigerua, who owns the mines nearby. You don’t realize, Captain, what an event it is for a ship to come in; we only get two a year.
Miss Preakes, editor of the Detour Sun... “
The introductions were finally completed. He guided me to an electribus; we all clambered in and found seats. “We’ve put on, a lunch at City Hall.” The Governor was genial.
“Then we’ll show you the town.”
“I don’t suppose you have any Naval personnel about?”
“Not a one,” Governor Fantwell said cheerfully. “Nary a seaman. Are you shorthanded?”
“There’s a billet I wanted filled.” My own. But I’d known there was no Naval station on Detour and wasn’t surprised.
City Hall was a plain, metal-sided building in the center of town. I could tell immediately it was City Hall; a large sign hanging over the door said so. In other respects it was exactly like all the surrounding structures.
Seated at a table draped with a fancy cloth and festooned with bright silverware I said quietly to the Governor, “Actually, I came to talk to you before dumping a problem in your lap. Yours and the judge’s.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. I wondered if any problem I brought could faze him. “Just a sec. Let me get Carnova.”
He beckoned across the hall to a rugged man who promptly joined our table. “What do you propose to dump on us?”
I told them briefly about the Treadwell situation. “I’ve decided to let the boy enlist, and the parents will explode when they hear. They raised quite a ruckus on Hope Nation.”
“This isn’t Hope,” Judge Carnova said bluntly. “We do things differently. The Navy isn’t under my jurisdiction. I won’t even give them a hearing.”
“I’ll back you up,” the Governor told him. He turned to me with an easy smile. “You see? Your problem is solved.”
I fiddled with a fresh fruit cup. Oranges and grapes, kiwi, bananas, and other fruits I couldn’t identify. “I wish everything were that easy.”
“Tell me,” said the Governor. “Is it that I’m getting older, or are you rather young for a Captain?”
I sighed and launched into the familiar explanation.
27
After returning to my ship I summoned Rafe Treadwell to the bridge. He entered hesitantly, his apparent calm betrayed by the fingers twisting at his shirt.
“I’m prepared to enlist you.”
“Thank you.” His shoulders slumped. “I was afraid you’d change your mind at the last minute.”
“Sit at the console. Write a note to your parents telling them you’ve enlisted voluntarily. Give them your reasons.
As soon as you’re done I’ll give you the oath.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before you do, I have to warn you. Conditions are, uh, rather strained at the moment. You’ll be subjected to unusually intense hazing, even for a cadet.”
He swallowed. “Yes, I’ve heard.” Of course, his sister would have told him. He bent to the console and typed his note.
After I administered the oath I thumbed my caller. “Mr.
Tyre, bring Mr. Tamarov to the bridge.”
A few moments later they appeared. Alexi was heavily flushed and breathing hard; I must have interrupted a session in the exercise room.
“Mr. Tyre, I’m seconding Mr. Tamarov for special duties for two days. He’ll guard our new cadet until we leave port.
Kindly release him from your other requirements.”
“Of course, sir.” Tyre smiled pleasantly. “Will they stay in the wardroom?”
“Not until we leave Detour.” Knowing the Treadwells, I would take no chances, even in orbit far above the planet. I ordered Alexi and Rafe Treadwell bunked in the crew’s privacy chamber on Level 3. Alexi couldn’t conceal his relief at escaping Mr. Tyre, however briefly.
Tyre appeared not to notice. “I’ll help them move, sir,”
he said. “Can I do anything else to be useful?”
I sent them away, reflecting on the irony. Other man an insane desire to destroy his subordinates, Philip Tyre was an excellent midshipman, eager, helpful, diligent at his studies.
I was sure he felt no guilt for the torture he inflicted.
I made a gesture of disgust. Imagine Derek standing regs, at his age. Ridiculous. I wondered how Philip had passed the psych interviews, and how he’d been dealt with as a cadet.
Had he been brutalized? Not that it would be the slightest excuse for his own behavior. Still, I wondered.
At dinner Lieutenant Crossburn asked, “You’re keeping the Treadwell boy on board?” I braced; obviously his question was but a preliminary.
“Yes.” Another affair for him to probe.
“I could be of assistance with the senior Treadwells, sir.
That is, when they find out their son isn’t going ashore.”
I could imagine Crossburn helping with the Treadwells.
Asking how they felt, for instance, to record their reactions in his little diary.
“No thank you. I’ll attend to it.”
“How many enlistments without parental consent do you think the Navy’s seen, sir?” His eyes were guileless.
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Crossburn.” My rebuke, too, would find its way into his record. I didn’t care. I was tired, lonely, perturbed by the effect my new officers had on the crew. I missed Amanda, and in a few weeks I’d pass tantalizingly close to her one last time. That would be almost too much to bear.