“Good.” My tone was dull. What did any of it matter? “Seafort, I can’t give you Hibernia.You’re too young yet. It wouldn’t sit well, even if you are a hero. And your rank as Captain, I can’t confirm it.”
“I understand, sir. Will I go back to midshipman?”
“No.”
A lieutenant, then. It would be hard for me to adjust, but I could do it.
“Actually, I was thinking of Commander,” Admiral Brentley said. “I’ve got a sloop coming in, Challenger.Crew of forty-two, two lieutenants, three middies. She takes seventy passengers. I can put you back to Captain after your first trip out, when your youth won’t be so offensive to us oldsters.
You’re only twenty; hardly any of your classmates have made lieutenant yet.”
Commander? But that was the same as Captain; the title differed only by a technicality. And a sloop was a full command, with--I forced my attention back to his words.
“She’s got a new drive unit, supposed to cut a month off the run to Hope Nation. And she’s bristling with lasers. She’ll be part of the squadron we’re sending. Will you take her?”
I was speechless. Confirmed as Commander, with my own vessel? My mouth dry, I nodded.
“Good. Your wife?”
“Amanda will ship with me.” Despite the risk of melanoma T, we’d already decided that, at her insistence. It was unusual, but permitted.
He grimaced. “I don’t like that. I’m old-fashioned. But I suppose it’s your choice.” He went on to another subject.
“Oh, I had a visit from your Midshipman Tyre. He begged me to let him resign from the service.”
“For what reason?” I remembered Tyre on watch, one long, dreary day halfway home. Unexpectedly he’d put his head on the console and began to weep, in long, desolate sobs.
“Now what, Mr. Tyre?”
“Please, let me out. I want to resign. I can’t take any more, sir. Oh, I beg you!”
“Steady, Mr. Tyre.”
“They’re torturing me! I get caned every week. It hurts so much! I have eight demerits right now, and I’ve already worked off six since Monday! They’re on me every waking minute, both of them.” He raised his tear-stained face. “I don’t understand, sir. What have I done? Why is this happening to me?”
“You were rather cruel, Mr. Tyre. They haven’t forgotten.”
“Cruel? How could I have been? I was just doing my job, sir. I tried to help them!” I sighed. He would never understand.
“I’ll make you an offer, Mr. Tyre. You’re a fine midshipman when you’re dealing with your superiors. You’re competent, courteous, friendly on watch, eager to help. It’s your juniors you can’t handle. Forget about that part of your job, just ignore them, and I’ll pass the word to go easier on you.”
“You mean it would stop?” He looked beyond me, as if toward heaven.
“I don’t think it will ever stop, Mr. Tyre. You’ve seen to that. It might lighten a bit, though.”
“Yes, sir. Very well, sir. I accept. Please!”
I nodded. I would have a word with Alexi. I couldn’t know that a smoldering Derek Carr would choose that very night to challenge his senior middy, to follow him to the exercise room, to beat him coolly into a bloody unresisting pulp, afterward kicking his bruised rump along the circumference corridor back to the wardroom. Derek was effectively in charge of the juniors for the rest of the voyage home.
“The boy wouldn’t complain about any of you, not a word,” the Admiral was saying. “I couldn’t get any reasons out of him. I suppose I should let him go, if he’s such a weakling.”
It was my fault, in a way. If I had been able to get through to him... I sighed. “He still might make a good officer,”
I said. “I can keep him with me awhile.”
Brentley looked relieved. “Another problem settled, then.
I can’t give you full shore leave, not with an interstellar war on our hands. If I hadn’t seen those recordings... “
“I know, sir.”
“Who do you want with you?”
“Mr. Carr as a midshipman. Lieutenant Tamarov,” I said instantly.
“You need one more middy and a lieutenant. Let me know or I’ll assign them to you.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“It’s a hell of a thing.” He stood next to me for a moment, in silence. He held out his hand. “Good luck, Commander.”
I shook his hand soberly. “I’ll need it, sir.”
Outside, the sun had lowered toward the horizon; the evening cool was settling on the scrub trees and the fields. Alexi waited on the sidewalk with Vax, the Treadwell twins, Derek, and Ricky. They all stared at me, anxiety, worry, concern reflected in their young faces.
I grinned. “Commander. U.N.S. Challenger.I leave in a week.”
Alexi whooped, dancing around the car. Vax broke into a grin. “Who do you take, sir?”
“Alexi goes with me. If you don’t mind, Mr. Tamarov.”
He was beside himself, grinning idiotically. “You too, Derek. We’re going back to Hope Nation.” Carr said nothing, but his eyes closed with relief. “I need another middy.”
Midshipman Paula Treadwell would be going to navigation training school on Luna. Ricky was slated for Academy. I had recommended it in the Log; I wanted him to have the best.
“Me, sir?” Rafe looked hopeful.
“Speak when you’re spoken to, Cadet,” I snapped. Then, “Still, I suppose you’d do. I’d have to promote you to midshipman. Are you sure you’re ready for Last Night?”
The fourteen-year-old grinned at Derek Carr. “I can take anything, sir.” It had become a wardroom byword, since our aristocratic cadet had made his stubborn vow.
“Very well.” I looked at my lieutenant. “What’s your posting, Vax?”
“They offered me Caledonia,on the Ganymede run. I turned it down.”
“Command of your own sloop? Why?”
“I want to sail with you, sir. I told Admiral Brentley if he gave you a ship I wanted to go along.”
“You’re ready for command, Vax.”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
He faced me. “You’ve taught me a lot. I’m not convinced you don’t have anything more to teach. Sir.”
My eyes misted. We hung, all of us, in that uncomfortable moment before parting. Ricky Fuentes, gangly and awkward in his early adolescence, came to me hesitantly. We looked at each other. Suddenly he flung himself on me, burying his head in my chest, hugging me fiercely. I gave him a squeeze.
“Good-bye, boy. I’ll see you again.”
“Will you?” His eyes were red.
“Yes. I promise.” I regarded our onetime ship’s boy with affection. “I have some advice. At Academy, don’t hug your drill sergeant, no matter how much you like him. It’s bad for your health.”
“Aye aye, sir!” He grinned like a foolish puppy.
I eased into the car. “Take me home, people. I’ll see you later at the party.” I closed my eyes, feeling the car jounce over the potholes. I was going home. To Amanda. To my crew. To my ship.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID FEINTUCH worked as attorney, photographer, and antiques dealer before turning to the writing of fiction. He’s had a lifelong interest in the British Navy and the Napoleonic era, which provided background material for his first four novels. The several volumes of the Nick Seafort saga took eight years to complete.
Mr. Feintuch was raised in New York, schooled in Indiana and Boston, and now lives with his daughter in Michigan in an elderly mansion furnished entirely in antiques, except for his computer. He is an inveterate traveler.