FISHERMAN’S HOPE
DAVID FEINTUCH
PART 1
August 4, in the Year
of our Lord 2201
Chapter 1
"But Vasily's a Russian, and we're short on Eurasians." Lieutenant Darwin Sleak flipped through the stack of folders on the polished conference table, each an application to the United Nations Naval Academy. Sleak glanced at Commandant Kearsey for approval, squinting in the bright summer Devon sun.
The Commandant tapped his folder, "Bom September 2187. Grades put him in the eleventh percentile among applicants, admission tests put him eighteenth. Low, but someone has to be near the bottom," He shrugged his unconcern, "Put him on the list, I suppose," He turned to me. "Any comment, Captain Seafort?"
I blurted, "I thought the Selection Board didn't consider nationality," Damn Final Cull, anyway. My aide Edgar TolHver carefully studied his fingernails, accustomed to my outbursts.
Commandant Kearsey said, "Officially, we don't. And we wouldn't take some unqualified joey simply to gain another Russian, But with a war on, we need public support from every continent, A balanced cadet class doesn't hurt."
I knew he was right. The Navy's appalling losses to the fish-like aliens that had attacked our Hope Nation and Vegan colonies had to be made up, and the cost of rebuilding the fleet would be enormous. The deadly assaults had destroyed fourteen ships of the line and killed untold hundreds of crewmen, some my friends. And then we'd lost Orbit Station, where Vax Holser had died hoping to save me.
I forced my thoughts into a new channel. "What if we just took the top three hundred eighty?"
"We'd lose all geographical balance."
My tone was acid. "So? Balance wasn't a consideration when you took Senator Boland's son," 1 shouldn't have said it, but my new shoes hurt and so did my chest; I'd grown accustomed to one-sixth gravity during my recent stay on Lunapolis.
I braced myself for the Commandant's withering glare that had transfixed me as a raw cadet only fourteen years ago. Certainly my manner warranted it. But I was no longer a frightened thirteen-year-old reporting for induction; now I was the notorious Nicholas Ewing Seafort, "hero" of Hope Nation. My face scowled from a recruiting poster, and in two short weeks I was to replace Kearsey as Commandant of both U.N.N.S. Academy bases, here at Devon and at Farside, on Luna. I alone knew of the perversions on which the public's adulation was based, I, and Lord God. Someday I must face His reckoning.
Commandant Kearsey concealed whatever annoyance he felt. "We can't very well turn down a U.N. Senator's son, Captain. Especially when Boland's on the Security Council's Naval Affairs Committee. Anyway, the boy's grades are acceptable."
"Lower than the Russian's, I think. Who are we bumping for the Boland boy?"
His staff aide, Sergeant Kinders, handed him a folder. "A Parisian. Jacques Theroux." The Commandant frowned. "It's not as if the boy will know why he's off the final list. What's more important: putting another cadet in Boland's place, or having powerful friends at appropriation time? Do you want the new ships built or not?"
I stared at the door, knowing I had no answer. The Navy must be restored, to guard our far-flung colonies, and to protect home system if the fish attacked. 1 muttered, "I'd still pick the first three hundred eighty."
Even TolHver and Sleak looked at me strangely. It was a moment before Commandant Kearsey answered. "Then we'd lose Final Cull. We'd be stuck with the candidates the Selection Board sent."
"Yes."
Lieutenant Sleak cleared his throat, waited for the Commandant's nod. "Final Cull is Academy's hard-won prerogative, and our only input into the Selection process. Would you have us give it up?" His tone was cold, despite the fact that I'd soon be his commander.
Final Cull was a traditional privilege, and the Navy shouldn't surrender its traditions easily.
Yet, still...
"Father, can Jason stay for dinner?" At thirteen I knew better than to ask in front of the prospective guest, i hoped I
could get away with it, as I'd just thrown Father's cherished obligations of hostship into the balance against his stern disapproval of my friend.
Father's eyebrow raised. "He could abide our prayers?"
Jason flushed, his eye on the orchestron we were updating on the creaky kitchen table. He paused, chip in hand. "I may be a freethinker, sir, but I respect the customs of your house." Quickly, as if he'd gone too far, he bent over the orchestron motherboard.
Father grunted. "Respect for Lord God isn't a custom. It is life itself." Still, I knew Jason's forthrightness had gained him favor in Father's eyes, "Perhaps you too will find Him, before you consign yourself to damnation," Oh, please, not a sermon. Not In front of Jason.
Father gave the gleaming teapot one last swipe with the soft cloth. "I can't Imagine why Nicholas thinks asking permission In your presence will sway me. He knows better manners than he practices," I swallowed. More verses at bedside, or worse; Father always remembered the day's sins. Still, the corners of his mouth turned up grudgingly. "Pea soup, the fresh bread, and tomatoes from the garden. Can you tolerate It?"
That's fine, sir," Jason said quickly, I flashed him a grin across the table; he surreptitiously kicked my shin.
Later, washing for dinner, Jason asked softly, "Heard anything yet?"
I shook my head, One way or another, word had to come soon. Time was running out,
"He's said you can go for sure?"
"Aye." Perhaps my Imploring and tears had nothing to do with Father's consent, I suspected they'd helped, despite the switching he'd given me when I persisted,
"Well, you reached the second Interview, and didn't get a washout letter. You made It to Final Cull." Uke any teener, he was familiar with Academy admission procedures. If I Final Cull I'd be admitted to Terrestrial Academy at Devon, where they'd subject me to training before shipping me to Farside for my real education,
"Aye,111 wished Jason wouldn't talk ft; I'd myself that not discussing my chances somehow Improved them, At dinner Father drew himself from hi§ customary meditative silence, for Jason's sake. For the moment, Jase was Father's guest as well as mine. "Your, ah, plaything is fixed?"
The orchestron? Aye, sir. But it's an instrument, not a toy."
"An instrument of... electronics." He and I both knew his unspoken thought. An instrument of Satan, as all idle amusements.
"And of music, Mr. Seafort. There isn't much the Welsh Philharmonic can play that we couldn't re-create on it."
"By pushing buttons." But Father's tone was agreeable, as he mopped at his soup with the hot bread he'd pulled from the oven an hour before.
Jason's lean face lit with the grin I cherished. "It's all in knowing what buttons to push, sir."
Father looked to me, shaking his head as if in exasperation. Recklessly, I grinned back; Jason had that effect on me. He was courteous to Father, even respected him in a way, without taking Father's manner seriously. At first I'd been scandalized, then put off, but now I knew it was part of Jason's singular view of the world.
Father asked, "You'll be in Third?" Two conversational gambits in an evening. He was treating Jason as an adult, and I was grateful.
"Yes, sir. This year I'm taking Engineering for electlves,"
"Why?"
"I like to build things, or fix them."
"A erty and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven,"
Jason looked confused. I explained, "He means the tower of Babel, Genesis Nine,"
Father swung to me In rebuke. Eleven. Don't pretend to learning you lack, Nicholas,"
"I'm sorry, sir,"
"Nieky could sign up for half days, Mr, Seafort, We could work on projects together."
Father raised an eyebrow, "Nicholas learns best at home, where his idleness is held in check." That was like Father, to discuss my faults in front of anyone, as if I had no feelings. But to my surprise he added, "Anyway, Nicholas won't be at your school next year. I imagine he'll be at Academy." I was astonished. Father had never once hinted he thought I had a chance of being accepted.
"Of course," Jason said quickly. "I just meant if he didn't — I mean, I forgot."
Two days later I was on my knees pulling the stubborn weeds from our garden, knowing Father's vigilant eye would judge my work, and that my chance of parole on Saturday depended on his approval. Jason had bought us tickets to the football game with the Irish, though I hadn't told Father yet.
A shadow fell across the black dirt. I looked up, a bead of sweat trickling. "I'm not done yet, sir. I'll catch the rest of that row, after."
He waved it away. The post is here."
The post?" Why would he interrupt my chores for— "It came?" I was on my feet. "What does it say?"
"I don't know. It's yours to open,"
I reached out, but he shook his head, "On the kitchen table." I dashed to the door. "Mind you wash your hands!"
I took enough time to rinse so I'd leave no grime on the towel. That would infuriate Father, and I wouldn't enjoy the consequences. I rushed back to the kitchen, tore open the em* bossed envelope. Father waited, leaning against ttie sink, his face grave.
The Selection Board of the U.N.N.S. Naval Academy always has more qualified candidates than places. We regret to inform you that after careful consideration we are unable .,,"
I dropped the letter on the table, blinking away a blur. Unbelieving, I snatched It up again,",,, you are to be congratulated that you were one of the final candidates in this year's selection process. If you wish to apply again next year we would b« happy to consider..,"'"
My stinging, I ran into my room, slammed tht door, i threw myself on my bed. Footsteps, The door almost instantly. "Stand up!"
"Let me be alone for—*
"Up!" Father's tone brooked no argument. I stumbled to my feet. He stepped back into the hall, "Close your door properly,"
! I gaped. "You care more about—" His eyes narrowed and I stopped just In time. "Aye, sir." j turned the knob. tht i door quietly. Through the door Father said, "I wonl have you slamming doors In my house."
"No, sir, I'm sorry." I crept back to my bed, kicked off my
8 « David Felntuch
shoes. I buried my head in the pillow, determined to smother my sobs.
He gave me about an hour before he came back into the room. "May I read your letter?"
My voice was muffled. "You know what it says."
"From your reaction, yes." He paused. "They rejected you." His phrasing reduced me to helpless tears. For a moment his hand lay on my shoulder, then it was gone, as if it had fallen by accident. "Nicholas, turn so I can see you."
"I want to be alone."
His tone was sharp. "Yes, to feel sorry for yourself."
"Why shouldn't I?" My voice was muffled.
"So you set yourself against the Lord?"
«l_What?"
...
SiriusBlack4