“You’re welcome. Is this about your sister?”
“No, sir.”
I waited. He stood formally, arms at his sides. “I’m hoping, Captain Seafort, that you’d allow me to enlist too.”
For a moment I was speechless. “What?” I managed. “Do what?”
“Enlist, sir. As a cadet.” Seeing my expression he hurried on. “I thought I wanted to stay with my parents, but things have changed. I don’t know if you need more midshipmen but I’d like to volunteer. I’d like to be with my sister for a while longer, and I just can’t believe how much the Navy has done for her.”
I shot him a suspicious look. If the boy was twitting me I’d stretch him over the barrel, civilian or no.
“I mean it, sir. She always used to ask me for help. Now she doesn’t even have time for me and when I do see her, it’s like talking to a grown-up. She’s about three years older than me now.” He shook his head in wonderment.
“What about your parents?”
“Paula and I were creche-raised, sir. Community creche, back in Arkansas. I knew our parents but we didn’t spend much time with them. They took us out of creche when they decided to emigrate. They can survive without us.”
“They don’t act like it.”
He grinned. “They think togetherness is something they can proclaim. They don’t realize you have to grow up with it. They’ll get used to being without us.”
“And the discipline? You’d enjoy that?”
“No, I’ll probably hate it. But it might be good for me.”
He sounded nonchalant, but, at his side, his hand beat a tattoo against his leg.
I paced anew. Another midshipman would be useful, though hardly necessary. Having Rare in the wardroom would certainly help Paula’s morale. But taking both Treadwell children without their parents’ consent wouldn’t be appreciated by Admiralty at home, to say nothing of the Treadwells.
Well, I was already in so much hot water that one more mistake didn’t matter.
“I’ll let you know.” I opened the hatch.
“But I’ve only got--”
“Dismissed!” I waited.
“Yes, sir.” His tone was meek, passing my first test.
That night Mr. Tuak came, for the first time in months. He peered at me through the cabin bulkhead, making no effort to grab me, until at last I woke. I was disturbed, uneasy, but barely sweating. I showered and went back to sleep, unafraid.
Three days later we Defused for the last time on our outward journey. We powered our auxiliary engines for our approach to Detour. Pilot Haynes, Mr. Tyre, and Alexi had the watch; of course I was also on the bridge.
Philip Tyre sat stiffly at a console checking for encroachments. I noticed he kept Alexi on a very short leash, ordering him to sit straight when he relaxed in his seat and observing Alexi’s work closely. Tyre never raised his voice, never asked anything unreasonable, and never missed a thing.
Detour Station drifted larger in the simulscreens as the Pilot maneuvered us ever closer. Finally the rubber seals on the locks mated. We had arrived.
I thumbed the caller. “Mr. Holser, arrange a shuttle. I’ll be going planetside.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
I turned to Philip Tyre. “Where’s Mr. Carr?”
“In the wardroom, sir. I believe he’s sleeping.”
“In the middle of the day?”
“Yes, sir. I had him standing regs last night. Then he did some exercises.” His wide blue eyes regarded me without guile. “Shall I wake him?”
“I was going to take him groundside.”
“Yes, sir. I’d told him he was confined to ship during the layover for his insubordination, but of course your wishes prevail.”
“I’ll take Mr. Tamarov, then.”
“Him too, sir. Unless you countermand my orders.” As he’d spoken in front of Alexi, it was impossible for me to countermand him. Discipline had to be maintained.
I turned to Alexi. “What did you do, Mr. Tamarov?”
“I was insolent, sir,” he said without inflection. “So I was informed.”
A cruel punishment. The midshipmen had long leave in Hope Nation so they weren’t entitled to go shoreside as a matter of right, but to travel so far and be denied what could be their only chance to see the colony was harsh indeed.
“Very well. I’m sorry, Mr. Tamarov. You’ll stay aboard, I’ll go alone.” As I left the bridge the rank injustice helped steady my resolve. I saw Lieutenant Crossburn coming up the ladder from Level 2.
“Mr. Crossburn, find young Mr. Treadwell--Rafe Treadwell--and take him to your cabin. Keep him there until I order otherwise.” I would keep the Treadwell twins together. Their parents be damned. Injustice was the way of the world.
Crossburn gaped. “Aye aye, sir. Don’t the passengers disembark today?”
“They’ll start later this afternoon. Do as you’re told.” I went on to my cabin.
A few minutes later I was climbing into a shuttle in the station’s launch berth. Everything about Detour Station was smaller than at Hope Nation: far fewer personnel, smaller corridors, lower ceilings. Even a smaller shuttle. This one held only twelve passengers and looked well used.
“I’ve radioed down to tell them we’re coming, Captain,”
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.