Patriarch's Hope

I groped for my silver-headed cane, hoisted myself from my seat, and winked at Arlene, graying, gaunt, and lovely. "Shall I fire Dubrovik right now?" I was half-serious.

Her lips barely moved. "Of course, dear. The Territorials would love a martyr as a candidate, next election."

With a sigh, I limped to the waiting microphones.

• • •

"Voyager is landing," Mark Tilnitz, head of my security detail, muttered into his throat mike. Our heli set down precisely on the cross that marked the center of Devon Naval Academy's pad.

Tilnitz was an assignee of U.N. Investigations. General Donner was drawn from U.N.A.F., Karen Burns from Naval Intelligence, other security agents from New York Police Command. An odd system, but giving all services a hand in the SecGen's protection deterred the formation of a praetorian guard, with the resultant interservice jealousies.

I climbed out, under the sullen Devon afternoon sun. A security joey was waiting, to hover at my arm lest I slip. "Do I look feeble?" My voice was caustic. Perhaps I feared the answer. "Let me be. Here, Arlene." I extended a hand.

Ducking through the hatchway, she climbed slowly down the steps. "What's wrong, Nicky? You've been cross all day."

"Nothing." My knee ached. "I hate those public ceremonies." I forced a smile as Commandant Hazen hurried to greet us. Overhead, the helis and jets that constituted my unwieldy protection detail moved off.

Normally, security accompanied me everywhere, but from my first administration I'd drawn the line at Academy or the Naval wing at Earthport. Under no circumstances would I allow Tilnitz and his eclectic crew to pretend I needed guarding from the United Nations Naval Service, in which I'd served so memorably. I would wander the Academy grounds unprotected, except by the Commandant or his staff. It wasn't, after all, as if Academy were an open campus.

I looked about. A tall iron fence surrounded the compound, meeting itself at the guardhouse gate. As always, mulberry and juniper abounded, tended by Academy staff and cadets. Above, tall maples lent their shade. Devon Academy had once been far from town, but shops and pubs had sprung up to serve it. Still, our buildings were set well back from the fence, obscured by the extensive plantings, which allowed a modicum of privacy.

Arlene and I had just escaped the huge reception that followed my dedication of Galactic, and my cheeks were sore with the aftermath of my frozen smile. At least, standing about greeting dignitaries, I'd had time for a few amiable words with Derek Carr, before he went off to rejoin his Hope Nation trade legation. I'd be seeing him again in a day or so, at my retreat outside Washington.

"Welcome, Mr. SecGen." Hazen came to attention. Florid, the hint of a paunch lurking underneath his Naval blues, he still managed to look distinguished, a few touches of gray gracing his locks.

I returned his salute. "As you were." For a moment my heart eased. Devon was home to me. I frowned. Had been home, before my betrayal had forfeited all claim to it. Hastily, I turned my thoughts elsewhere. I'd made my peace with my transgressions years before, or thought I had. Either Lord God would forgive me, or He would not.

As we walked the unchanged footpath to the administration building I scrutinized the Commandant I'd met but once, at a Rotunda reception. Once, the Navy had been my entire life, and I wouldn't have dreamed of allowing the Board of Admiralty to appoint a Commandant I didn't know well. But since the Transpop Rebellion, I'd been ever more preoccupied with civilian issues, and the nurture of our economy.

I cleared my throat. "You've met Ms. Seafort, I believe?" Arlene, knowing me well, smoothly took over the conversation while I brooded. A former officer herself, she knew Academy as well as I.

We strolled past the Commandant's quarters I'd once occupied, past dorms I'd inhabited as a cadet. Knowing my wishes—my aides had made them clear—Hazen hadn't interrupted Academy routine to put the cadets on show for me; his charges were at their usual classes. Nonetheless, the compound seemed almost deserted. Typically, a handful of cadets could be found scurrying about on special duty or, as punishment detail, set to manicuring the lawn with meticulous precision.

The Commandant seemed to read my thoughts. "I canceled outdoor activities, Mr. SecGen." He glanced upward, shading his eyes. "Sorry, I should have brought lined umbrellas."

I snorted my disdain. "I don't need shielding." Nonetheless, I hurried my pace.

"We've a radiation alert for the rest of the week, despite the seeding. If the gamma count gets much worse I'll send most of the joeys to Farside." Lunar Academy, whose warrens were on the far side of the moon, where cadets did advanced training.

"Over time, it's getting better."

He shrugged. "So they say, but were you ever kept indoors at Devon?"

"That was a half century ago." I made a face. "Things change." To my relief, we were nearing the Commandant's quarters. My knee throbbed, and besides, I wanted Arlene out of the newly menacing sun.

"How about Grierson?" I looked across the gleaming rosewood conference table.