Patriarch's Hope

Coloring, I accepted the unstated rebuke, knowing it was warranted. A Naval officer's word was his bond. The entire Service was based on trust. Had I not been so distraught by the bloodstained children lying in the grass, I'd have remembered I was dealing with my cherished U.N.N.S., not a pack of amoral politicians.

Hazen took pity. "Dismissed, Mr. Anselm."

The boy fled.

I cleared my throat. "Question the sergeants."

"Gregori already told us his story."

"Then we'll hear it again." And so we did. During his recitation Sergeant Gregori eyed me with downright hostility. I could hardly blame him.

"As I said, sir, I have no idea what went wrong. The canister was in place, everything looked as it should."

"Did your cadets quarrel among themselves, or with other barracks?"

He balled his fists, checked himself. "Commandant, permission to speak freely?"

Hazen nodded.

"No one hated my cadets, in Krane or any other barracks. Even if he's SecGen, how do you stand such nonsense?"

"Sergeant!" The Commandant was scandalized.

"I've had enough! Court-martial me if you don't like it!" Gregori subsided, breathing heavily.

Hazen blinked. "I understand your feelings, but SecGen Seafort and I have to know—"

A knock on the door. A breathless middy saluted and came to attention. "Midshipman Andrew Payson reporting, sir. Sergeant Booker isn't at Valdez Barracks. His cadet corporal hasn't seen him since lunch."

I snarled to Hazen, "The gate!"

He punched the code into his caller. When he was through, he rose slowly from his seat. "Booker signed out early this afternoon. That God damned son of—"

I snapped, "Don't blaspheme!"

"—a bitch! The fucking whoreson! That—"

"All right!" I slapped the table hard enough so my hand stung. "Sarge, we owe you an apology."

"Bloody right you do!" Gregori looked ready to launch himself across the table. I had to admire his courage. Either the Commandant or I could break him.

The middy glanced between us as if we were all demented.

The caller chimed. Muttering an epithet, the Commandant answered. After a few words he handed it to me.

"Sir? Branstead here. Have you heard of an Eco Action League?"

"I'm busy, Jerence. Can this wait?" Even as I spoke, I knew better. My chief of staff wouldn't interrupt unless the matter was urgent.

"We've had a communiqué. They claim they've killed half a dozen Academy cadets."

My knuckles were white on the caller. "Go on."

"As long as you continue wasting funds on colossal boondoggles like Galactic—their phrase—while tides continue to rise, they'll strike. It goes on for pages in the same vein."

"The sons of—" I marshaled my whirling thoughts. "Keep it quiet as long as you can. Get me out of here, before the media hear of my visit and make a circus of Academy."

"Sorry, sir. I got a copy of the communiqué from Holoworld. They want a comment, and verification that you're at Devon. The Action League says they struck during your visit to show that no one was safe from the wrath of the people. You have twenty-four hours to announce a change in policy, or they'll strike again, and disregard the cost in lives."

I cursed long and fluently.

When I wound down, Branstead said, "I'll send your heli."

"No, I'll see this through." I swallowed bile; my visit had caused the deaths of unwitting children. I cared not a fig for my reputation. By leaving I'd hoped only to spare Academy, and the Navy. If the news was out, my presence didn't matter.

"I'm sending in the heli; I want Tilnitz at your side. Security has nothing on an Eco Action League. Whoever they are, if they can strike at Academy, you're not safe."

"No. We've been through that."

For a moment I thought he would argue, but to my relief he didn't press the point. Instead, he said, "I rang up Winstead at the Enviro Council, and they're mystified as well."

"No doubt." My sarcasm was evident; the Council's hands were always clean, no matter what vileness their cohorts perpetrated. "Find the Eco League. Pull out all the stops."

"I'll notify Naval Intelligence, Academy's their bailiwick. By the way, I'll have to set up a news conference. As soon as you get back."

"Have Carlotti handle it." Let my portly press secretary appease the vultures of the media.

"Sorry, it's too big a story. They'll expect you."

I sighed. "Delay as long as you can." I rang off.

"Well, now." I glared at Gregori. "Are you an enviro, Sarge?"

"No." His gaze held contempt.

"I thought not."

The caller chimed again. I suppressed an urge to smash it. Hazen listened a moment, rang off. "That was sickbay. Autopsies confirm the lab report."

I grunted.

"Go home to your cadets, Sarge. Commandant, call up the file on Booker, flank. Send a copy to Branstead. Midshipman, you're dismissed."

Sergeant Gregori favored me with a frosty glare as he stalked off. Well, I wasn't surprised, despite my apology. I'd as much as accused him of murder.

© 1999 by David Feintuch