"David Feintuch - Seafort 04 - Fisherman's Hope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feintuch David)

David Feintuch - Seafort 04 - Fisherman's Hope

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."