John Barnes - The Last President

“An excellent principle.” At the ballroom door, the Commandant added, “But I think it will turn out the Galway men can offer us far more than the rednecks for Jesus. Enjoy the party.” He clapped Rollings on the shoulder too heartily, and headed back to the conference room. The Special Assistants at his heels wheeled and closed up behind him. Over his shoulder, he added, “If you can persuade Uhura to save me a dance, it will be much appreciated.”

And if I can keep Uhura away from you, she’ll appreciate that, Rollings thought.

The Commandant’s engineering team had rigged the Ritz-Carlton ballroom with producer-gas lighting. The warm, brilliant glow, after so many months of candles and oil lanterns, could almost make you forget the sharp, dirty odor and the soot streaks on the wall above each light.

At his side, Whorf said, “Wow, a whole room full of people with clean clothes and a recent bath.”

Rollings choked on a laugh. “Thanks for that. The Commandant dropped me a big hint about your little sis.”

“I’d be just as happy if Uhura went home early,” Whorf muttered, looking down at the floor so no one could read his lips.

“Me too,” Jamayu said, also looking down. When he looked up, he was smiling again. “Let’s grab some free chow and then take a short walk outside; there’re details I’d like to go over. Unless, of course, I’m spoiling your chances to hustle the local ladies?”

Whorf snorted. “Dad, look around. The single ladies my age are not here to have fun. Any more than I am. Let’s get some of that stew.”

They found a table back in the shadows, and, wary of being overheard, concentrated on eating, watching their neighbors in tuxedos and long dresses dancing not-very-well to a still-not-very-good band. Rollings glanced sideways; Whorf had grown into a big, strong young man with a piercing, alert expression. Both men wore dreads, but whereas Jamayu’s were gray and rough, Whorf’s were black and glistening.

He’s not going to want to spend his good, vigorous years mining junk, Rollings thought, and resisting sadness, smiled broadly when he asked, “So, about that walk… ?”

In the lobby, they pulled on heavy coats against the fierce cold.

They were silent until they stood in the dark, far from where anyone could hear them, looking at the flaring gaslights and lanterns in the harbor. Outside that yellow-orange pool of light, beyond what had once been the western boundary of Battery Park, Rollings finally spoke, his voice low, his face pointed down at the icy rubble around his feet. “The Temper offer is real good,” he said, softly. “I didn’t tell the Commandant, but Captain Halleck sent a guy by on the down low this afternoon, and Discovery is offering cash and carry—they’re carrying enough gold and silver to pay for all our specialty metals, and they want to take them to Savannah once their repairs are done at the end of the month.”

“And it’s a good offer?”

“It’s excellent . I want to take it without bothering to hear what Doyle and his people offer. I’d rather be selling to the government of America than to those slick Irishmen.”

“Athens is one government of America,” Whorf pointed out. “They’ll want our metals for their labs at Castle Newberry. The Provis are just as American, Hanford probably needs those metals just as bad, and when a coffee clipper comes—”

“ Discovery will leave before any other American ship comes in. And once I’ve got that metal on board Discovery , I won’t have it in my possession, for the Commandant to seize and tell me who’s buying it.” Rollings kicked at a scrap of steel. “That metal came from a government lab, so it belongs to some American government, and not this one . Because it’s obvious that the Commandant wants some deal with the Irish. Like he can just decide what to do after we did the work, and with stuff we retrieved at our own risk, from…” He shook his head, his arms rising with his shrug under his thick coat. “Back before, he was a plain old cadet at West Point.”

“Pop, back before, you were a dentist with an expensive boat, and I was a freshman in African-American Studies,” Whorf pointed out. “Daybreak hit, you had a schooner, and we made a good life. The Commandant had a military force, and he’s made himself a great life. We all feed off the wreckage.”

“True.” Rollings sighed, listening to the crackle of the water vapor in his breath freezing. “Cold out here. Let’s not stay too long. Look, if the metal is in my possession and hasn’t been sold yet, the Commandant can push that deal onto me with his thugs and their guns. I already might have to make some bad trades to avoid having him for a son-in-law. For that matter, he might want Uhura for something a lot less than a wife.” Rollings kicked the ground with his heel as if trying to bury the thought. “So, they’ve offered you a spot on Discovery .”

The name had magic. They both turned to look to where the handsome three-master was moored, gleaming in the ruddy gaslights on the pier. The ship was taller to the eye even than most tall ships, with her hull long and low and her superstructure raking back in a series of smoothed out, oblique steps; most of her was freshly painted a gleaming white that glowed gold in the gaslights, and her masts seemed to reach right up into the stars.

USS Discovery had been SS l’Esprit de Brest , offering the priciest of Caribbean sailing cruises. Back before, she’d been just finishing an overhaul, awaiting the crew that would never fly in to Savannah.

The TNG had rechristened Discovery as a science ship, because she had been designed for a minimal sailing crew and the old recreational spaces made decent labs, libraries, and sample storage. In addition she had ample room for a staff of fifty, who came from every intellectual center on the continent: the RRC at Pueblo, the Oregon Exploration Center at Eugene, the Scholar’s League at Santa Fe, the NASA remnant at Houston, and Stone Lab up in the Erie Islands.

On Discovery ’s shakedown cruise up the coast to map the Atlantic shore of the Dead Belt, the winter weather had shaken her harder than they’d expected. Repairs would take a few weeks. Some crew were too injured or sick to continue; Captain Halleck had offered Whorf a chance to take over a berth as a “scholar-sailor,” bluntly describing it as “a chance to work as an Able Seaman and do homework, too.”

“So, do you think Halleck offered me the job because he wanted our metals?”

Rollings shook his head emphatically, stamping his feet to warm them. “Halleck made the offer to you before he ever saw or even heard about the metal. And he’s not a man to link a deal or take advantage, that Halleck. I’ve always prided myself on sharp unsentimental dealing, but now I find I’d rather deal with an honest Yankee who had a real commission in the old Navy than a passel of slick Irishmen and ambitious kay-dets.” Rollings tracked Whorf’s gaze as it reached out to Discovery . “Got to admit it,” Rollings said, softly, “I mean, look at her, she’s gorgeous .”

“Yeah.” Whorf sounded choked up.

“Whorf, I’m thinking about the family here. You know how we keep Ferengi stocked and ready to go, and we all know we might have to run for it any time. Geordie’s a good guy, but—and don’t you ever quote this to your brother—even though he can take Ferengi anywhere with enough water under her keel, I think he will always need someone to tell him where.

“Deanna’s no sailor and never will be, but she’ll run Ferengi Enterprises some day—from an office, someplace, like it should be run. If I’m gone, and your brother pulls any oldest-male privilege bullshit, you take Deanna’s back and make sure she keeps the company. So Deanna needs to stay here to inherit the company, Geordie needs to stay here to sail Ferengi , and Uhura needs to stay here because she’s young yet. And that leaves you, Whorf.”