way; he idolized Seafort, made his follies sound reasonable.
Even I had been duped, until Dad’s brutal death opened my eyes.
No air. Trying desperately to take breath, while his blood vessels burst, his lungs exploded his eyeballs hemorrhaged.
While Seafort watched.
The door slid open. “What are you crying at, you vile bastard?”
I jumped to my feet.
Mikhael Tamarov.
He nodded to the master-at-arms. “See if Lieutenant Anselm’s in the officers’ lounge. If so, give him this note. I’ll watch the prisoner.”
“But, sir—”
“That was an order.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The master-at-arms retreated.
The middy slid shut the door, strode to my bunk.
I said nervously, “I hope I didn’t get you in troub—”
He belted me in the stomach. I doubled over, retching.
He began to swear, punctuating each oath with a blow. His knuckles slammed into my temple; I reeled, clutched the wall. A roundhouse blow to my ribs; something snapped.
Mikhael’s face was dark; his lips bared. He hit me again and again, each time harder.
My spittle sprayed. “Please … I was barely audible.
I slid down the corner; he crouched with me, belaboring me without mercy. A tremendous punch slammed my head into the wall; I feared it had taken out my eye. “Stop! No more!” Methodically, he began to pound my chest, my shoulders.
It went on forever. My blood dripped. Each breath was torture.
Every time he worked at my ribs, red agony blossomed. Worst of all was his steady monotone, a stream of the ugliest words I’d ever heard.
The door slid open. “Oh, Jesus, get him off! Sir, stop! Get away, or I’ll stun you! Now, sir!” Sailors struggled to pull the midshipman from the cell. He broke loose, ran at me, kicked me really hard between the legs.
I squealed, rolled back and forth clutching myself, helpless, praying to die.
I woke under bright lights, in a soft bed. Every limb, every organ ached. I could barely squeeze open my swollen eyes. The doctor took a step back.
Captain Tolliver stood over me, arms folded. “That wasn’t warranted. It won’t happen again.”
I nodded.
He stalked out.
I said to no one, “Where am I?”
“In sickbay. You’ve three broken ribs, assorted contusions and abrasions. You lost a tooth, but that can be reseeded. I used the bone growth stimulator twice while you were out, and gave you calcium. The ribs will knit in a few days. Tomorrow, you go back to your cell. I’ll prescribe a painkiller.”
I tried to scratch my nose, found my wrists fastened to the rail. “Can you let me …” I wriggled my hand.
“No. Not a chance.” He turned on his heel.
“Doctor?” I waited out a spell of dizziness.
“Yes?” His tone dripped impatience.
I forced out the words. “How is the Captain?”
His face suffused. “In coma. Skull fracture, subdural hematoma, intercranial hemorrhage. I did a craniotomy to relieve the pressure, but …”
“Will he live?”
“It’s possible. It’s more likely he won’t. Ah, now it’s worth weeping over, is it? He’s always believed he’s bound for Hell. If so, you’ll meet him there shortly.” He stalked off.
The next day, they allowed me a sponge bath; I was too bruised and swollen to stand still for a shower. Then, true to their word, they hustled me back to my bleak cell.
I sat helpless in my silent chamber.
No one would answer my questions, and I couldn’t hear Kevin. I didn’t have strength to cry out, to make a scene until they’d answer.
Now, I was allowed outside once a day, to bathe. No doubt the acting Captain had intervened.
The second afternoon, while I dozed listlessly, the hatch opened.
Framed in the entryway, two officers I knew. Lieutenant and midshipman. The middy was dressed and groomed to perfection: shoes gleaming, slacks and shirt crisp, his tie knotted tight, his face scrubbed, every hair in place.
He glanced at Lieutenant Anselm, emotions flickering. A deep breath. Smartly, he strode forward—he couldn’t go
Even I had been duped, until Dad’s brutal death opened my eyes.
No air. Trying desperately to take breath, while his blood vessels burst, his lungs exploded his eyeballs hemorrhaged.
While Seafort watched.
The door slid open. “What are you crying at, you vile bastard?”
I jumped to my feet.
Mikhael Tamarov.
He nodded to the master-at-arms. “See if Lieutenant Anselm’s in the officers’ lounge. If so, give him this note. I’ll watch the prisoner.”
“But, sir—”
“That was an order.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The master-at-arms retreated.
The middy slid shut the door, strode to my bunk.
I said nervously, “I hope I didn’t get you in troub—”
He belted me in the stomach. I doubled over, retching.
He began to swear, punctuating each oath with a blow. His knuckles slammed into my temple; I reeled, clutched the wall. A roundhouse blow to my ribs; something snapped.
Mikhael’s face was dark; his lips bared. He hit me again and again, each time harder.
My spittle sprayed. “Please … I was barely audible.
I slid down the corner; he crouched with me, belaboring me without mercy. A tremendous punch slammed my head into the wall; I feared it had taken out my eye. “Stop! No more!” Methodically, he began to pound my chest, my shoulders.
It went on forever. My blood dripped. Each breath was torture.
Every time he worked at my ribs, red agony blossomed. Worst of all was his steady monotone, a stream of the ugliest words I’d ever heard.
The door slid open. “Oh, Jesus, get him off! Sir, stop! Get away, or I’ll stun you! Now, sir!” Sailors struggled to pull the midshipman from the cell. He broke loose, ran at me, kicked me really hard between the legs.
I squealed, rolled back and forth clutching myself, helpless, praying to die.
I woke under bright lights, in a soft bed. Every limb, every organ ached. I could barely squeeze open my swollen eyes. The doctor took a step back.
Captain Tolliver stood over me, arms folded. “That wasn’t warranted. It won’t happen again.”
I nodded.
He stalked out.
I said to no one, “Where am I?”
“In sickbay. You’ve three broken ribs, assorted contusions and abrasions. You lost a tooth, but that can be reseeded. I used the bone growth stimulator twice while you were out, and gave you calcium. The ribs will knit in a few days. Tomorrow, you go back to your cell. I’ll prescribe a painkiller.”
I tried to scratch my nose, found my wrists fastened to the rail. “Can you let me …” I wriggled my hand.
“No. Not a chance.” He turned on his heel.
“Doctor?” I waited out a spell of dizziness.
“Yes?” His tone dripped impatience.
I forced out the words. “How is the Captain?”
His face suffused. “In coma. Skull fracture, subdural hematoma, intercranial hemorrhage. I did a craniotomy to relieve the pressure, but …”
“Will he live?”
“It’s possible. It’s more likely he won’t. Ah, now it’s worth weeping over, is it? He’s always believed he’s bound for Hell. If so, you’ll meet him there shortly.” He stalked off.
The next day, they allowed me a sponge bath; I was too bruised and swollen to stand still for a shower. Then, true to their word, they hustled me back to my bleak cell.
I sat helpless in my silent chamber.
No one would answer my questions, and I couldn’t hear Kevin. I didn’t have strength to cry out, to make a scene until they’d answer.
Now, I was allowed outside once a day, to bathe. No doubt the acting Captain had intervened.
The second afternoon, while I dozed listlessly, the hatch opened.
Framed in the entryway, two officers I knew. Lieutenant and midshipman. The middy was dressed and groomed to perfection: shoes gleaming, slacks and shirt crisp, his tie knotted tight, his face scrubbed, every hair in place.
He glanced at Lieutenant Anselm, emotions flickering. A deep breath. Smartly, he strode forward—he couldn’t go
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