Children of Hope (41 page)

I swallowed bile. “When was this?”

“Seven years ago.”

“Fath was SecGen, wasn’t he? Why didn’t you appeal to him?”

“The government has no authority over the Church. Besides, he was recuperating from that crash in Helsinki, the one that injured his knee. Valera was in charge, and refused even to urge clemency.”

“The bastard.”

“Amen.”

“Daddy says don’t use that word.” Janey tugged at my arm.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Honey? Jeez. If Kevin heard me talk that way, he’d tease …” My smile faded.

“So.” Corrine stood wearily, and stretched. “I don’t choose to go ashore.”

“I understand.”

“Will you join us for dinner?”

I thought of Fath, and his tart manner on the bridge. “I’ll eat with the rest of the crew.” The auxiliary Dining Hall was on Level 4. The Captain never dined there.

To my surprise, not one but two crew tables made a place for me; I had to choose. I sat alongside the other sailors, listening to their chatter.

Often there was banter and argument between men and women, but every joey at the table was so relieved the alien was gone, there was nothing in the air but good spirits.

After, recalling Fath’s rebuke, I wandered the lounges and holoscreen rooms, reluctant to return to our cabin before I actually had to. When I knew Fath would be incensed at any further delay, I made my unenthusiastic way to Level 1.

“Ah, there you are.” Fath lay atop his covers, still dressed. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, sir.” My tone was stiff.

Cautiously he raised himself, pulled me into an embrace.

I broke loose. “What’s it with you and hugs?” I asked scornfully.

“Well, now, I’ll tell you. Come here.” He patted the side of his bed.

Reluctantly, I joined him.

“When I was a boy … let’s see now. I was exactly a year younger than you. In the pre-industrial ages.”

I smiled dutifully, not really caring.

“My father no doubt loved me, in his way, but he wasn’t demonstrative. At least, not with affection. The day I left for Academy, he took me to Devon by train. A long trip, and mostly in silence. From the station it was a long walk across the common to the front gates, where we’d part.”

The Captain paused, lost in a distant past.

“On the way, I practiced how to say good-bye, how to tell Father I’d make him proud.”

I was suddenly attentive.

“He was carrying my bag. When I tried to take his hand, he shifted the duffel. I moved around the other side. Again, he shifted the bag. At the guardhouse I took a deep breath, was ready to begin my speech. He handed me the duffel, took my shoulders, turned me about, guided me through the gate.”

Fath’s eyes glistened.

“When I turned to wave good-bye, he was striding across the common. I watched a long while, but he never looked back.”

I swallowed.

“Years later, Randy, I asked him if he loved me. He couldn’t answer it was so.” He worked himself to a sitting position. “I had few hugs, and know the need of them. If I offer too many, you’ve merely to tell me, and I’ll stop. I don’t mean to make you uneasy.”

It wasn’t fair. Once in a while, a joeykid ought to be allowed to hate his parents.

“So that’s what it is with me and hugs, son.”

Did he know Dad was a hugger? That it was what I’d missed most, the one thing I’d always been too shy to mention to Anth?

I studied the far bulkhead. “I’d like one, please.”

In the morning Fath made a point of sitting with Andrew Ghent for breakfast, and when Tad came in, Fath waved him over. Covertly, I watched the two for signs of resentment, saw none. Well, he hadn’t punished Tad, just spoken sharply. And a midshipman was used to demerits.

The morning was my own; I wasn’t on duty ’til after lunch. Fath was on the bridge, but I had the sense I wouldn’t be welcome there; he was preoccupied, staring at an empty screen. I waited out the boredom in a lounge.

A ship’s boy had no watch station; he was supposed to help out as needed. It made for an interesting but uncertain life. Alejandro didn’t seem to mind; after lunch he and I were called to Hydroponics to help reset some tubing. He chattered cheerfully, while I wondered if there’d be any joeys my own age among the passengers. Alec was a bit too young, and the middies too old, and snooty. Except Mik, of course, but he was twenty. And maybe Andy Ghent; since the day in my cell when he’d refused to tell me my fate, I’d seen him in a different light.

Not long before dinner, Mr Branstead came aboard, on a shuttle full of crewmen. He gave me a preoccupied nod, hurried off to find the Captain.

At dinnertime I was still on duty, but a call came down saying the Captain wanted my assistance. I suppressed a grin. Assistance, my foot. I washed and changed before reporting to the half-filled Dining Hall.

“Sir.” I saluted stiffly. If he wanted to play games, I would too.

Gravely, he returned the salute. “Take your place, Mr Carr.”

“Aye aye, sir. Good evening, Mr Branstead.” A simple courtesy, that would please Fath.

Jerence sat at the Captain’s right, Tolliver at his left. To my surprise, Tolliver clapped me on the shoulder as I sat. He must be mellow indeed.

After Reverend Pandeker gave the prayer, Fath stood. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, we’ve taken part in extraordinary events. Our old enemy, the fish, have met us without hostility. We’ve even exchanged words. I’d hoped, truly hoped, for more …” For a moment, he fell silent. “But perhaps it is not to be. Tomorrow I will issue orders that the remainder of our crew, and those passengers who wish to accompany us, be ferried aloft.
Olympiad
will resume her scheduled cruise.”

Cheers, from nearly every table. Fath’s face twisted. He sat.

Mr Branstead touched his knee. “They don’t understand, sir.”

“Do you?”

“I… think so.” He met Fath’s eye. “I worried for the ship, and for you. But your aspiration was magnificent.”

“Thank you.” Fath’s tone was stiff. After a moment he said, “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“Fairly.” Mr Branstead’s tone was light. “There’s always risk. After our days in the Rotunda …”

“Pray Lord God it won’t come to that.”

I looked mystified. Fath said, “Jerence was held prisoner during the Navy’s attempted coup. He’s lucky to have escaped alive.”

Mr Branstead snorted. “
I’m
lucky? What about yourself?”

“My point exactly.”

“Sir, Hope Nation’s a conservative society. Ultimately, even Scanlen’s joeys won’t go against their government.”

“Has he been found?”

I said plaintively, “I know I’m only ship’s boy, but could someone tell me what’s happened?”

Fath said, “A sympathetic judge freed Scanlen. On Anthony’s appeal, the order was vacated, but now the Bishop’s nowhere to be found.”

“Is Anth in danger?” I’m not sure.

Well, at least Fath was honest.

After dinner, I tagged along while Fath accompanied Mr Branstead to the lock. “Remember what I told you,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” Jerence shifted awkwardly. “Is this truly goodbye?”

“We leave tomorrow, if we can get the last passengers aboard. I shouldn’t have allowed them off.”

“Well, then.” The two faced one another.

It was Fath who embraced Mr Branstead. “Farewell.”

“Godspeed, sir. I pray you return soon. If not, I’ll remember you always.”

“And I you.”

I went back to my duties.

That night, as I got ready for bed, Fath sat hunched over his knees, in near darkness.

“Are you sad, sir?” I had to say
something.

“Yes.” He stared at his feet. “I was so sure.”

“Of what?”

“Randy … all those years of regret, of horror at what I accomplished killing so many fish … when they returned to Hope Nation, I thought that God had been testing me. I know my faith wavered, and I failed Him, but somehow, I imagined He’d forgiven me nonetheless. That He had given me a great task, and a greater reward: to make peace between our species. Almost, I was prepared to forgive Him what He did to Arlene, and your father, despicable as it was. But the fish that visited us is gone, and our outrider with it. I have no task. Just my doubts, renewed.”

“You’re still Captain.” It was all I could think of.

“And your parent. That will keep me busy.” He tried to lighten his tone.

“Sometimes …” I sat on the deck, near his feet. “I feel lonely. Like you.”

“No,” he said. “I pray it’s not like me.”

I knew better than to answer. I leaned back against his bed.

We passed a companionable hour, in silence.

Olympiad
wasn’t exactly crowded, but she was bustling.

Shuttle after shuttle mated with her locks, disengorging distracted and occasionally greengilled passengers. Each craft then broke free and dived into the atmosphere for another run to Centraltown, where Lieutenant Skor was handling embarkation. Alejandro and I were on “gopher” duty, helping the purser’s overworked staff. They sent me hither and about, for sheets, new safety tanks, holovids, and all manner of gear it seemed our passengers simply couldn’t sail without.

To my delight I spotted three teeners, two boys and a girl, who looked about my age. Perhaps there’d be others.

Until now, I’d wondered why
Olympiad
floated free of the Station, instead of mooring, as was the custom. Certainly, passengers could be better organized in the Station’s corridors than ours. But by standing clear, we made three additional locks available, and loading probably went faster in the end.

At last, the final shuttle mated; Lieutenant Skor came aboard with the last of our passengers.

I scurried about, until the press of errands slackened. Only then did Purser Li allow me a break.

Mikhael was on duty at the east Level 3 lock, crisp in a dress uniform and his best manners. With him was the youngest of our middies, Tommy Yost, who’d just returned from shore leave. A purser’s mate was just leaving, his duties at the lock done.

I peered out the porthole. Though I could feel nothing, we were already under way. Slowly, steadily, the Station receded.

Mik cleared his throat. “Excited, Mr Carr?”

“What about?”

“Your first cruise.”

“Oh!” I hadn’t even thought about it. Strange, how
Olympiad
had so quickly become my home. I was still getting used to Fath’s strange ways—for example, his fixation about keeping me in fresh-pressed clothes—but on the other hand, I felt as if I’d known him for years. He was trying hard to be a good father. I suspected I’d have to try equally hard to be a good son.

Hope Nation, green and serene, floated below. Well, Dad. Could you imagine I’d sail off with Mr Seafort in a sister ship to the one in which you died? Would it please you? Make you sad?

Mik threw an arm around my shoulder. “It’s all right, joey.”

“I know, sir.” I wiped an eye.

“We all feel that way at first.”

I squirmed with embarrassment; sailors were watching. To divert him I said, “When do we Fuse?”

“Fusion safety is … tell us, Mr Yost.”

The younger middy jumped. “Uh, the square of N times the distance to … I’d need a console to calculate … about five hours, sir.”

“Close enough, and I’m not ‘sir.’ Not while Mr Riev’s aboard.”

“Sorry, Mr Tamarov.” The younger middy was sweating. Was this the hazing all middies endured? If so, I wondered what the fuss was about.

“If we Fuse too early, what happens?”

“The drives are unable to overcome—”

“I was asking Mr Carr.”

I gulped. Not fair; Mik was supposed to be my brother. I said, “The ship explodes, or implodes, or something.” I hadn’t listened too closely to that part, back in Physics 3. I’d been contemplating the curve of Judy Winthrop’s back.

“Even a ship’s boy is expected to know the basics.”

“Sorry, sir.” My tone was stiff. I’d never speak to him again off-watch. Not a word.

“Near any significant mass—you can look up the specifics in Lambert and Greeley—a fusion drive can’t produce a strong enough N-wave to overcome the inertia of normal space-time. The drive overheats. The resultant energy is expended on the ship itself. It’s explosion, not implosion. You wouldn’t want to be around when it happens.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come by the wardroom sometime and I’ll show you the passage from
Elements of Astronavigation.
”

“Sure.” Not a chance. He could shove Lambert and Greeley—

“It’s even worse with Augmented Fusion. More energy.” Mik was showing off.

“Do we use that?”

“All starships do. We learned from the fish, back when Pa—er, Captain Seafort was young.”

Half listening, I peered again at the distant, barely discernible Station lights. Would we ever again have an Orbiting Station as big as the one Mr Seafort had nuked? And when would I see home again?

“All hands, prepare for Fusion.”
The Captain sounded melancholy.

“What’s the response, Thomas?” Mik waited, arms folded.

“We call the bridge and say, ‘Level 3 east lock sealed and clear.’”

“Do so.” To me, “Other than the engine room and the locks, there’s not much to prepare. I don’t know why they announce—”

“Why seal the locks?” I shouldn’t have interrupted, but …

“To prevent anyone wandering inside. They’d be too close to the edge of the field.”

“Engine Room, prime.”

“If you want a last look, better hurry. We’ll be seven months in Fusion.”

I bent to the porthole. Not that I’d see much, so far from—I reeled away, mouth working. “Mik, there’s a—”

Alarms shrieked.

“General Quarters! All hands to General Quarters!” Tolliver’s
voice was ragged. It would be, with a fish nosing at our hull.

“Deprime deprime deprime! Depower the drive!”

“Engine Room, aye aye. Fusion drive is—”

“Passengers, to your cabins! Fish off our port bow! Prepare to suit!” The
fish lurched, or we did, as someone blasted propellant from our thrusters.

“Mik—I mean, sir—where do I go?” I hoped he’d say the bridge.

“Stay with me, Randy.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!” His tone was harsh.