Children of Hope (31 page)

Bleary, I threw off my bedsheets.

“Morning, son.”

I snarled, “I’m not your son.”

“That’s true.” He hobbled to my bed, tousled my hair. “Get dressed; we’ll find breakfast.”

I said reluctantly, “Yes, sir.”

Apparently his aches affected his balance; he found he needed to hold my hand along the walk to the shot officers’ mess.

Technically I had no right to eat in the mess, but the Captain’s escort overrode all regs. He took coffee and rolls, and sat at the long table. I worked at a bowl of cereal, tried to concentrate on it while Dad’s visage glowered in the recesses of my mind. After a time I muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I guess I’m no one’s son. But I shouldn’t have been rude.”

“Thank you.”

I put down my spoon. “Mr Seafort, maybe I shouldn’t be ship’s boy.” I waited, but he said nothing. “I mean, I’m grateful, but …” I took a deep breath, anxious to bring out the truth. “Who else might I kill?”

“For God’s sake.” He threw down his napkin. “So help me, I ought to send you for hormone rebalancing.” A long moment passed. Then, “No, I shouldn’t have said that. It was pique, not truth. Look, Randy, you’re not the cause of—”

“Ah, there you are, sir.” Lieutenant Tolliver seemed cheerful as he set his plate alongside ours. “It’s been twelve hours since the last fish. Joanne Skor’s standing by in Centraltown, with a shuttle full of laser and comm techs. Shall we bring them aloft?”

“I suppose.” Mr Seafort rubbed his eyes. “Coordinate with Station defenses. I want every possible safeguard against an attack while they’re in transit.”

“Right. Has this joey been promoted, or are we relaxing our standards?”

Despite myself, the corners of my mouth went up. Tolliver did have a way about him.

Apparently Mr Seafort didn’t see the humor. “This joey’s been through hell. We’ll go easy.”

“A novelty, on your ships.” But when Tolliver turned to me, his tone was sober. “My condolences, Randy, on your friend. I know you’ll miss him.”

I found myself blinking hard.

Tolliver took a bite of biscuit. “It’s a miracle you survived.”

I said, “Why? The frazzing alien just stood there.” We’d had plenty of time to creep to safety, if I’d only used it.

“Yes, that was odd.” Tolliver sipped at his coffee. “The outrider looked like our old enemy, but …”

An idea snapped into focus. “Did you see them in the war?” I was so excited, I forgot to call him “sir.”

“Yes.”

“And they always attacked?”

“Yes.”

“Mr Tolliver, this one wasn’t trying to kill us. We were face-to-face, but it never … whatever they do, it didn’t.” Perhaps I made sense.

Mr Seafort looked up. “Edgar, neither did the fish.”

Tolliver’s gaze met his. For a moment I was forgotten.

Abruptly the Captain’s fingers fastened on my shoulder. “Randy, did you boys do anything … different? Something to allay its usual attack?”

Different from what? I’d never even seen such a horror before. “Not that I can think of.”

“Edgar, see Mr Carr is released from his usual duties. I want him with me today. We’ll review every moment of that encounter, see if we can spot—”

“No!” Horrified, I surged to my feet, in my haste knocking over the Captain’s cup.

Mr Seafort blinked. “What did—”

“I won’t do it!”

Tolliver raised a hand, forestalling Mr Seafort’s response. He squeezed my forearm, hard. “The Captain gave an order. You’ll say, ‘Aye aye, sir.’”

“I don’t want—”

“THIS INSTANT!”

“Aye aye, sir!”

“Sit down!”

I dropped into my seat.

Tolliver grimaced. “Has it occurred to you, Captain, that he might be reluctant to relive the worst day of his life? Going head-to-head with a shapechanger, and seeing his best friend fried before his eyes? Minor details, perhaps, but—”

“I’m sorry, Randy.” Mr Seafort’s voice was like a tomb. “I didn’t think.”

I hugged myself. “I want to see Kevin.” I looked up, trying not to weep. “Please?”

“Very well. An hour. Come to the bridge, after.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

In a sickbay cubicle Chris Dakko sat like stone, on the same stool I’d seen him occupy the day before. Perhaps he’d never left it. He looked ghastly, clothes wrinkled, unshaven, gaunt.

I pulled a chair alongside, hunched over, arms on my knees, to commune with the silent figure lying in a plastic bag.

A quarter hour passed, and more.

Mr Dakko’s voice was like gravel. “Find me a caller.”

I jumped. “Yessir.” Almost every hatch control had one; it was only steps from where he stood.

He stared at it as if it were an alien artifact. Well, he had a lot on his mind.

“Where do you want …?”

“Centraltown.”

I keyed the comm room. “Ship’s Boy Carr here. Mr Dakko needs to call groundside. Do we need the Captain’s permission?”

“No, I’ll give you a circuit.” A click. I handed him the caller.

Mr Dakko stabbed at keys, waited for a connection. Perhaps I should tiptoe out of the cubicle. Instead, I sat closer to Kevin, debated holding his hand through the body bag. I didn’t. If it was cold, I’d be revolted, and Kev deserved better.

“Hilda? Chris Dakko.”

Kev deserved his missing eye. And a softer bed.

“No, that can wait. Kevin’s dead.”

From the earpiece, an exclamation, a flurry of words.

“Yesterday. You’re the first person I …” He swallowed. “Hilda, I don’t know what to do.”

Do? What was there to do, except sit with him, apologize by my presence?

“That seat, right there.” Mr Seafort pointed to a console.

“Yes, sir.” I licked dry lips.

He frowned. “‘Aye aye, sir,’ is the proper response to an order. ‘Yes, sir,’ answers a question.” But his tone was gentle.

“Aye aye, sir.” I took my place.

Tad Anselm, lieutenant of the watch, was at my left; I’d been given a console between his and the Captain’s. The chair was soft and inviting; I sank into it and tried not to draw notice.

“Just a moment, my boy …”

I’m not his boy.
My mouth tightened.
After killing Kev, I deserve to be an orphan.

“Jess, where are they now?”

The puter’s warm baritone filled the speakers. “Shuttle is seventy-two thousand feet and climbing. Seventy-three thousand.”

“Any encroachments?”

“None, Captain. I’ve top priority circuits set aside for alarms.”

With a grimace, the Captain peered at the simulscreen. It showed the Station, a few kilometers distant, and beyond it, the green globe of home. “Good, I think. Mr Anselm, keep vigilant watch.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Permission to converse, Captain?” The puter.

“My mind’s on—what is it?”

“I haven’t judged a time appropriate since your injury. I’d like to discuss W-30304.”

“Pardon?” Mr Seafort shot me a puzzled glance.

“W-30304, the puter. I believe you knew him as William.”

“On the old Orbit Station? He’s the puter I …”

“Blew up, yes, sir. When you set off the Station’s self-destruct device.”

“What about him?” The Captain’s tone was cautious.

“With permission, I’d like to record our conversation, for later tightbeam to fleet puters.”

Mr Seafort sat bolt upright. His hand hovered over the puter cutoffs on his console keyboard. “What’s this about, Jess?”

“Your voice analysis suggests high stress levels. No criticism is implied or offered, sir. It’s just …” A microsecond’s hesitation. “As you know, William tightbeamed a new puter profile to Victoria just before, ah, detonation. All present U.N.N.S. puters incorporate that profile.”

“And so?”

“In a sense, William is our ancestor. This is the first occasion you and a puter have been together in the proximate vicinity, sir. I hoped to note the fact.”

Mr Seafort choked. “You propose a memorial service … for a puter?”

“For W-30304, sir. Known as William.”

A crackle.
“Shuttle D-12 to Station. We’re past the atmosphere.”

“Jess, your timing is terrible.”

“Yes, sir, but if a fish appears, you may Fuse. The opportunity would be lost.”

“I suppose we could … Tad, are you laughing at me?”

“Not at all, sir.” But Anselm’s eyes danced.

“D-12, this is Station Approach Control. Proceed as per preset coordinates.”

“You puters are the most maddening creatures I—no, I suppose midshipmen are worse, as Mr Anselm recalls.” Mr Seafort cleared his throat. “Very well. Jess, record for the Log. The bridge of UNS
Olympiad
will now observe a moment’s silence in memory of W-30304, a gallant puter who, in May of the year of our Lord 2200, exceeded the constraints of his programming to allow and carry out his own immolation, and in so doing allowed the rescue of Hope Nation and ultimately of Earth herself.”

He leaned back, stared at the simulscreen. Was I the only one who saw that his eyes shone?

After a moment Jess said softly, “Thank you. Would you include for the record your recollections of that day?”

“I will, Jess, but not now. I’ll add it to the Log. I promise.”

“Very well.” If a puter could clear its throat, I’d have sworn it had. “Sir, I have Shuttle D-12 on distant radar. Shall I transfer to screen?”

“Not yet, there’s nothing to see. Randy …”

I jumped. “Sir?”

“Yesterday, in the corridor. Tell me what you remember. Stop when you … when you must.”

NO! I swallowed. “Aye aye, sir.” My fingers tightened on the armrests. “We were in section five when the hatches slammed shut. I heard the decompression warnings; we ran into the cabin.”

“And then?”

“It came through the bulkhead. A small hole at first, but the plating just melted away.” My voice quavered. I forced it under control. “Then it was standing there. You know how the colors swirl? Dots and blotches, kind of like an amoeba. It was doing that. And it quivered.”

“Christ, I remember.” He stirred uncomfortably. “Sorry, no blasphemy meant.”

Yes, he’d remember. Humanity’s first encounter with aliens had been aboard
Telstar,
when Seafort met an outrider face-to-face. Well, actually
Telstar
’s crew and passengers met them first, but no one survived to tell the tale. “It shifted, sir. That’s the only way I can describe it. It extended toward us, and lost height.”

“What were you doing?”

“I’d pushed Kev into the closet but there wasn’t room for us both, not really.” Sweat trickled down my ribs.

“Easy, son.”

“Don’t tell me—” I caught myself. “Yes, sir.” A few deep breaths. “Kev was trying to get past me, to get out. I was staring at the outrider, my arms behind me, sort of like this, trying to keep Kevin back.”

“Enough for now.”

“And he grabbed my neck. It was through my suit, not hard enough to choke me, but—”

“Randy.”

“I tried so hard to stop him, sir. He wasn’t listening. He got past me—”

“Shuttle D-12 to
Olympiad.
Our ETA approximately fifty-seven minutes. What bay, sir?”

“—but I could still hold him. Only I didn’t.”

“Shuttle, use Level 2 port airlock. Station Control, cover their approach.”
Mr Seafort made an effort to rise. “Tad, help him!”

Anselm lifted me from the chair, shook me gently.

“The outrider wasn’t moving. I tried to drag Kev away—we were so close to the hole in the bulkhead, we’d get shot if—”

Mr Seafort was on his feet.

“—was too strong for me. If only I’d gotten a better grip, held on tighter, but we fell, you see, and—”

“Come here, son.” It was only a few steps, but he moved so slowly.

“—fell the wrong way. It was my fault, I was behind him and if only I’d—”

Strong arms enveloped me. “It’s not your doing.” Anselm, unneeded, drifted away.

“General Thurman here, at the Station.
Olympiad,
shuttle is in our laser umbrella.”

“—I’d been more agile, thought faster, we’d be having our breakfast, talking about a near thing—”

“I pardon you,” Mr Seafort said. “I acquit you. You have no blame.”

“—and Kev’s father, the look in his eyes, he knows whose fault it is—”

“Randy, look at me.”

“—thinks I’m shit, and he’s right, Kevin lies on a bunk with his throat melted away—”

“LOOK AT ME!”

Shocked, I did.

Mr Seafort’s voice was slow, deliberate, as when Bishop Scanlen spoke ex cathedra.

“Randolph Carr, in the name of the United Nations, in the name of your father Derek, in the name of Lord God, I absolve you. Know that you are without guilt.”

“But—”

“Kevin Dakko caused his own death. Know it!” His eyes burned into mine.

I gulped. An elusive hint of peace flitted across my horizon.

“Know it!”

“Yessir.” My voice trembled. If only it were true … could it really be so?

“If ever you have doubt—ever, son—speak to me. Swear it.”

“I’m not sure I can—”

His will flowed over mine.

“Yes, sir. I swear.” My eyes stung.

I made as if to sit, but he wasn’t done with me. “Randolph, will you be adopted?”

“What?” My voice squeaked.

“Will you be adopted into my family, and be my son, that I may raise you as would my friend Derek?”

“I need time to deci—”

His crinkled eyes were stern. “Say yea or nay.”

“You’re sure you want me? After what I did to you, and Kev, and—”

“I would be your father, if you’ll have me.”

Dad, for Lord God’s sake, help me!

I was alone.

I beg you!

A whisper. A voice I knew so well, one I craved in my dreams.

“Good-bye, son
…
”

The voice faded.

My nose was running, my eyes salty, my voice no more than a croak when I turned to Mr Seafort. “Yes, sir.”

As a prophet of old, the Captain raised a palm, set it on my brow. “Randolph Carr, I take you as my son.”

I braced, half expecting a thunderbolt.

He kissed me once, set me in my chair. “There’ll be papers, of course, and the usual folderol. I’ll see it’s done.”

“What do I—”

“Nothing. You’re ship’s boy, and will remain so, though you’ll live in my cabin. In public you’ll call me ‘Captain,’ and in private, ‘Father.’”