Take The Star Road (The Maxwell Saga) (22 page)

Captain Volschenk listened to Steve's plan with initial astonishment on his face, but became thoughtful when the Bosun backed him up. He called in Captain Nash, the Commanding Officer of the hospital, and had them run through their plans once more. Both men were taken aback at Steve's earnestness as he described what some children were probably going through.

"You're really serious about this?" Captain Nash finally said. "You're willing to put thousands of credits apiece into this - and Maxwell, you and Higgins are willing to work extra hours to bake treats for the kids?"

"Yes, Sir," Steve replied stoutly, the Bosun nodding beside him.

"Well, I'll be darned... I'm willing to try it. Captain Volschenk, what about you?"

Cabot
's Captain thought for a moment, then smacked his desk with the palm of his hand. "We'll go for it. I'll add another twenty - no,
thirty
thousand to the kitty from the ship's funds. Bosun, take Maxwell to Communications and send messages to
Baobab
and the planet, asking about installing those ovens, plus utensils and ingredients. Maxwell, you and Tomkins can use your cutter to collect everything tomorrow from wherever it's available. We'll take you off the watchkeeping roster for the trip to Vesta, to give you more time to work in the galley."

Steve's idea snowballed. As word spread about it, other members of the crew added donations from their salaries or personal trading profits. Many of the hospital's nurses did the same, and offered to help with the baking during their off-duty hours.
Baobab
's captain put out the word to his crew, who volunteered to give up desserts until the next supply ship could replenish their stocks. Their ship's galley sent as much flour and other ingredients to
Cabot
as it could spare. The spacers also took up a collection and bought every chocolate bar and pack of candy in
Baobab
's commissary, donating it all to the children.

To Steve's surprise, he learned that chocolate had become a rare luxury on Radetski. It wasn't produced locally, and the long-standing conflict had relegated non-military and non-essential imports to lowest-priority status. On the other hand, the planet cultivated several berries and fruits, that were used to produce tasty jams and preserves. He and Tom purchased as much fruit and preserves as they could to make pastries, and bought all the baking utensils and ingredients that were available at short notice.

"We've spent just about all the money you've raised," Tom warned him. "What are you going to do about the next trip?"

"We'll have to see about raising more funds at Vesta, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Keep your fingers crossed!"

By the time
Cabot
left orbit and headed for the system boundary, the first mammoth baking session was already under way. Tom and Steve worked with a dozen nurses to make pastry, cut and fold it, fill it with preserves, and load baking trays that were lined up to be fed into the hard-working ovens. As they came out, their contents now brown, crisp and bubbling, the trays were slid into racks on serving carts borrowed from
Baobab
. As soon as each cart was filled, it was wheeled off to one of the hospital wards. Smiling orderlies returned the empty carts and trays for refilling, bearing tales of excited, happy kids getting preserves both in, and all over, themselves and each other. Their travel companions hadn't been left out, either, and were enjoying the treats as much as their young charges.

Tom Higgins came up with a great idea for the children who'd suffered injuries to their jaws or teeth, and thus couldn't easily bite or chew. He blended jams, preserves and water into a rich, fruity syrup, which he mixed with melted chocolate and candy bars from
Baobab
's commissary. Adding powdered milk, reconstituted with a third of the usual quantity of water, produced thick, creamy chocolate-and-fruit milkshakes. These were so well received that even the kids who could chew began to look wistfully at their less fortunate comrades, and hopefully ask for milkshakes too. When the chocolate ran out Tom was reduced to making fruit smoothies, but the children didn't complain. (The nurses did, though, after some enterprising youngsters discovered that the smoothies made excellent finger-paint. The wards suffered accordingly.)

For Steve, the eight-day trip to Vesta became an endless round of baking, delivering carts, and briefly playing with a few kids before getting back to the galley, interspersed with helping Tom prepare hurried meals for the ship's company. A few spacers complained that the quality of their food suffered as a result, but they were rapidly shushed by the rest of the crew, who understood the reason.

Steve's project became a ship-wide effort. Almost every member of
Cabot
's crew was involved in some way when off duty, assisting with the baking, or fetching more supplies from store-rooms, or cleaning up, or pushing carts to and from hospital wards. Many of the Fleet personnel did likewise. Even Mooch helped by wheeling carts of pastries and cookies to the wards, although some uncharitable souls feared that they might arrive with fewer than when he'd set out. Steve waggled a fork threateningly in his direction whenever he saw him collect a cart. Mooch loftily pretended to ignore it... but his carts reached the wards intact.

Contrary to the initial fears of those in charge, the ship's company became, not a distraction, but an important asset in caring for the kids. They added Radetski language modules to the translation software on their PIA's to facilitate communication. Their daily off-duty visits, bringing good things to eat, were eagerly awaited by the children. Those well enough to do so were soon playing with the spacers as if they'd known them all their lives. Others, less mobile, demanded that the visitors sit on their beds, hold their hands, and feed them pastries and milkshakes. The spacers meekly complied, to the amusement of the nurses.

"It's disgusting!" Dew Beeslie muttered to Steve in the toddler ward one day as he passed the bed on which she was sitting. One child was cradled in her arms, another lay on the bed with his head resting on her thigh, a third held herself erect by clinging to the back of Dew's shirt whilst babbling happily at her, and a fourth on the floor was enthusiastically trying to climb her leg - or pull her down to his level, Steve wasn't sure which. "I don't want to have children. I don't even
like
children! Why am I inflicting this on myself? It's all your fault!"

"You sure look like you're suffering," he told her unsympathetically. "Why, if they saw you now, anyone might think you're just a great big softie at heart! If you're not careful, you'll ruin your hard-boiled spacer image!"

"Oh, shut up!" - but she couldn't hide a reluctant smile.

At Steve's request the spacers gave special attention to orphans, and to children traveling without companions. They spent as much time with them as they could and spoiled them shamelessly, aided and abetted by the hospital staff.

Steve noticed that Lieutenant-Commander Erion occasionally visited the galley. Some of the personnel from the hospital's administrative section also stopped by from time to time. He had no idea why, and was too busy to ask. However, the public relations potential of his idea had not escaped notice.

While
Cabot
was inbound from Vesta's system boundary, an urgent message flashed from the ship to the Fleet Sector HQ PR department, containing a detailed account of what had by now been officially dubbed 'Operation Sweet Tooth'. The report was supplemented by vid and photographic coverage. The PR staff looked through it all, gleefully rubbed their hands together at such a publicity windfall, and released everything to Vesta's news media.

The immediate result was pandemonium as
Cabot
settled into orbit. Dozens of journalists aboard rented or borrowed small craft all tried to dock with her at once, demanding to be allowed to interview anyone and everyone aboard, take pictures and vid, and get more details of a project that had captured the public's imagination. The hospital had to remind them firmly that the childrens' health was the primary concern, and nothing would be allowed to interfere with it. OrbCon was asked to help by restricting non-essential traffic in
Cabot
's vicinity, in marked contrast to her previous visit. It agreed to the request with amused alacrity.

After some confusion, a news conference was arranged at the Cargo Terminal the following morning. Captain Nash represented the 257th Expeditionary Hospital, accompanied by some of his medical staff. The ship was represented by Captain Volschenk, Lieutenant-Commander Erion, Bosun Cardle, Tom Higgins and Steve, all in their best uniforms.

Steve was embarrassed to find that, as the originator of the idea, he was required to attend the press conference. "Can't I get out of this?" he pleaded with the Bosun. "I'm just a nineteen-year-old Spacer Third Class. I don't want all this fuss! Besides, all I had was the initial idea. I could never have made it work without all of you."

"True, but it was your idea. I'm afraid you can't duck out of the limelight on this one! Just try to relax and be yourself. I don't like journalists - most of them are pushy bastards - but remember, they've also got a job to do. If you help them do it, they'll go easier on you."

The journalists grilled them for over an hour. Steve was grateful that the Captain and the Bosun fielded the initial questions, taking some of the pressure off him. When his turn came, he tried to follow the Bosun's advice. He thanked the journalists for their interest, and reminded them of all who'd participated in Operation Sweet Tooth, including
Baobab
's crew at Radetski.

"But it was your idea initially, wasn't it? And you contributed a month of your profit share to start the ball rolling, right?" a questioner demanded.

"That's so, but others gave as much or more, so please don't focus on that, or on me. I think it was Thomas Edison who said, 'Genius is one per cent inspiration, ninety-nine per cent perspiration'. Operation Sweet Tooth didn't involve genius, but you could probably apply a similar ratio. I may have had the idea, and donated some money, and done some of the work, but that's less than one per cent of all that was involved. All the rest, ninety-nine per cent plus, came from others. They should all share in the credit."

"Contributing so much money hardly seems like 'less than one per cent' to me," another journalist observed. "It was more like twenty per cent of the funds raised for the operation."

"You're looking at it the wrong way," Steve rejoined. "Put yourself in the shoes of a spacer or nurse who's just come off a tough shift. He or she is tired, hungry, perhaps sore and aching after hard work. Instead of taking a hot shower, enjoying a meal, or getting into a warm, comfortable bed for a good night's sleep, they willingly spent hours preparing and baking cookies and pastries, or wheeling carts full of them to and from the wards, or playing with energetic kids who demand their attention
right now
, without understanding or caring how tired they are. I'd say doing that day after day was far more costly to them than a cash donation, although many gave that too. They didn't just give money - they gave themselves."

"You may be right," his questioner conceded, to murmurs of agreement from many of the others. "Is it true you got the idea for Operation Sweet Tooth after meeting a badly injured little girl - an orphan like yourself?"

"Yes. I know... " Steve paused for a moment, feeling a sudden lump in his throat. He had to swallow before going on. "I know how hard it is for a child to suddenly have a gaping hole torn in his life where his parents had been. I figured if we could do anything at all to give these kids a little joy, a little happiness, to help overcome that hollow emptiness I knew they were feeling inside, it would be worth it. Emina's only five years old - the same age I was when my parents were killed. I hope she finds a family to love her and take her in as one of their own. She deserves that, after all she's been through."

There was a long moment of sympathetic silence, then came the question Steve had hoped to hear. "We understand you've already used all the money you raised, just on this trip. You're going to make two more. How are you going to keep this up?"

"I don't know," he admitted frankly. "We spent about ninety thousand credits, yet even with careful rationing, we ran out of supplies yesterday morning. If we want to do this properly, including hiring more cooks and adding more ovens, it'll cost at least three hundred thousand credits over the next two trips. We'll be transporting about twelve hundred injured children and the same number of travel companions, so that works out to a hundred and twenty-five credits per head. Given fourteen days aboard on average, including journey time, transport from planetside at Radetski and to planetside at Vesta, and in- and out-processing, that's about nine credits each per day. We're doing all this in space, where costs are much higher than planetside, so I don't think that's excessive.

"I hope people who see or hear this interview will consider sponsoring one child for one day. Perhaps you, the media, could help to co-ordinate that? I think it'd be a very worthwhile public service. Also, I hope corporations will offer to help. We don't want anything for ourselves. We'll donate to Radetski whatever's surplus to our needs, in cash or in kind, to help children whose injuries are less severe. There are tens of thousands of them back there, still undergoing treatment. Many of them are orphans too."