Children of Hope (21 page)

Reddening, Anthony studied his fingernails. “I hope it’s not so, but can’t be sure.”

A long silence. Then, “Thank you for the warning, Mr Stadholder.”

“That was why I came. And to see Randy, of course.” An apologetic shrug. “Might I know when you’ll be sending him groundside?”

“Tomorrow. I’m too played out this afternoon.”

After a few polite phrases, the two shook hands, and Mr Seafort summoned Tad Anselm to show Anth the way.

We sat in silence.

“Come here. I’m going to try to stand.”

I gave him my shoulder, and he heaved himself up. “Tolliver was right about my sleeping fifteen hours a day. I’m exhausted.” As before, he took my hand. Slowly, we walked down the corridor. “Now, unfinished business. Are you prepared to obey me, Randy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What constitutes obedience?”

“I’ll do exactly what you say, when you say it, with no argument.”

“How sure are you of this?”

“Very sure.” I was sweating.

“If you don’t believe in God, what have you to swear on?”

“I believe in honor, sir. Dad said honor is the base from which—”

“Are you prepared to swear on your honor you’ll be obedient while you’re in my custody?”

It was no small thing he asked.

But if I couldn’t give it, what had I to give?

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I’ll expect it so. Small mistakes are natural, and don’t count. But what I tell you, henceforth you will do.”

“Yes, sir.”

His hand squeezed mine. I felt a turbulent excitement, as if my course was steered. I managed to stifle a sigh. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be for long. The Bishop awaited.

I saw Mr Seafort to his hatch.

“You’re confined to your cabin for the day. I’ll have someone drop off clean garments. Be sure to change your shirt; your clothes look like you slept in them.”

I had.

Mr Seafort slept through the dinner hour, into the night.

I found a new dilemma: I grew ever more hungry, and couldn’t go to dinner. I couldn’t even leave my cabin. A joey could starve, waiting for an old man to waken and remember him.

At last, late in the evening, I thought of the solution. My cabin had a caller, and it was marked with the purser’s extension. After many rings, someone answered. I got the code for the galley, punched it in. “I’m Randy Carr, in the cabin next to the Captain’s. Is Alejandro there? Do you think he might bring me something to eat? Mr Seafort said I had to stay in my room, and I’m starving.”

It worked. The ship’s boy, bleary-eyed and yawning, knocked soon after at my door. I didn’t much notice what he brought; it was gone minutes after. I’d have cajoled him to stay for conversation, but he stood swaying so sleepily I thanked him profusely and sent him on his way.

Then, with nothing else to do, I undressed, showered, and crawled into bed.

I woke early for my last day aboard
Olympiad.
I found the clean clothes the purser had sent. Naval blues, of all things, albeit with no insignia. They’d do. I washed again—it was becoming a habit—carefully combed my unruly hair. I would go to my imprisonment with dignity.

A knock at the hatch. Was it time? I braced myself.

“Hi. Pa says to join us for breakfast.”

Frowning at the anticlimax, I followed Mikhael down the corridor. He was in full uniform, apparently on duty. He headed not to the Dining Hall, but to a small compartment not far from the bridge.

“What’s this?”

“Officers’ mess. We take breakfast and lunch here. Dining Hall’s only for dinner.”

The mess had several tables. Mikhael chose a small one. A steward brought a pan of eggs, dished it out. On the table were hot rolls. My mouth watered.

“See that long table?” Mik leaned close. “By custom, if the Captain sits there, anyone’s free to join him. At a small table, he’s to be left alone.”

“Ah, there you are.”

Mikhael shot to his feet. Somewhat more slowly, so did I. Mr Seafort strolled in, a hand lightly across Mr Anselm’s arm.

“Thanks, Tad. Steward, two more portions.” He and Tad pulled up chairs. “Janey’s with her mother.” A look, which might have been disapproval, or might not. I couldn’t be sure. To me, “Sleep well?”

“Yes, sir.” Like a log, actually. Well, yesterday had been an eventful day.

“There’s a midmorning shuttle, Randy. You’ll be on it.”

I nodded.

“What?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”
Manners, Randy. You can do it if you try.

We fell to.

I said tentatively, “Might I discuss … what I heard yesterday?”

“Tad, Mik, you’ll keep it to yourselves?”

Immediate agreement.

“Very well.”

“Sir, what will Anth do if the Bishop … if the Church presses him? Will he rebel?”

“Now,
that
I shouldn’t discuss.” But his eyes showed he took no offense. “It’s apostasy to criticize the Church; its direction is of Lord God, and I won’t hear any of you say otherwise. I’m sure the Stadholder is well aware of this. Any concerns he has will be voiced so as to conform with canon law.”

Anth wouldn’t rebel outright, I was to understand, but he’d fight in that maddening way a government has, of dragging its feet, picking at every detail.

I asked, “If the Bishop wants us again made a colony, what can he do to enforce it?”

“Excommunication is a most powerful weapon. Misused, it could wreak havoc. Enough of that. Eat your toast.”

Always a good idea. “Yessir.”

He checked his watch. “You’ll be leaving from the Level 1 airlock. We’ll just have time to visit the bridge. I want to make an entry in the Log.”

I was puzzled, but said nothing while he chatted with his son and Tad. What difference did it make, whether or not he saw me to the lock?

A big difference. In my mind’s eye, I hesitated at the airlock hatch, shook hands with him gravely, muttered something that would show my gratitude for all he’d done.

Ridiculous. Even if he hadn’t killed Pa as I’d mistakenly believed all these years, Mr Seafort was nothing to me. Just yesterday, he’d chewed me out like—like a child, for a petty mistake. He’d spoken to me more vehemently than anyone had since Dad. I respected him, yes, but …

“It’s time, Randy. You’ll help me to the bridge.” Carefully, he stood. “Yes, definitely improved.” Still, he took my hand firmly and walked with jaunty step toward his bridge.

He left me in the corridor, went to his console, made a note, slipped a chip into a case, thrust it in his pocket. “All right, they’ll be waiting.” Again he took my hand, led me as a small child to the airlock hatch.

I steeled myself for a good-bye, but he barely paused. “I’m going through, Mr … Ardin, is it? Notify Mr Tolliver.”

He’d see me to the shuttle. I felt comforted, but it would only be for a few minutes.

The way to the Station’s shuttle bay was marked by a blinking sign, and lights. We followed what seemed a well-worn path. At the shuttle hatch, I paused. “Mr Seafort, I want to thank—”

“Later, joey.” He guided me within. Was he going to buckle me into my seat? Resentment welled into a hard knot. It was inexcusable to treat me always as a small child. Didn’t he know that—

Yes. He buckled me into my seat.

I pouted.

The pilots began the checklist.

Mr Seafort took the seat alongside.

I gaped.

At last, a twinkle. “Did you think I’d let you face it alone?”

Why couldn’t I erase a big, goofy grin? Why did my heart want to leap from my chest?

After a time, my mind reasserted itself. “Sir, I thought you can’t go groundside. Your spine …”

His face was grave. “It’s time I found out.” He stayed my protest with a raised palm. “I have business ashore, son. I’ve no choice.”

“Yes, Dad.”

Oh, Lord God!
Scarlet, I spun away, tried to bury myself in the adjoining empty seat. I couldn’t have said it.
I mustn’t have!

“It’s all right.” Mr Seafort’s voice called me from a far place. “Truly, it’s all right. He understands, and so do I.”

“I’m so sorry, I never meant, please forgive—”

“It’s all right, joey.”

For a blissful moment I believed him. Then, “You don’t understand. You’re not my—I can never forget Dad, not for an instant!”

Bony fingers gripped my shoulder. “That’s right! Feel it, know it! You’ll never forget him. We won’t allow it.”

“But I called …”

His voice was soft. “And that’s all right too. It’s what you’ve needed, what I took away from you, and what poor Anthony, despite his best effort, couldn’t give. Are you crying? Good, let it flow. For Derek, whom I miss every day of my life. For your misery. For all the unfairness of the world.”

His fingers crept into mine as the engines caught and our shuttle slipped away from the Station’s steady light.

I
’D BEEN GONE A
matter of weeks, yet I peered at Centraltown Spaceport as if I hadn’t seen it in a lifetime.

Perhaps it was so.

As we strode through the terminal, Mr Seafort kept a tight grip on my hand, reducing me to dependence. Yet for all that, I wasn’t all that uneasy being treated as a joeykid. My mind sheered away from my stunning gaffe in the shuttle, and his response; the thoughts left me uneasy, confused, startled. And something more. Secure. It was odd: in hours, perhaps minutes, I would lose Mr Seafort forever, but I felt secure as I hadn’t since Dad had bid me farewell.

Mr Seafort glanced back at the shuttle. “Well, that was the easy half.” He steered me to the streetside entrance, where, to my surprise, Mr Branstead waited by the door of an electricar.

“Hallo, Jerence, how’s the homestead?”

“It’s been many years. I spent time at Pa’s grave.”

“Harmon,” said the Captain softly. To me, “Did you know him, joey?”

“The old man?” I nodded. “When I was little.” He’d come to a party, with his sons and their wives.

“I deceived him, and he forgave me.” Mr Seafort seemed lost in reverie.

“Well, now.” Mr Branstead eyed me. “I hardly expected this joey at your side.” I couldn’t tell if he was glad to see me alive.

“You’d rather I left him in a cell?”

“He faces worse, now.” We climbed into Mr Branstead’s car. He said heavily, “I should have told you who he was.”

“I agree. Why didn’t you?”

“Randy begged me.” We drove off, toward the city center.

After a moment Mr Seafort asked, “Where to, and when?”

“The courthouse, four
P.M
.”

“And then?”

“Carr Plantation. Everyone will be there.”

“Everyone?”

“Virtually.”

“Was getting them together difficult?”

“For heaven’s sake!” Mr Branstead rolled his eyes. “You’re
Nick Seafort,
and visiting Hope Nation for the first time in … what, twenty years?”

“Longer.” Mr Seafort made a face. “Notoriety.”

We passed Churchill Park, along the road I’d traveled with Mikhael, Kev, and Anselm, before my folly.

“Sir?” My voice was tentative. “I thought someone from the Church would be waiting.”

“Most joeykids suffer from the misapprehension that they’re the center of the universe.”

It took me a while to puzzle it out. “You mean, you’re to deliver me?”

“No doubt an appropriate moment will arise.” To Mr Branstead, “The Stadholder?”

“He’ll see us at his residence, obviously. I don’t know about earlier.”

We pulled into the packed lot. Joeys milled about the walk fronting the court building. Some pointed.

Mr Seafort took a breath, tried to smooth his hair. “Ouch. I keep forgetting.” To me, “I’ll deposit you in the front row. You’re to stay there.”

“Yes, sir.” No arguments, no disobedience. I’d promised. I’d leave him better memories of me than he had.

Some of the crowd waved papers to autograph. Others shouted encouragement and welcome. Mr Seafort waved as we swept past.

Inside, the lobby was full of milling folk. Mr Branstead steered us to a lift. We got off at the second floor, made our way to the largest courtroom. It was packed. To my surprise, a holocam was satlinked from the back of the hall.

Mr Seafort sought my hand, as usual gripped it firmly. “Let’s go, joey. Oh.” He stopped short. “If there’s any conversation about you, try not to look surprised.”

I gulped. It didn’t sound promising.

“Ready, Jer?”

Mr Branstead’s eyes lightened into a smile. “Yes, sir.”

We strode down the aisle, to a growing roar of welcome and applause. I glanced about. Prominent citizens, many from the Zone. Vince Palabee. In the back, Mr Dakko.

Arghh! In the third row, along the aisle, Bishop Scanlen. I tried hard to look inconspicuous.

We strode to the bar. To my astonishment, Lieutenant Skor was in the front row, guarding an empty seat. Mr Seafort turned me toward her, propelled me with a gentle swat. He and Mr Branstead climbed to the raised bench. I settled next to Ms Skor. She gave me a curt nod.

At length the applause died. Mr Branstead grinned. “Remarkable. No advertisement, no public notice, and the whole town’s joined us!”

Cheers and applause.

“Some of you know me from many years ago; I’m Jerence Branstead, once of Branstead Plantation. I was able to persuade my good friend Nicholas Seafort that in the free state he did so much to preserve, he wasn’t yet forgotten. And—” He could get no further. A roar of approval.

“And with that assurance, he made his first trip groundside in over five years, to greet you. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the former Secretary-General of the United Nations, the hero of Hope Nation, Captain Nick Seafort!”

A standing ovation. It seemed to go on forever.

Mr Seafort raised his hands. Eventually, the din subsided. “Good heavens,” he said. A pause. “I don’t believe I was that popular in days of old.”

A roar of mirth.

“Thanks for your welcome. I meant what I said; decades ago, during the fish war, I was in serious conflict with your government, not to mention my own. In fact, Harmon Branstead was quite put out with me.”

Chuckles.

“Which gives me all the more pleasure to tell you I met yesterday with your Stadholder, the Honorable Anthony Carr, and that I was most impressed with him. An outstanding young man, who—”