Children of Hope (26 page)

“It’s a Naval shuttle, laid on especially for us.”

“Oh. Where’s Tad?”

“Who knows?” Mik yawned. “He’ll be on leave again, shortly. For a few days, anyway.”

“And you?”

“You colonials are all glitched. I’m going aloft to stay with Pa.”

After a time, Mr Seafort emerged from the terminal. I watched his stride. With a pang, I realized he no longer needed my hand to steady himself.

“There, that’s better.”

Mikhael asked, “What was so important, Pa?”

“I called Tolliver. I sent him aloft when the fireworks started.”

“You’re about to see him. What was so impor—”

“Ship’s business, I think. Hmm.” Absently, Mr Seafort took my hand, started up the stairs. “No, personal matters.” We ducked through the door, found seats, began to buckle in. “I made clear how he was to treat Randy, in case …” He hesitated. “In case I don’t do well with liftoff.”

“Pa!”

“It has to be faced. I think I’ll be all right, but …” He shrugged. “If the graft separates, paralysis, perhaps. Or …”

“Or what?” Mikhael and I spoke as one.

“Death. Is your buckle fastened, Randy? I can’t see.”

Mikhael unstrapped, hurried to the cockpit. In a few moments he returned.

A smile played about Mr Seafort’s lips. “Feeling better?”

“I told the pilot …”

“I can imagine.” Mr Seafort wriggled into a more comfortable position. “It should be all right.” His fingers flitted to mine. “If for any reason, it’s not so—” A moment’s pause. “—I love you for your own sake, Randolph. As well as Derek’s.”

My heart grew to twice its size, and I could say nothing.

The engines whined. We VTOL’d our takeoff. I braced myself, knowing I ought to relax.

The main engines kicked.

A fist slammed me into my seat.

“Pa? Pa, are you all right?” Mikhael thrust past me, floating in the zero gee. I gulped, glad I hadn’t eaten since morning.

“Fine, son.” Mr Seafort’s voice was like chalk on a board. “It’s a bit … fine, really.”

“Tell me.”

I turned my head.

His face was gray, and he took shallow breaths. “We’ll see when we get aboard. It … hurts.”

“There’s no God.” My tone was savage. “Or He wouldn’t allow this!”

“He allows … a lot … I don’t understand.” Mr Seafort’s eyes were shut. “Or condone. I’ve told Him so. Ahh.” He winced.

Mikhael swam, handhold to handhold to the cockpit. “Pilot!” He tried to hammer on the hatch, but the first blow pushed him back, and he floated helpless until momentum brought him to the hull. “Pilot!”

The hatch opened.

“Call
Olympiad.
Take us directly to her Level 1 airlock. Have Dr Romez stand by the hatch.”

“Is he—”

“I don’t know. Hurry.” Using the handhold Mik flipped, kicked himself back to our seats.

I muttered, “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t gotten in trouble—”

“Randy, shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” Mik’s voice was soft, but had a dangerous edge.

“What did I—”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you. Understand? If not, learn it fast. We make choices, we do what we must. We take responsibility. It’s being adult. Don’t wrap yourself in guilt for what Pa did. Now, be silent!”

Any thoughts of becoming a cadet vanished. I wouldn’t want to share a wardroom with him. Life could be hazardous.

Laboriously, the shuttle mated with
Olympiad
’s lock. Dr Romez came aboard at once. “Can you feel this?” He tapped Mr Seafort’s foot.

“Yes.”

“Excellent. And this? Good. The graft is intact. I’ll get you on a gurney here, in zero gee. Then we’ll wheel you into the lock, where you’ll pick up grav.”

“I’m no greenie.”

“Of course not, sir; I’m a trifle tense. Tolliver’s reset the gravitron to one-third gee. Think you can handle it? We can set the gravity off entirely if you’d like.”

“Leave it at one gee.”

“Not tonight. Pain means damage; I want to get you scanned before we decide. We’ll float you toward the lock in a moment.”

“Be careful how you bend me.”

“Aye aye, sir. Here; this will help.” He grasped the Captain’s wrist.

“Don’t give me meds that—damn!”

“Too late. What a pity. Mr Tamarov, you’ll help?” Together, they maneuvered Mr Seafort from his seat. He was conscious, but near sleep.

“… this is over, have to do more high-gee work. Set it at one and a quarter, go to one and a half …”

“Right, sir. Watch your head.”

After a time, they had him on a gurney. He’d moaned only once. So had I. Gently, they strapped him under the sheet.

“Mik, see Randy’s fed and bathed. His old cabin for now. Stay with him ’til he sleeps …”

“Yes, sir.”

They maneuvered into the lock. Mik and I crowded in. Gravity took hold. Mr Seafort gasped, clenched his teeth, and made no further sound.

Two med techs were waiting in
Olympiad
’s corridor. With Dr Romez, they hurried the Captain off to sickbay.

Mik stood watching, his hand around my shoulder.

No one woke me. I slept the night, and half the day.

By afternoon I was up. Unsure what to do, I knocked at Mr Seafort’s hatch. No answer. Back to my cabin. Before the hatch could close, a familiar voice. “Ah, there you are. Come, let’s go see Pa.”

“Is he better?”

“In a lot of pain, but Romez is hoping he’ll heal.”

“He doesn’t know?” I fell in alongside him. It was odd, trying to walk normally in one-third gee. One, well, overstepped. The body tried to fight a pull that wasn’t there. I sort of bobbed along the corridor. Mik did somewhat better.

Shyly, I let Mik guide me into the sickbay. The Captain was scowling at Dr Romez. “… might as well hurt in my own cabin, or on the bridge.”

“It’s better if you’re lying still.”

“How do you know?”

The doctor hesitated. “I don’t, but …” He sighed. “This evening. Stay in bed until then.”

“Until dinner, no later. Hello, boys.” The Captain studied me with a slight frown. “Randy, you’re not in blues.”

“They cleaned my old clothes, and—”

“You’re asking for remission of enlistment?”

“No, sir!” A pang of alarm.

“Put on your uniform. I’ll wait.”

I scurried back to my cabin, cheeks aflame. I’d let him down. It was a minor thing, but he deserved better.

Five minutes later, I hurried back to sickbay, tugging at my starched new blues.

“… really ticked off when you wouldn’t let me join the squads clearing out the farm.”

“It troubles you, Mik?”

I halted outside their cubicle.

“Of course. And I think you knew it.”

“Your manner made it clear.”

“Sorry, Pa.” A pause. “No, sir, I’m not. I’m angry.”

“Because I wouldn’t risk your life?”

“Am I an officer, or not?”

“I concede the point.” A pause, the creak of a bed. “Ahh, a bit better. I shudder to send you in harm’s way, Mik. You’re truly my son … and I can’t help thinking about Alexi. To lose you both …”

“It’s my life to risk. I just finished explaining that to your new … protégé.”

“I’ve no choice but to lend the joeykid a hand. I’m responsible for Derek, as for your father.”

“Not really, and you know it.”

“Well, not in a legal sense. But if I’d asserted myself to prohibit Derek from joining us … you know, Mik, the boy’s quite desperate for a father. Twice he slipped and called me ‘Dad’.”

“Will you adopt him?”

“It’s become rather my pattern, hasn’t it?” A chuckle. “I’ll admit it’s done you no harm. But he’d have to agree, and the Stadholder. I doubt his mother will be an obstacle. Poor woman, she’s lost in another world.”

“Is it what you want?”

“The truth is, I’ve rather come to like him.”

I stirred, suddenly warm.

Mik asked, “Could Randy be ship’s boy and live alongside you?

“Why not? He’s still a child, whatever he thinks. Perhaps he’ll take to Janey. You’re rather old to baby-sit.”

“There’s always”—Mik’s voice was cautious—“her mother.”

“Poor Corrine. I’m not very kind to her.”

“Randy sat and played with Janey that day I watched her. Made a starship out of her toy holovid. Her barrette was the ship’s launch.”

I shifted, embarrassed.

“He’s not a bad sort, Mik.” A pause. “But he’s got a lot to learn. For example, when he lurks outside hatchways, he ought to breathe softly, and not shuffle his feet.”

A full minute passed before I could bring myself to walk through the hatch.

Father and son regarded me with some disfavor.

“I did it again.” I scuffed my shoes.

“Indeed. Why?”

“I dunno.” To hear what he thought of me.

“Does my opinion of you matter so?” Had he read my mind?

I’d give anything not to have to answer. “I guess.”

“Well, now. Shall I discipline you as your guardian, or as Captain?”

I knew the inside of a cell, and was anxious to avoid it. But as parent … a vista opened up, more obscure than I could fathom, frightening as well as alluring. I took a deep breath, knowing he’d slap me, or worse. “As guardian, sir.”

“Very well. Go to your cabin, stand in the corner facing the bulkhead until you’re sure you won’t do it again.”

“The corner? I’m way too old for—”

“You’re not, and be thankful for it. Go.”

Fuming, I stalked back to my cabin.

If I locked the hatch, sat in the chair, no one would know. When someone came, I could jump up and …

I sighed. Face it, Randy: do you want his guidance or not? If not, he’ll probably let you go.

But you’ll need adult permissions for another year or so.

Well, more than that; on Hope Nation, as well as Earth, the age of full majority was twenty-two.

Mom’s a Limey; she needs more looking after than you. Yet you’re more than Anth can handle. So, Mr Seafort is your only choice. Stop fighting him.

But, standing in the corner? No one ever made you do anything so babyish.

You were ready to die for hurting him. Now you won’t stand in a corner for offending him? Do you pretend to have honor?

With a sigh, feeling an idiot, I put myself in the corner of my cabin. How long? Until I was sure, he’d said.

Once before I’d resolved not to spy on Dad—that is, on Mr Seafort. I’d meant it, too. So how could I be sure?

The bulkhead was steel-gray. Here and there, irregularities in its finish caught the eye. To my right was the built-in dresser. On it was—no. He’d bade me face the bulkhead. That meant looking at the wall, and nothing else. Do it right, or sit down and know you’re a fraud.

I shifted from foot to foot, growing ever more impatient. I’d give him an hour. Not a moment more.

Time slowed, until I could barely stand it. My eye roved the speckles in the bulkhead. I thrust hands in pockets, thrust out my jaw.

At last, an hour. My calves ached.

Was I sure?

Another hour.

Eons later, the hatch opened. Mr Seafort, in a wheelchair. A vein in his temple pulsed, but his tone was affable enough. “Ready for dinner?”

I turned back to the bulkhead. “No, sir.”

“Why not?”

Shame, rage, sheer mulishness. “I’m still not sure.”

“Very well, son.” And he was gone.

I favored one leg, then another; my back ached as well as my calves. Would I spy on him again? Probably not; I wanted to be better than I was. I owed it to Dad and Mr Seafort. To myself too, if truth be told.

The evening was endless.

What point in torturing myself? Almost, I gave it up. A little while longer …

Like a baby, I cried some, hating myself for it.

At length, well past my usual bedtime, I could stand it no more. I sagged, hobbled to the chair, massaged my legs.

I went to his cabin, knocked softly, lest he be asleep.

My eyes were red.

He sat in a straight chair, Janey on his lap. “Yes, son?”

“I’m sure. I won’t do it again.”

“Excellent. Go to the galley, tell them I said to give you a meal. Then go to bed.”

“Yes, sir.” I turned to go.

“Come here.” Puzzled, I bent over his chair. He enveloped me in a hug.

Afterward, trudging back from the galley, I marveled at the man into whose hands I’d fallen. He chastised me like a baby, yet trusted me as an adult to carry out my punishment. Then hugged me like a joeykid.

My head spinning, I fell into my bunk.

The next days were a blur. Crewmen began to drift back from shore leave; the pace of shipboard life quickened. Alejandro, on orders from above, took me through the massive ship, showing and explaining every compartment. Slowly I learned my way about. Every day I had to don a fresh uniform; when I didn’t, Mr Seafort was quite sharp about it. He made sure my cabin was stocked with a supply of blues and grooming accessories.

Then he decided I needed my hair cut—it looked fine, but there was no arguing with him—so off I went to the barber.

I helped squads stow cargo and supplies. Well, I didn’t actually help them load, but I ran to fetch manifest chips, tie-downs, replacement lights.

Mr Seafort abandoned his wheelchair, but walked slowly, with a hint of unspoken pain. Mr Tolliver—the Captain had heard me refer to him as “Tolliver,” and brought me up short—took up much of the burden, helping handle problems, such as smuggling, caused by the end of shore leave. As I began to see how doggedly he protected Mr Seafort, my dislike of him eased. His acid manner made it easier; I rather liked the carefully concealed humor behind it.

Meanwhile, I discovered there were no such items as hatch solvents or cargo diffusers. I plotted dark revenge against the sailors who’d sent me on fool’s errands, until Mik explained it was a form of teasing, that it prefaced their accepting me as one of their own.

In the evenings, a trifle lonely, I wandered the lounges with Alec, or went to Mr Seafort’s cabin. Our second day, he’d sat me down, made clear the difference between on-watch and off-duty times; during the latter I was welcome without invitation. I checked with Mikhael to see if he meant it; Mik shook his head, told me the question was absurd.

In the Captain’s cabin, I taught Janey games or toyed with a holo. At least once each day, though, Mr Seafort bade me sit with him at his gleaming table. In what I soon recognized as a ritual, he brought out a worn leather Bible, made me open it, and read aloud.