Children of Hope (29 page)

A muffled voice. Then,
“What? No, Mr Dakko. I don’t know. Mr Janks, is the ship’s boy with you? Mr Carr, or his friend?”

“No, sir.”

“I think they’re tight, Kev. Is your tank light green?”

“Which one—”

“Inside the faceplate, left side.”

“When we open, if you see a suited figure …”
A long pause.
“No, first priority is the outrider. Kill it at all costs.”
Mr Seafort’s voice was heavy.

“Even if …”

“At all costs.”

Mesmerized, I stared at the hatch, the caller, the bulkhead, waiting for acrid smoke to curl in our precious air.

All we could do was wait.

“Captain, Lawson is on his way back from the armory with laser rifles. If you give us another minute
…”

“Very well.”

Kevin’s cheeks were wet.

Randy, you idiot,
the caller.
I snatched it up, in clumsy fingers. How does one call the bridge? How does one call anywhere? No one had taught me the system yet. Wait. I’d once called the purser. There was a button … there.

A buzz. Nothing. Then, miraculously, as if it were an ordinary day, “Purser’s office.” The voice was faint.

All I could do was shout through my helmet. “This is Carr! Connect me to the bridge!”

“Who?”

“Randy Carr, the new ship’s boy!”

Clicks. A pause.

“Bridge. Seafort.” I could barely hear through the hindrance of the helmet.

“Sir, it’s Randy. I’m in—”

“Thank God!”

“—a cabin in section five.”

“Are you suited?”

“Yes. So is Kev.”

“Which cabin?”

“I dunno!”

“Look on the control panel.”

I did. I ran back to the caller, feeling an idiot. “Two fifty-seven, sir!”

“Randy …” His voice was quiet. “The corridor camera shows the outrider just outside your hatch.”

I whimpered.

“It may burn through to the cabin. Both of you, squeeze into the closet, shut the door. Master-at-arms, are you ready?”

“We’ve a dozen lasers aimed at the section hatch. Willnet’s squad is guarding the section six hatch, just in case.”

“They skitter fast, Mr Janks. Don’t let it get you.”

“I can’t hide, sir! Not if I …” I gulped. “I can’t let go of the caller.” To die was one thing. To die alone was quite another.

“Use your radio.”

“Radio?”

Lord knew what effort it required, but Mr Seafort made his voice calm. “Look to the belt at your waist. See the pad? Use frequency seven. Turn it on. Speak into the faceplate.”

“Like this?”

“No need to shout.”
His voice echoed, close and reassuring. I dialed down the volume, ran to Kev, made the same adjustments on his belt as on mine. “Kev, hide in the closet. Captain’s orders.”

He swallowed. “It’s dark there.” He sounded like a small child.

“Hurry.” I pulled his gloved hand.

There was barely room for both of us. If I squeezed in first, I doubted I could coax Kevin in. I tugged at him, maneuvered him into the storage space.

The cabin bulkhead began to smoke.

“Randy, hide! Janks, I’m opening the corridor hatch for you. Hurry!”

The alumalloy bulkhead plate dissolved. A whoosh of escaping air, then absolute silence, save for the frantic sawing of my breath.

A form quivered at the entry.

Desperately I pushed Kev deeper into the closet; there wasn’t space to shut the door.

“There he is! Fire!”
I couldn’t be hearing the speaker; there was no air. It must be my radio.

The bulkhead hole enlarged; the form spurted through. The torn bulkhead glowed red from laser strikes.

“Mr Seafort, it’s in the cabin with the boys! I’ve no shot without hitting them!”

I squeezed my fists, summoning the dregs of my courage. “Sir, take the shot! Kill it!”

“Janks, what’s it doing?”

“I can’t get too close without… it’s standing there, sir.”

“Hold your fire.”

“You said … first priority was
…
”

“I know, but … wait. If it moves toward the boys, toward the bulkhead, anywhere, burn it. But if you can save our joeys
…”

The outrider stood no more than three steps from me. Stood? It had no feet, nothing remotely like them. Colors swirled in its suit. No, in its skin. I’d read that in biology, years ago.

The alien form quivered. In an instant it would skitter our way, and overwhelm me. I’d feel the touch of acid as my suit dissolved, then nothing.

Abruptly it changed shape, seemed to shrink. Was it burning through the deck? It didn’t seem so.

Kevin gripped my shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. I don’t know why I said it. I really like you.” His voice was soft in my radio, though the alien couldn’t possibly hear him in vacuum.

The alien quivered. Its outer skin bulged, extended toward us.

“Not like this.” A sob. “I can’t die in a closet.” Kev tried to squeeze through.

It made no sense. “Mr Seafort!” I braced myself in the closet doorway.

“I hear him. Hold on, Kevin. We’re trying
—
just a
—
”
A click. Silence. Kevin hammered at my shoulder blades.

“Captain, Janks here. Any shot that hits that
—
that
—
thing will go right through it and
…”

With a frenzied effort, Kev twisted past me, faced the shifting figure. Desperately, I wrapped myself around his leg. “Mr Seafort, I can’t hold him—”

“Kevin?”
An agonized voice.
“Kev, this is Dad!”

“Daddy, it’s just staring at me. No eyes, but I know it sees me. You know what?”

“What, son?”

“I’m not brave enough.” He sounded hurt, puzzled. “I guess we’ll never have a fleet. I’m … so sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t do anything stupid
—
”

A wrench, that nearly undid my grip. “Mr Seafort, Kev’s pulling us toward—”

“Janks, take the shot!”
The Captain.

“KEVIN! I LOVE YOU SO—”
“Daddy!” A frantic kick. He slipped out of my grasp, made a shooing motion at the outrider.

The alien be damned. I launched myself from the closet, wrapped myself around Kevin’s neck.
“No, Kev!”

He threw me off, aimed a wild kick at the quivering form. “Out!” His boot grazed the alien’s midsection.

The outrider convulsed, flowed toward Kev.

He screamed, fell back atop me.

“Fire!”

A whine in my suit speaker. A half-dozen holes pierced the alien form. It flew apart. Protoplasm flew past my faceplate, sizzled on the deck. I shrieked.

Kev bucked and heaved. His elbow slammed into my gut; even through the stiff suit it caught me a mighty blow. We toppled.

A shuddering gasp.

“Where’s my son? Captain, what’s happened to Kev?”

“I’m not sure, Chris.
”

“Save him, God damn you!”

Slowly, almost deliberately, I got to my feet. My visor was fogged; my vehement exercise had overtaxed the cooling. I pounded the hatch control. The hatch opened.

On my radio, chatter, incoherent shouts, but I no longer listened. Carefully, I edged my way around the blobs of alien protoplasm, past white plastiflex boots.

I keyed my radio. “Ship’s Boy Carr reporting. To the bridge.” My voice sounded odd, even to myself.

“Randy
—
”

“I’m out of the cabin. My tank light is yellow. The outrider is … dead. Kevin’s … lying down. What do I do now, sir?”

“Janks, Class A decon!”

“Aye aye, sir. We’ll slap on a hull patch, flank, and re-air the section. Set up section four for full decon!”
It sounded like an order.

“Get to it.”

“Sir?” My voice was shrill. Odd, but my hand was shaking. Nerves. I was all right, I thought. “That outrider?”

“It’s dead, son. Stay where you are, Mr Janks will come for you.

“Yes, sir. I mean, aye aye, sir.” There was something else I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t concentrate. I slid down the bulkhead, waited peaceably for decontamination. It would be easier if I had Kevin to talk with.

They sprayed my suit over and again with harsh chemicals. Then, ever so carefully, cautioning me not to touch the outer material, they bade me step out of it. My clothes were taken to be burned. A suited sailor hosed me down, first with strange-smelling chemicals, then with soapy water. Then a long, determined rinse.

In sickbay Dr Romez gave me two shots, then two more. I had to lie down, though I didn’t want to.

The Captain called from the bridge, but I chose not to answer. Instead, I curled in a ball on clean white sheets.

Tad and Mikhael came to sit with me. They were more gentle than necessary; I’d gotten over my shakes. I asked, “Where’s Kevin?”

They exchanged glances. Tad said, “He didn’t make it.”

The laser hadn’t hit him; I knew we’d toppled away from the hole in the bulkhead through which Janks fired. I asked, “What do you mean?”

“Kevin’s dead.”

He watched me, as if expecting me to bound screaming from the bed. Or perhaps dissolve into hysterics. How little he knew me. My only concern was that my hand shook a bit. I said, “Don’t be stupid, that can’t be.” A ship’s boy mustn’t be rude to a lieutenant. They’d probably find a way to punish me; make me stand in a corner until Kevin came back. I would do it, no matter how my calves ached.

Tad’s voice was implacable. “He’s gone.”

“May I, sir?” Mik tapped his arm. “Randy, remember the men outside?”

“Janks. My jailer.” I curled my fingers. For a moment, my hand was still. Then, the tremor.

“When they fired their lasers, the alien came apart.”

“Pieces flew past my helmet.” I’d recoiled, desperate to avoid the acid.

“But not past his. It was quick, Randy. I doubt he felt any—”

“You’re lying.”

Anselm pulled him away. “Let him rest.”

I drew up my legs, lay on my side, stared at the bulkhead. I was in an obstinate mood; if they wanted me to sleep, I’d show them. I would stay awake.

Minutes, hours, years passed. The Captain stood down
Olympiad
from Battle Stations.

I tried not to doze.

“… me see him.”

“Sir, his body isn’t in condition to—”

“Move aside or I’ll go through you!” Mr Dakko’s voice was savage. “This instant, you fucking—”

A rustle. Silence.

“Oh, God! Oh, Kevin, no.” A deep rasping breath. Then another. “Oh, no.”

A sob. A terrible sound.

Slowly, I crawled out of bed. I found night shoes, slipped them on. I padded to the hatch.

In the next cubicle, Kevin lay on a bunk, zipped in a translucent plastic sack. Part of his neck was eaten away. One eye was gone. The other stared at eternity.

Mr Dakko sat nearby, his hand on his son’s.

I slipped into a chair, took his other hand, slipped his fingers into mine. “We’ll stay with him.”

Mr Dakko nodded, as if it made perfect sense. He started to speak, shook his head, squeezed my fingers so hard I started from the pain. He said, “I lived for him.”

I rested my cheek on his shoulder.

His voice was a croak. “And I failed him.”

“No, sir. I did.”

“Where are they?” Mr Seafort, outside.

Murmured voices.

His face gray and set, Mr Seafort hobbled into sickbay. He stopped behind Chris Dakko, rested his hands on his shoulders.

Mr Dakko leaped to his feet, charged the Captain, rammed him into the bulkhead. Mr Seafort’s breath caught.

Mr Dakko snarled, “Don’t speak! Don’t you dare speak!”

Paralyzed, I braced to watch the murder I hadn’t achieved.

Mr Dakko’s mouth worked. Slowly, his face crumpled. As he sagged, Mr Seafort caught him, pulled him close.

In exhaustion or defeat, Mr Dakko’s head fell to the Captain’s chest.

The two stood together. Mr Dakko’s shoulders shook.

At last the Captain murmured, “Chris, I’m so terribly, terribly sorry.”

A muffled voice.

“What?”

Mr Dakko cleared his throat, repeated, “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Not—well, a bit, but I’ve endured worse.”

A long silence. “Kev was my only son.”

“I know.”

“It’s years since I saw my daughter. He was all I …”

The Captain’s fingers flitted to Mr Dakko’s cheek, pulled away as if burned.

“And he died in terror.” Mr Dakko’s voice was bleak.

“Chris, it was over so fast, he didn’t …”

“Brave? Why in God’s name did he think he had to be brave?”

The Captain said gently, “Because you were.”

“Those years ago when they attacked
Challenger,
I was in panic. I never told him otherwise.”

“You did your duty.”

“Look at him, torn apart by that—that beast. Why him and not Randy? Kev’s worth ten of that silly—”

“Not that way, Chris.”

A long shuddering sigh. “I know.” Again, to me, louder, “I know.” It passed for apology.

“He’s gone,” said the Captain.

“Christ, I know.”

“And you’ll miss him the rest of your life.” Mr Seafort’s gentle voice was inexorable.

A soft sound of despair. Mr Dakko’s head slumped to the starched blue jacket.

The Captain said, “May I mourn with you?”

An almost imperceptible nod.

“Come, Randy, help me kneel.”

I did, but when he beckoned me to join them, I shied away, retreated to my lonely cubicle, crawled into the bunk. Mr Dakko couldn’t abide the sight of me; my very presence was an indictment of his son. Very well; I’d live alone.

Now and forever.

I lay on my side, knees drawn tight. From Kevin’s room, murmured voices.

I tried not to hear.

“You’ll take him groundside?” The Captain.

“When it’s over.”

“For you, it’s over, Chris.”

“No, it’s not!” A pause, and Mr Dakko’s voice softened. “Captain, let me—no, I
have
to stay. To see this through. Else his death means nothing.”

“That’s not rational.”

“Forty years ago you wrecked my life!” Mr Dakko’s voice was fierce. “You and the God damned fish! Don’t scowl, I’ll say what I like!”