Children of Hope (60 page)

The med tech nodded a silent greeting. Thanks to Dr Romez’s powerful drugs, Fath slept soundly, his body still, his face free of pain.

“I’ll watch him.” I wriggled out of my tunic, tossed it aside, watched it sail lazily to the back of a chair in the barely perceptible one-sixth gravity of Level 1.

The med tech got to his feet. “If he stirs …”

“I’ll call sickbay, don’t worry.” Dr Romez and I had had it out, a couple of nights past. Trying to fall asleep with a tech watching was impossible, and there was no need. The doctor had reluctantly agreed. “Besides, Romez has him onscreen.” I pointed to the holovid mounted over Fath’s bed, the compromise he’d extracted.

When I was alone, I ducked into the head, emerged after a few minutes, and flopped on my bed. Almost immediately I sprang up, to pace. This business with Harry was maddening. Was he obtuse? Did time simply not matter to his kind? We’d drawn representations of a day, tried to communicate intervals … All to no avail. It was enough to drive you to drink.

In fact …

Carefully avoiding the field of the holocam, I tiptoed to Fath’s dresser, pawed through the bottom drawer, selected a bottle that had seen use. Screw it: Fath was dead to the world, and who was to stop me?

It took teeth to open a bottle, one-armed. I used teeth.

Two good, throat-burning swigs later, I put the liquor back in its drawer.

A warm flush descended from windpipe to stomach. Carefully, I flicked off the sound to Romez’s holocam, pulled up a chair by Fath. “Thing is, Tad can’t figure him out, and everyone else hates him.”

Fath said nothing.

“So it’s kinda up to me, right? Help your dream come true.” I stared moodily at the sheets. “You’d be happy if we make peace with those buggers?”

Captain Seafort lay breathing slowly, in and out, in and out. On his bedside table an ancient metal clock ticked. It came from his father, a mean old long-dead bastard. Never met him, and hated his guts, just from Fath’s stories. I picked it up, stared moodily, worked at figuring out its code. Numbers and hands, for God’s sake. Archaic.

A second hand lurched stubbornly across the dial.

Maybe if I bashed Harry a few times with it, he’d get the idea.

“Yeah, Fath, you’d be happy.” Carefully, I set the clock back on its stand. “And I’d be …” I glanced at the holocam, turned away lest someone read my lips. “If I could only help with the breakthrough, I’d be able to do something that matters. I
need
to. Just to even things out. You say Kevin wasn’t my fault, maybe he wasn’t. Or maybe even Anth.”

I blinked hard, but the sting persisted.

“But I was riding Andy Ghent, I hated Yost before Riev ever noticed him. Tolliver’s right, I’m unstable, just like Mom. So, before I foul something up so bad even you can’t fix it, I’ll find a way to make Harry understand. You hear me?”

Fath said nothing, but I wasn’t talking to him. I raised my head, twisted my lips in a mean grimace. “Hear me? Fath believes in You, but I don’t. If You exist, You’re shit, like me. You wanna be worth my caring, do this for him! Because he—” I jabbed at Fath “—he’s worth Your exerting Yourself, as You fucking well know!”

I realized I was shouting. I muttered a curse, threw myself on my bed.

A
SULLEN HEADACHE WAS
no help to my morning.

I took breakfast in the auxiliary dining hall belowdecks, where the crew ate. Fath would no doubt have escorted me to the officers’ mess. But as ship’s boy, I couldn’t very well barge into off-limits areas.

Doggedly I chewed my reconstituted eggs, waiting for Anselm to call me to our shift with the outrider. We’d be working on the time problem again, and I didn’t look forward to our session.

A few crewmen greeted me as they came in; I made a determined effort not to growl.

At a nearby table, the master-at-arms sat with a few cronies. Across from me, a couple of comm room techs.

A shadow fell across my table. I glanced up.

Reverend Pandeker. “Good morning, my son.”

“I’m not your son.” The words came before I had a chance to consider them. On reflection, though, I didn’t care.

“It’s a figure of speech. May I sit?”

I can’t stop you.
Still, I gave it a try. “This is the crew mess. Are you crew?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

I raised my eyebrow, said nothing.

“I’m not on
Olympiad
’s roster. But I’m delegated by the Patriarchs to minister to those aboard. I’m a sort of supercargo, if you’d be technical.” He smiled. “Does it matter?” He took a seat, apparently giving up on my permission.

“You eat here often?” If so, I wouldn’t.

“Why, yes. The more so now we’re beset with tribulations. I offer solace to those crewmen who—”

“What tribulations?” After my run-in with Bishop Scanlen, offending the Reverend held no terrors.

“The devil’s spawn floating off our bow.” Pandeker spoke calmly.

“Zarky! I ought to have a look.” I made as if to stand. “Does he have horns?”

“No, a fish has no horns.” His eyes were cold. “You mock me, joey. Why do I merit your scorn? If you recall, I protested your trial after you, er, abused Captain Seafort.”

“Yeah, you wanted me sent straight to Scanlen’s frazzing farm.”

“That’s as may be. Can we not be friends?”

“When you’re friends with my father.”

“I admired Derek Carr’s—”

“Captain Seafort!” Pandeker knew damn well whom I meant.

“Ah, yes. Your … patron.”

My chin shot up, in a show of pride. “I’m legally adopted.”

“For the time being. After his trial, he’ll have little time for you.

“What trial?” My tone was scornful.

“Oh, rest assured, he’ll be called to account. Why the look of surprise? Did you truly think he’d escape unscathed?”

“From what?”

“Never mind his breathtaking arrogance, that would decide the fate of peoples—and now, of species—without consulting his betters. Consider only: he burst into the Cathedral of Holy Mother Church to haul Lord God’s Anointed from his very pulpit. He brought down a government founded in—”

“Whose?”

“Palabee’s. Ours. Hope Nation’s and that of the Church.”

“Goofjuice. It wasn’t—”

Pandeker held up a palm. “Very well. Imagine all that is forgiven. He sheltered—even now, he protects—a woman damned beyond redemption. A woman who struck down Archbishop Andori, Lord God’s representative to Hope Nation. Did he arrest her? No. Rebuke her? No. In front of the multitude, he kissed her. He’ll pay what is due, my sneering young joey. He’ll see flames, if not here, at home. The Patriarchs won’t be trifled with.” His face was red.

“You hate him.” It wasn’t a question.

“He’s sorely misguided.” Pandeker spoke without hesitation. “And I’m certain he’s damned himself beyond redemption. But I bear hate for no man.”

“Why don’t you go—”

“Ah, there you are.” A firm hand on my good shoulder. I peered upward. Mikhael. “Mr Anselm’s ready for you.”

I jumped up, Pandeker’s smug hypocrisy forgotten. “Why didn’t he page me?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Mik steered me to the hatch. In the corridor he said, “That didn’t seem a friendly chat.”

“That frazzing old—”

His fingers fastened on my upper arm. “Want some brotherly advice? If Pa hears you’ve been rude to Pandeker, you’ll catch hell.”

“Why?” I tried—without success—to twist free. “He’s inciting the crew against Corrine, and—”

“Isn’t Pa’s position difficult enough, without you making it worse?”

Abashed, I let him squeeze my arm until he felt he’d made his point. Then, “Mik, he says Fath will be sent to trial.”

“Hurry, Tad’s waiting.” As we climbed the ladder, he added, “Pa has friends and influence, but …” A sigh. “Helping unseat the Bishops may have gone too far.”

“Not just trial.” My voice caught. “Pandeker said he’ll see flames.”

“I doubt it’ll come to that. Fath saved home system. Too many joeys revere him. But a trial … it’s possible.”

“What can we do to protect him?”

“Not a thing.” Mik’s tone was cheerful. “You imagine fear of trial would sway him one iota from what he thinks right?”

“Of course not.” But I was glum. Sure, I admired my new father’s bravery. But suicide was another matter.

“Hallo, Randy.” Lieutenant Anselm’s genial voice, as we rounded the corridor bend.

“Sir.” Dutifully, I saluted, came to attention.

“As you were. Shall we give it another try?” He seemed determinedly cheerful.

“Yes, sir.” The three of us headed to the barrier and the puter-controlled servos. Harry waited impassively, halfway down his corridor. He stood near the airlock, only an occasional twitch betraying that he was still alive.

I blurted, “What’s that?” An odd contraption lay on the negotiating table: a small sphere with a stiff wire protruding from a groove through its center. At the end of the wire was a tiny ball.

“Something I had Chief McAndrews whip up last night,” Tad Anselm said proudly. “Watch!” He flicked a power switch. The sphere glowed softly. Slowly, the wire turned. The ball at its end eventually rotated clear around the sphere.

“What do you think?” Anselm watched his gadget proudly.

“That one of you is glitched.” Immediately I regretted it, but I couldn’t recall the words. Behind Anselm, Mikhael scowled fiercely. I said hurriedly, “Sorry, sir. What in hell—er, what is it supposed to be?”

“A sun, of course. With a planet. It’ll help us define a year.”

I giggled. “Unless Harry thinks we’re giving him a night-light.” Both Anselm and Mikhael glared. I shrugged. “Sorry. I’m having a silly day. Let’s give it a try. May I bring it in?”

Anselm said doubtfully, “Mik?”

“Pa would have a fit.”

“Oh, come on, uh … sir. I’ve been with Harry before. He hasn’t hurt me.” Casually, I drifted toward the suit locker. “I’ll take a laser, if you prefer. Just in case.” How they’d expect me to carry a pistol and the contraption at once, one-armed, I didn’t mention.

To my astonishment, they let me go. A quarter hour later, I’d cycled through the hatch lock, carefully set the Chief Engineer’s gizmo on the corridor deck, and made my way back to our table.

On his screen Anselm drew a circle, representing a sun; dutifully Jess, the puter, had the servo re-create it on an alumalloy plate in Harry’s corridor. Tad added a planet. The servo lowered the plate for Harry to taste. The outrider flowed over it, withdrew himself. No other response.

“It’s the same as that.” I pointed to the glowing device. “Look.” No reaction. “Sir, have Jess put the gizmo next to the plate we drew.”

“Very well.”

The servo lowered Tad’s device to the deck. Harry surged forward, as if to flow atop it, stopped abruptly. He stood over it, quivering.

“Come on, damn you.” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud, until Mikhael shot me an annoyed look. I’d really have to watch myself, lest they send me back to my cabin. “Sir, may I?” I drew another sun, with a planet considerably advanced in orbit from the last drawing. Next to it, I drew the symbol we humans had agreed would represent time: a capital M. “May I have Jess draw it?”

“Very well.”

The servo etched a plate. Harry flowed over it. A pause. The plate smoked and sizzled. When Harry withdrew, the plate was erased.

“Erasure means ‘No,’” Tad said slowly. “What do you mean, ‘No’? Of course planets revolve. You can’t just say ‘No.’” He sounded aggrieved.

We tried adding planets, showing different systems. Even a laborious attempt at night and day. After a time, Harry erased each plate.

After two frustrating hours, Tad threw up his hands. “I give up. Maybe Tolliver’s right: we can’t communicate. All he says is ‘no.’”

“Sir …” I made my voice polite; I’d irked him enough for one day. “How about, ‘I don’t understand’?”

“But erasure is negative.”

“‘No, I don’t get it.’”

“Mik?”

“As good a guess as any.” He keyed up a word list. “We haven’t agreed on a symbol for noncomprehension.”

“Perhaps we have one now.” Tad looked glum. “We’ll be using it a lot.”

Damn it, even I could see that we needed the concept of time. How else could Fath negotiate when something was to be done? I chewed my lip.

Tad said, “Think Harry will mind if we take a break?”

“Sir, may I try something?” I jumped from my seat.

“I suppose. I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“I’ll be right back!” I scurried down the corridor, didn’t run ’til I was out of sight past the bend.

I raced to our cabin, slapped open the hatch, startling the med tech watching over Fath. The Captain lay unmoving, his chest slowly rising and falling. I hesitated, wishing I could show him my idea. Perhaps it was better this way; if I succeeded, we’d surprise him with a significant breakthrough.

Would they dare try him, if he brought home a treaty of peace?

I grabbed the ancient clock on his bed table, dashed belowdecks.

Minutes later, panting, I laid it on our table. To Tad’s quizzical frown I said, “Maybe we’re trying to communicate too long a period of time.”

“What use is that old—”

“Because it moves!” I jabbed at the second hand. “What good is a blinking digital, if he doesn’t understand our digits? Or an enunciator, if he can’t speak our language? This way, he can see it move.”

“And what will you tell him?”

“First, we show him.” I picked up the clock.

Mik looked scandalized. “That’s an heirloom! Pa will skin you alive!”

Anselm said firmly, “You will NOT take that in there!”

“No, sir, I’ll hold it up to the window.” I did, rapping sharply for Harry’s attention. “Look!” If he saw it, or comprehended, he gave no sign.

Time passed, with agonizing slowness. I tapped the transplex panel. “Pay attention, now!” When the red hand had almost completed its circuit, I drew a clock face, showing the second hand at its starting point. Next to it, I put a small “m,” followed by a circle. “This’ll be our ‘minute’ symbol. Ready, Jess? … now!”

The puter’s servo copied my symbol, laid it on the deck.

Harry rolled atop it, tasted it, withdrew.

A long moment.

The outrider erased our drawing.