Children of Hope (62 page)

Mikhael rubbed his eyes. “And I haven’t told you the worst. Scanlen publicly excommunicated Corrine Sloan. Says she committed apostasy on Hope Nation soil, demands she be returned for trial and condemnation. Requires that all men proclaim her guilt, wherever she roams, and removes from office any who harbor her.”

“What’s that mean?”

“If Pa brings her home, he’s required to denounce her as excommunicate and hand her up for trial. And if he doesn’t, Pandeker will.”

I grasped at straws. “But when Scanlen excommunicated Fath, no one paid attention.”

“Pa holds a U.N. commission. Even the Church can’t revoke it. Though that frazball Scanlen just tried. Removes from office … fah!” Mik’s lip curled.

“But when Fath gets home?”

Mik pursed his lips. “I told you there’d be a trial.”

“Can he protect Corrine? Refuse to hand her over?”

“I don’t see how.” He tugged at my sleeve. “Let’s go, dinner’s starting.”

I wasn’t hungry, but I let him steer me to the Dining Hall. We’d barely slid out our chairs when Reverend Pandeker rose to give the traditional Ship’s Prayer.

“Lord God, today is March 7, 2247, ship’s time, on the UNS
Olympiad.
We ask you to bless us, to bless our voyage, and to bring health and well-being to all aboard.”

Pandeker moved to sit, hesitated, remained on his feet. “We further ask Lord God’s blessing to restore
Olympiad’s
Captain to health, that we may continue on our journey. That those guilty be punished, and matters of treason and heresy set right.”

“Mik!” I grabbed his wrist.

“Shush.” He freed himself. Then, softly, “We’ll see what Mr Tolliver does.”

“He’s sitting there, slurping soup.” I pointed to a nearby table, like ours, beginning their meal.

“Not now, you dolt. After.” He smiled at his neighbor. “What, ma’am? Yes, I agree. Quite flavorful.” Mik took another steaming spoonful of mushroom soup. “Quite.” But his eyes were watchful.

It was an outrage: Tolliver did nothing. I hung about near the bridge, to see if he would summon Pandeker or go to him. Mikhael spotted me, demanded I go to my cabin before Lieutenant Frand caught me. I shrugged. I wasn’t doing anything illegal. I was off duty, and lived on Level 1. And Tolliver had told me I was free to visit him.

After a time, though, I got bored with the gray, silent corridor, and trudged back to our cabin. Sourly, I made ready for bed.

That fraz Pandeker had called out Fath in his own ship. Corrine Sloan, too, and not a soul had risen to their defense. I should have leaped to my feet, called him what he was.

I paced, quietly, so as not to wake Fath. I snorted at my overcaution. Even the blare of an alarm wouldn’t wake him from deepsleep.

So. Tomorrow another dreary day with Harry.

No. Surgery, to graft an interface for my prosth. I made a face.

I hesitated.

The hell with it. I crossed to Fath’s dresser, dug out the scotch. If he didn’t approve, let him wake and parent me as he ought. I dug out the cork, took a sip. It didn’t seem enough. I took a longer swig.

Half an hour later, I decided to take the bull by the horns. Time to see ol’ Tolliver, find out what he would do about Pandeker. Reluctantly, I shoved the depleted bottle into Fath’s dresser, peered into the mirror, gave my hair a few licks with the brush. Tolliver was the sort to ignore my point, for a lousy shirt or a lock of hair.

I headed for the bridge, my stride unsteady. This damned low gravity Fath needed … hard for a joey to get used to.

Anselm had the watch. I’d find Tolliver in his cabin, and didn’t I know a sailor wasn’t to approach the bridge without an officer’s escort? And why was I raising my voice, did I care to be placed on report?

Grumbling, I set off for Tolliver’s cabin. It wasn’t far. Most all the officers were bunked on Level 1. Closer to the bridge, I supposed. Even the wardroom was—

Hot voices, drifting from the next section.

“An oath of obedience can’t be abrogated!” Tolliver.

“Not by the person giving it, agreed. But in—” Who was that? It sounded like …

“That decides the matter.”

“—but in this case, the oath’s ordered broken by the one to whom it’s given.” Ah, yes. Dear old Lieutenant Frand.

“You swore obedience to the Naval Service.” Tolliver’s voice was harsh. “Until Admiralty releases—”

I slowed my step, which was just as well. My pace wasn’t as dependable as it ought to have been, and the corridor had an alarming tendency to drift.

“I swore obedience to the Service, but the oath was given to Lord God. And it’s His representative who—”

“Pure sophistry, Sarah!”

“A matter of conscience. May we follow … orders without risk of eternal …”

I leaned against the corridor bulkhead, straining to hear, trying to make no noise. It was like when …

I felt my face go beet-red. I’d promised. I’d sworn.
I would not sneak about listening outside hatches.
Reluctantly, I urged my feet forward.

I strolled round the bend. Mr Tolliver’s hatch was open. Lieutenant Frand leaned against the side of the hatchway. She faced the cabin. Tolliver’s voice came from inside. Neither saw me.

Just outside the hatch, I propped myself against the bulkhead opposite. I was in plain sight; no one could accuse me of skulking about. Sullenly, I stared at the tails of Frand’s crisp jacket.

“They excommunicated Seafort weeks ago.” Tolliver. “Why your sudden attack of conscience?”

Ms Frand folded her arms. Lucky old biddy. Well, after they grafted my prosth, I’d be able to fold my arms too, after a fashion—

“Until now,” she told Tolliver, “I could argue that Admiralty hadn’t removed the Captain. But today, Scanlen, the presiding Bishop, impeached any officer who—”

“He’s not
your
presiding Bishop! He ministers to Hope—”

“He presides in my Church, and speaks for my God!” Ms Frand’s voice was agonized. “And yours, isn’t it so? And it’s beyond question that Captain Seafort harbors the Sloan woman.”

“Sarah, you watched that godawful holo their deacon shot. Would you rather they’d burned down the Captain at the spaceport? Would that have been more lawful? Would you rejoice?”

“Edgar!” Frand’s fists bunched. “I was on the bridge with you. Did I rejoice?”

“No, you dispensed a running stream of curses that curled the middies’ hair. That’s why I don’t understand—”

“I’m perplexed, and came to ask: where does duty lie?”

“Well, don’t expect me to relieve Nick.” Tolliver’s voice held a note of finality. “I’ve threatened that for the last time. He’s a madman, but he’s
my
madman. I’ll go down with—” A soft buzz. “Just a moment.” He came into view, took up the caller. “Tolliver, here. What, Tad? Oh, good Christ! When? Who’s there?”

Ms Frand said, “What, Edgar?”

Tolliver covered the caller. “That bloody outrider! He’s agitated, skittering back and forth. Janks says he’s rolled into the airlock. It looks like he’s leaving us.”

“It was insane to leave the lock open.”

“How else could he tell us he wanted out?” To the caller, “Sound General Quarters! Watch the fish off our bow. Key off laser safeties, prepare to fire at my command. Notify the Station. Send Romez to rouse Nick—the Captain, that is. I want him awake for this. Hold open the bridge hatch; I’m on my way!” He grabbed his jacket, thrust past Frand. To me, startled, “What the devil are
you
up to? Go to your—”

But I was off like a shot, running as best I could in the light grav, ricocheting from one bulkhead to another. HARRY MUSTN’T LEAVE.

Alarms shrieked.
“All hands to General Quarters! Corridor hatches will seal in one minute!”
Anselm’s voice was strained.

I tore past the ladder railing, leaped down the stairs.

That was a mistake.

The bow gravitron was set low. Level 1 was at Lunar gravity, one-sixth Terran. For a moment, I practically floated down the ladder.

Level 2 was controlled by the midships gravitron, which was set at one standard gee. Accelerating as I plunged, I crashed to the Level 2 deck. For a moment I lay stunned. Thank Lord God I’d fallen on my good shoulder. If I’d landed on my wound I’d have passed out.

“Thirty seconds to corridor hatch seal!”

“Oh, shit!” I lurched to my feet, raced along the corridor. I skittered past a suited figure. Another. An airlock squad, hurrying to their duty station.

“Hey, what the—”

“Outta my way!” Gasping, I raced through section seven. Section six. Finally, five hove into view, around the bend. Mr Janks and a mate stood guard, just our side of the hatch and the transplex barrier.

“Closing all hatches!”

“Randy, hold—”

The corridor hatch slid from its bulkhead pocket. As the opening narrowed, I dived through. A rubber seal scraped my heel. The hatch slammed shut. Behind me, muttered curses, pounding at the hatch panel. That would do Janks no good; on the bridge, Anselm would have keyed the overrides.

“Harry!” I pounded the transplex barrier that barred my way. The outrider was nowhere in sight. “Hey, boy!”

Tolliver’s voice crackled.
“Mr Janks, Level 2 airlock is cycling. Stand by in case
…” A pause.
“He WHAT?”
His outrage clawed through the speaker and shook me by the lapels.

“Here, fishie!” My tone was coaxing. For some deranged reason, I giggled. No, it’s not funny, you snark. Harry’s leaving, and taking Fath’s hopes with him. I pounded my one and only fist on the transplex panel.

But Harry wouldn’t hear me, in the distant airlock.

“Randy Carr! Get away from there this instant, you glitched little …”
A deep breath.
“Harry wants out. We don’t know why. So leave him be, lest you start a war!”

I scrambled atop the table, strained to reach the uppermost grommets holding the transplex to the bulkhead. They wouldn’t give. One-handed, I didn’t have enough leverage.
How long did a frazzing airlock take to cycle?
I needed to free the grommet right fucking now! Hit it, joey! Use something on the table! I bent from the waist, nearly pitched headfirst to the deck, did a wild dance to keep my balance.

“Mr Janks, I’ll open the hatch to Four. Subdue that bloody joeykid! Use your stunner!”

I righted myself, snatched up Fath’s ancient clock, hefted it to get a good grip. On tiptoe, I swung hard, bashed the east bulkhead grommet. Again. It came loose. Now, the west.

“Captain, Janks reporting, with Seaman Hostler. Where is he?” The master-at-arms’s voice wasn’t on the speaker, but he was only a meter behind me, on the far side of the sealed hatch.

“On the table, taking down the barrier! I have him in the holo-cam. DON’T TOUCH THAT, YOU IMBECILE!”

I took an ineffectual swipe at the camera, but it was beyond reach. I turned my attention back to the stubborn grommet. The metal casing of the clock had a nasty dent. I whacked the grommet, caught my knuckles. I squawked, sucking my fingers.
No time, idiot.

“Sir …” Janks sounded hesitant. “If he’s taking down the barrier … we’re not suited. The airlock, and that beast and his viruses …”

Tolliver cursed a blue streak. Abruptly the speaker went dead. Then, after a moment, his voice came, more controlled.
“Suit up, but for God’s sake, hurry!”

“Two minutes, sir, no more.”

The second grommet shattered. Shrapnel clanged off the far bulkhead. Now I’d have to crawl under the frazzing table for the bottom fasteners.

The hell I would.

I lay across the table, my head flopping off the edge, braced my boots against the barrier.

A bad idea. Very, very bad. A wave of nausea shook me. The overhead spun slowly.

I gulped, tasting bile. Closing my eyes, I willed away the slow drift of the corridor. With all my strength, I rammed the barrier with my heels. It jarred my spine clear up to the neck. The transplex shivered, but held.

Again.

The top of the transplex panel bent slightly. Over and again I rammed it. My feet ached. The panel bent inches, then more.

“Sir, we’re suited.”

One more time. The barrier came crashing down. I staggered to my feet.

“Very well, opening section four hatch.”

As the hatch opened, I threw over the table, kicked it hard toward the hatch. Janks, startled, leaped back. With all my might, I rammed the table leg into the bulkhead hatch seal, twisted. A section of the seal ripped. It dangled from the bulkhead.

“Why, you—” Awkward in his suit, Janks snatched at my arm.

An alarm wailed. “CORRIDOR HATCH INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. SECTION FIVE SUBJECT TO DECOMPRESSION IF—”

I evaded him, dashed down the corridor to the lock. Behind me, Janks hauled a stunner from his pouch.

Mikhael had taught me the airlock controls, that day eons past, when he, I, and Yost were on station.

The inner chamber had nearly reached vacuum. I glanced into the porthole; Harry stood motionless. I slammed the override, preventing the outer hatch from opening. I hit the emergency re-air, hoping Tolliver wouldn’t think to overrule me from the bridge. If so, I was helpless.

Harry quivered.

“Hurry
up
!” I danced from foot to foot like a joeykid needing to use the head. Behind me, two suited figures lumbered down the corridor.

“Randy, whatever you’re doing,”
Tolliver.

“Come ON!”

Seeing my hand poised at the controls, Janks loped at me with surprising speed.

The gauge flashed green. I slapped the inner hatch panel.

The airlock hatch slid open.

Janks lunged with his stunner. I dived into the lock. Janks eyed me, Harry, the airlock. He hesitated. Coolly, I slapped the hatch closed.

Harry quivered.

My eyes darted to the outer hatch, all that lay between me and … the cold unrelenting vacuum that had killed Dad. I tried not to vomit, barely succeeded. I stamped my foot at Harry. “You goddamn BASTARD!” My voice was shrill. “Fath gave everything for you!” I waved for emphasis, realized I still brandished the dented clock. “Time! We were only trying to tell time!”

“Mr Tolliver?” Janks, outside the lock. Muffled by hatch and suit, his voice was barely audible. He scowled through the transplex porthole.