Children of Hope (71 page)

“Mr Riev, this is Captain Seafort”
Fath’s voice was ice.
“Please connect me to the Admiral.”

“He’s unavailable, sir. He left instruc—”

“Sir, I do NOT acknowledge his purported instructions.” A
gasp, from someone on the bridge.

The console rippled to my feet. I kicked it away, or tried. I only succeeded in bouncing myself backward, to carom off the fish’s skin.

Mr Riev’s tone was injured. “Sir, are you suggesting—”

“I wasn’t born yesterday. Put Mr Kenzig on, with visuals, and then ask me what I insinuate.”

“Sir, I—he told me to say … I’ll get back to you. Have
him
get back to you.” The line went dead.

“Sir? Fath? What if the order was real?”

“Then I face court-martial. Never you mind. Do your part, joey, and we may find our way through. Where’s the console?”

What did the frazzing console have to do with … “At my feet.”

“Any idea why?”

“They want me to squiggle it.” I heard myself, and grimaced. Fath had just been through hell, and my tone was appalling. “Sir, no disrespect intended.”

“They gave you poor Philip’s rotted hand. Now the console.”
He sounded pensive.
“Why?”

“Harry melted my prosth. Could it be about hands? They prefer one arm, not two?”

“No, that doesn’t seem
…
”

“Kaminski to
Olympiad
we’ve scored fifty-three. In a few moments they’ll be in the outer atmosphere. Some seventy are at the far edge of our—”

“Kaminski, stay off the frequency. Palabee calling Seafort, we’ve a hundred seventeen fish overhead. They’ll blanket the coast. You’ve had more experience; should we try to escape the Venturas by heli?”

“Admiralty to
Olympiad,
respond.”

“Randy, do they want you to squiggle it, or do they want to squiggle it?”

I stared at the last message.
SQUIGGLE. SHIP. DOTS.

I shrugged. “Both. Neither. Sir, I’m in way over my head. I’m just”—my voice cracked—“a joeykid. I’ve no business being here.” In the fish. On
Olympiad.
In Fath’s world.

An outrider darted forward.
OUTRIDER FISH SQUIGGLE SHIP ONE-ARM DOTS.
I blurted the message onward to Fath.

In my suit, a light flashed yellow.

“Son, they’re desperate for something. I thought it was peace, but now they make war. You’re the”—
a barely perceptible pause—
“the man on the spot. You’ve been brilliant, and I’m counting on you. Solve the puzzle.”

An outrider quivered before me, melted to the deck. Submission? No, he withdrew a meter or so. On the deck where he’d been, a white substance. I bent, cautiously touched it. Tiny grains of sand fell from my gloved fingers.

“Admiralty to Captain Seafort, respond!”

“Sir, he’s giving us something else.”

“What?”

“No way to tell.”

“I count on you. Go ahead, Admiralty.”

I couldn’t tell more about the sand without desuiting. It would almost be a relief. My suit was hot, and the persistently blinking light was the low-air warning.

“Stand by for Mr Kenzig.” Clicks.

What in God’s name did they want of me? My
eyes stung.

I stamped my foot, shot upward. Damn greenie. When I reoriented, I clutched the writing stick. “Why fish squiggle?”

“Seafort, Admiral Kenzig here.” His voice was strained.

“Yes, sir. Visuals, please.”

The same outrider answered me:
FISH PLANET NO DOTS DIE.

I wrote, “I don’t understand.”

“Never mind that! You’re to—”

“Visuals, or I disconnect.”

FISH NO-FUSE PLANT THE NO DOTS. SHIP SQUIGGLE FISH DOTS. FISH PLANET NO-PLANET NO DIE.

A chill stabbed my spine. What I saw was of great import. Gibberish, but important.

“All right.” I was speaking to myself. “Fish go to planet and the no dots … without dots. Ship—us people—squiggle the dots. Fish don’t die. No, not all fish. Just the fish planet / no-planet.”

I wrote, “Why war?”

“Rank insubordination, Seafort! Here are your bloody visuals! Satisfied?”

FISH ONE-ARM NO WAR. —
I’d add them later—
WAR DOTS
.

“Captain, Ship’s Boy Carr reporting. Don’t shoot them down, not yet. We’re so close!” Why should he listen to me? Moments ago I wanted them all dead. That poor boy Tyre … Lost, alone in a fish, as I was now.

Back to work, joey. My fish isn’t warring. Yeah, I see that. But the others do. Because of the dots. Why some, but not others?

“Pan the holocam. Who’s with you?”

“That’s none of your bloody business!”

I asked the outrider, “Fish equals fish?”

Great agitation. Outriders skittered about. One, quivering, finally wrote,
FISH NOT EQUAL FISH.

“Sir, I have reason to believe you’re under duress.”

Why the incessant gabble? How could I concentrate with civil war breaking out all across …

Was that it? I stabbed with the tool. “Fish war fish?”

NO.
Then, as if with great reluctance,
OUTRIDER WAR OUTRIDER. HUMAN NO SQUIGGLE DOTS.

“I’ll squiggle your damn dots! Just call off the attack!”

“What, Randy?”

“Sorry, Captain. Thinking out loud.”

“I’m not under duress,” the Admiral fumed. “I’ve a mind to relieve you this moment!”

“With due respect, sir, I’d disregard your order.”

“Very well. Lieutenant Riev and Governor McEwan are in my office, but that’s of no consequence. You’re to proceed—”

“Who else?”

“Damn it to bloody hell, Seafort, not another word! SecGen or no, I’ll—”

“Scanlen, are you with him? Palabee? How many armed guards? Admiral, pan the holocam THIS INSTANT!”
A pause.
“Ah, I thought so. Odd, how I can’t see their hands. Mr Kenzig, come aboard
Olympiad,
and I’ll obey any order you issue. Under the circumstances
—
”

“You know damned well I can’t go aloft with fish—”

“The moment the crisis abates. Good day, sir.”

“Fish no go planet the no dots?” I hoped the outrider would understand. Do fish the without these mysterious dots, if they’re not going to a planet?

NO.

And he’d deposited sand at my feet, just as Harry’s predecessor, in our corridor, had deposited the nutrients it wanted. “I was afraid you’d say that.” Slowly, reluctantly, I reached for my helmet clamp. “Ship’s Boy Carr to
Olympiad,
making …” for a moment, I found it hard to speak “… what may be my final report. They want to squiggle dots. I think the dots are the white sand on the deck. I’m going to see what it is. If it burns me, I won’t be able to get back in my suit.” Not one-handed.

“No! Don’t—”

“Air’s short, and I’m running out of time. Please listen. The outriders have factions, like we do. Outrider war outrider. It’s all about the dots. Our faction—Harry’s group—wants to squiggle dots with us. The others, maybe they don’t want to, or don’t think it’s possible. So they’re attacking the Venturas. Maybe it can be stopped. Just a sec.”

I bent. “Why war planet?”

DOTS. PLANET DOTS.

“Sir, the Venturas have something they want. Harry’s people tried to explain, but …”

“Kaminski, this is Admiral Kenzig, linked with Vince Palabee and his government in the Venturas. We issue a joint order: blow that bloody fish out of Hope System! The one that has the boy.”

“Colonel, please disregard. Admiral Kenzig is under duress.”

ONE-ARM FISH. OUTRIDER
. Then,
WAR FISH OUTRIDER.
No, the second picture was different. An outrider, but much larger.

“Seafort, you hear me? This is Right Reverend Ricard Scanlen. You’re to take out those fish, all of them! Do so and I’ll reconsider excommunicating your cronies. Branstead and that Dakko.”

How little he knew Fath, if he thought Mr Seafort would barter for his friends’ lives.

Fath would sooner trade …

Trade.

Squiggle.

“Fath—Captain, sir, I think I’ve got it. But I won’t do like Mr Tyre. Give me permission to take off the suit. I think I know what they want!” Most of it, anyway.

“Randy
…
”

“I had it off before.”

“For a moment, when you were choking.”

“Believe me, I won’t be much longer. Their air stinks. Hurry, please.”

“Seafort? Vince, talk to him, the madman won’t—”

“Granted, Mr Carr.”

I pulled my clamps, one at a time. The fish began to pulse. Perhaps it was airing the compartment in anticipation.

The helmet came off. My ears didn’t pop. Cautiously, I took a breath. Phew.

I ran a suit sleeve across my sweaty forehead. All right, now. I bent, ran gloved fingers through the dry sand. As before, it gave me no clue.

I sniffed it. Nothing, no odor at all.

Tentatively, the outrider approached.
WAR DOTS. ONE-ARM FISH SQUIGGLE DOTS.

Yeah, you disagree. I’ve got that.

NO DOTS, PLANET FISH DIE.

“And?” I spoke aloud, to no purpose.

NO DOTS FISH FUSE, NO DIE. NO DOTS FISH NO-FUSE, NO DIE. NO DOTS FISH PLANET, FISH DIE.
They don’t need the white sand to Fuse, or propel themselves. Just to go planetside.

Wearily, I worked my arm out of my suit, trying not to breathe the fetid air. “Guess we’ve got to know, joey.” Somehow, I made my fingers approach the sand. One fingertip brushed it, jerked away as if scorched.

But I wasn’t burned. I examined my skin, took a deep breath, picked up a handful. It looked so familiar, but … Randy, you’re an idiot if you … I know. Get it over with. Screwing my eyes shut, I touched it to my tongue.

My eyes popped open. I stared at the outrider, then the sand. At the outrider. It couldn’t be. “This is all about … salt?” I grabbed a handful. “SALT?” Feverishly I wrote, “Dots equal one-arm hand?”

YES.

“Fish no the big number dots, small number?” How much salt do you need? Why hadn’t we worked out words for “how much” or “how many”?

SHIP OUTRIDER INSIDE.

“Yeah,
Olympiad.
”

He drew a line dissecting it, then another, and another.

“Don’t threaten me, joey!”

And another. Then he erased the remainder of the ship. There was left a small wedge. Far less than one cargo hold.

“Why can’t you get your own damn salt?” No use asking. We didn’t have the words to explain, and were out of time.

“Time small,” I wrote.

TIME NONE.

“Trade salt, outrider one-arm fish talk to outrider war-fish, say no war?” If we trade, will you get them to call it off?

YES.

“Million planets, million salt.” Surely the aliens had access to salt deposits elsewhere in the galaxy. It couldn’t be that rare. “Why salt one-arm planet?”

FISH FUSE FUSE FUSE FUSE. GO PLANET NOT DIE. NOT GO PLANET, DIE.

I blinked. Could it be that simple? They had to go ground-side every few Fuses, and needed salt to get down, or possibly to go aloft again? Salt wasn’t a fuel, but … hell they were organic. Lord God knew what chemicals they used to turn themselves into high-altitude balloons. Perhaps there weren’t that many planets with salt beds in our region of the galaxy. It might matter, but not here, not now.

The solution might be in our grasp, but … I wrote, “Big outrider?” He’d mentioned one, a few minutes past.

BIG OUTRIDER SAY WAR /NO WAR. SAY FUSE/NO FUSE. SAY PLANET/NO PLANET.

Right. His word was law. Like Fath’s.
ONE-ARM SAY TRADE.
It sounded like a demand.

“Let me think!” I sank to the deck, cradling my suit.

TIME SMALL. TIME NO.

First, I’d have to don my suit. Then it would take precious minutes to explain, more to persuade Fath … No time.

Yet what I contemplated would govern relations with the aliens, for generations.

No.

No matter what it cost, I’d have to ask Fath’s approval.

God, the air stank. Mechanically, I laid out my suit.

My malfunctioning prosth banged against my chest. I yearned to hammer it silent.

The air in my suit seemed stale. Well, it
was
stale. When that was gone, I could breathe what the fish provided, but unless the fish happened to engage in photosynthesis, it couldn’t store much. I had, what? An hour or so? Better get on with it. I flicked on my radionics.

“Stadholder Palabee, Bishop Scanlen, Governor McEwan, respond! This is Sarah Frand aboard
Olympiad.
Stadholder Palabee, Bishop Scan
—
”

“Go ahead, Ms Frand. Palabee.”

“With Reverend Pandeker’s sanction, I’ve relieved Captain Seafort. I have the bridge. He and his son are confined to quarters. Other officers too. I can’t raise Admiral Kenzig, would you
—
”

Oh, shit.

“Wonderful, Ms Frand!” Palabee. “Stand by, I’ll have the deacons … Kenzig will be on in a moment.”

“Tell him we’re making flank speed toward Venturas geosync.”

I pushed off from the bulkhead, floated idly in my dank suit. Time no longer mattered. The aliens would invade; Ms Frand would kill as many as she could. The frightful war that ravaged Earth, almost obliterated Centraltown, would rekindle. New generations would be squandered fighting the fish.

Wearily, I flipped off the speaker.

All for naught. Anthony’s death, to save our government. Dad’s, to save Earth’s population and his beloved Nick Seafort from Church domination. Andrew Ghent. Even poor Kevin Dakko’s grisly death, that had destroyed his father … for what?

I’d had the key almost within grasp. With Fath’s help, I might have persuaded …

No longer. Sarah Frand had made a catastrophic choice. To serve her Church, she’d betrayed her Navy. They would send Fath groundside, of course. Corrine, too, would burn.

TIME NO.