Children of Hope (76 page)

Colonel Kaminski, rallying, sent Centraltown and
Olympiad
encouraging bulletins of the outrider’s visit, and Fath even posed with the alien before the holocams. He loathed publicity; I’d never realized how important it was to him that relations start off well.

“Big ship no-Fuse, no-go,” was how we’d originally described the Station, before assigning the phrase a symbol. Fath showed the alien around, though I suspected the Station’s maze of corridors made as much sense to the outrider as the fish’s membranes did to me.

“Tell him more salt will be here soon,” Fath ordered, and dutifully, I did. In fact, a cargo shuttle was even now making its way to the Station.

But the first vessel that docked was a launch from
Olympiad.

We left the outrider a tub of nutrients—hospitality was an important tradition to nourish—before we passed into the next section to greet our visitors. Familiar figures strode down the Station corridor: Mikhael Tamarov, holding Janey’s hand. Behind them, Midshipman Yost shouldered an overstuffed duffel. Janey broke loose, hurled herself at Fath.

Mik’s eyes were sunken. He snapped a salute, but Fath waved it away, pulled him close.

“Pa, I thought of resigning, but—”

“Don’t you dare.”

“When we get home, I’ll get in touch with Philip. He and Senator Boland will help—”

“Yes, son, do that. But for the cruise home, exemplary conduct. Don’t give them excuse to—”

“Tad Anselm’s waiting for a chance to relieve Frand. What goes around comes—”

Fath gripped his arm so tightly that Mik winced. “Under no circumstances! Make him understand they’ll hang him. Naval politics has become about as ugly as …” He shook his head. “Mik, his life is in your hands.”

“I’ll try, Pa.” Mik’s tone was sober. He searched Fath’s eyes. “Three years, home and back. God, I’ll miss you.”

Fath smiled. “You’ll be nearly grown.”

Mik was twenty, but took the jibe without annoyance.

“Why’d you come, son?”

“I have your gear, but mostly to bring Janey. Since you and Corrine are here …”

“Of course. I was going to make arrangements with Ms Frand.”

“She said it had to be now.”

Fath looked pensive. “Oh, did she?”

“Yes, sir.” Mik looked over his shoulder. “You. Come here.”

“Me?” My voice squeaked. Tentatively, I eased within his range.

He swept me into a rib-cracking hug. “I’ll miss you. Take care of Pa.” It was a whisper.

“I’ll try—no. He takes care of me.” Trying to take care of Fath had gotten me in most of the trouble I’d landed in.

“Please, Randy. Don’t fight him.”

That I could promise, and did.

Mik said to Fath, “I have to go, sir. Ms Frand wants her launch.”

“What’s her hurry?”

“We’ll be sailing to Fusion safety.”

“Hmm. Very well, you two. Get going.”

“I’m staying.” Tommy Yost looked sheepish. “Mr Tamarov pilots home. I mean, to
Olympiad.
”

Fath raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Yost shifted from foot to foot. “It’s … well… I asked for transfer to Admiralty, sir.”

“There won’t be another ship for ages.”

“I know, but …” His eyes darted to Mikhael. “Sir, is it all right to say?”

Mik nodded.

“I didn’t want to be part of it. Removing you, sir. Besides, Scanlen and that fraz Pandeker march about as if they own the ship. Ms Frand doesn’t lift a finger.”

Fath said nothing; he couldn’t very well criticize
Olympiad’s
new Captain before a mere middy.

Mik stirred. “Sir, I’d better be going. Good luck, Mr Yost.”

We saw him to the airlock.

Tommy Yost said hesitantly, “Should I report to the Commandant for transport?”

“I’ll arrange it,” said Fath. “There’s a cargo shuttle due shortly. I’m sure they’ll let you hitch a ride down.” He checked his watch. “I’d best get back to the outrider. Randy, take Janey to Corrine, would you? Mr Yost, you’d best stay clear of our visitor. Go with Randy.”

As Janey and I started off, hand in hand, the middy fell in beside me. “Was it scary?”

I blinked. “The fish? Worse.”

“Ms Frand was livid when you told her off.”

“Good.”

Yost said hesitantly, “Mr Carr …”

“Randy. I’m not even ship’s boy now.” With a pang, I realized I missed it.

“I’m sorry, how I spoke to you.”

I searched my memory. Since Yost and I had quarreled, the fate of species had been decided. It didn’t matter a whit, and I told him so.

Janey was ecstatic to see her mother. We headed back. I settled Yost in the corridor, passed through the hatch to the outrider’s section.

“What do you think, shall we take our friend for a tour?” Fath sounded almost jovial.

“We already did.”

“Just a couple of bays, and the remains of the fusion chamber.”

I argued against it, but Fath wasn’t really listening. However, before he could throw terror into the Station techs, the cargo shuttle came to dock. We took the alien instead to section five, at whose lock it would moor.

The speaker crackled. “Captain Seafort, Comm Room. Incoming message.”

Fath set the caller to no-hands, so as not to turn his back on the alien.

“Olympiad to
Station. Right Reverend Scanlen will speak to Captain Seafort.”

“I’m here. Go ahead.”

“We’ll be Fusing shortly. Sorry you couldn’t be with us.”
The Bishop’s tone was sweet.
“But you’re better off among your Satanic allies.”

Disgusted, I stared through the porthole. A fat, stubby shuttle was mating at the bay.

“Does your call have a purpose?” Fath’s tone was acid.

“Never duel in minutiae with the Church, Seafort, we’re past masters at the game. I said I’d leave: I did. I said we’d present your treaty: I will. I’ve kept my sworn word to the letter.”
Scanlen sounded gleeful.
“McEwan and I will present your cursed treaty to the Assembly. Eventually you, or Branstead, or Dakko, or another of your cohorts, will come chasing after, but far, far too late.”

An alarm chimed. The shuttle was mated.

The outrider quivered.

“In today’s distracted world, first word is all, and we’ll have nearly three years to work our will before you get home. It’s McEwan and I who’ll frame the debate and sculpt the issues for the vids. We’re masters at that too. We’ll cast your treaty in the light it deserves. By the time we’re done, not a soul will give you a moment’s hearing.”

“Why?”

“Seafort, you tweaked the Church over and again, here and on Earth. Did you think our patience infinite? Retribution is nigh.”

“You’d destroy a race for revenge?”

“Forget about trade; your precious fish are dead, or will be. We will war against them with all our Godly might, until Satan is vanquished. And know that the Navy will return, in its glory, to subdue the colonial heretics who overthrow Mother Church. Hope Nation is ours, and will remain so. Or perhaps you think your cause will prevail because it’s just?”

Fath’s eyes were pained. “Is that so unreasonable, Bishop?”

The lock panel flashed green. The inner hatch slid open. Lieutenant Alon Riev sauntered through, duffel over his shoulder. When he saw Fath, he threw a laconic salute, which Fath didn’t bother to return.

Scanlen’s tone was savage.
“You forget: we have first word. You’re excommunicate and damned Nicholas Seafort, and will suffer far more pain than I could ever inflict, but I’ll do my bit for Lord God.”

“Bishop—”

The line went dead.

Fath stared at the bulkhead. My fists knotted, I glared at the starship’s distant lights.

Lieutenant Riev cleared his throat. “I’m to take a launch to
Olympiad.
From the next lock.”

“Very well.” Fath’s tone was indifferent.

Riev eyed the outrider. “Is that their chief?” As Fath was pointedly ignoring him, his question was to me.

I ought to snub him, but in Fath’s presence, I didn’t dare.

You’re fourteen, joey, but when you act ten, you’ll be treated as ten. Yes, sir.

“I think so,” I told Riev, but I realized I hadn’t bothered to inquire. Belatedly, I studied the alien. Was our visitor the big outrider? No way to tell, really. Shapechangers had no defining shape. Their skins all swirled, they all quivered when anxious, and skittered about unexpectedly.

The outrider settled on a deck plate, and wrote.

“I have something for him,” Riev said, reaching into his duffel. “A gift from the people of Centraltown.”

“Ask first.” My tone was urgent. Lord God knew how the alien would react to a surprise. “Fath, Captain Seafort, should he—”

Riev pulled his gift from his duffel. “Actually, it’s from Right Reverend Scanlen. And the deacons of our blessed Church.”

“LIEUTENANT, NO!” Fath.

Riev’s laser was fully charged. The outrider watched, twitching, as Riev aimed.

Fath was caught in mid-corridor, too far to lunge at the pistol. Belatedly, I came alive. Both arms, prosth and real, clawed at Riev’s wrist. His left hand thumped into my chest, holding me at bay.

“Why, Alon?” Fath’s voice was agonized.

“He’s Satan’s spawn! Your treaty won’t survive a death. And you don’t deserve to win!”

I struggled to throttle him. No use; Riev’s arms were longer than mine, his strength far greater.

“Call off your midget, before I kill him.”

“Randy, back!” Fath’s tone brooked no refusal.

The laser light shone steadily on my nose. Cursing nonstop, I gave up the unequal struggle.

“Why not kill me too?” Fath had edged closer.

“I ought to, you self-serving hack! This demon’s death—” His laser flicked to the outrider, and back. “—will earn me a medal. For your death, they’d hang me. You’re not worth it.”

“Leave him be. I’ll do anything in my power to—” Another step.

“Thank the Lord, you have no power.” Riev’s first shot splattered the alien against the bulkhead.

Fath lunged; Riev clubbed him to the deck. Coolly, he aimed continuous fire at the outrider, until nothing was left but a sizzling blob. “As your whore did to High Bishop Andori.” His tone was vitriolic. “Back away, joey!”

I did.

Riev snatched up his duffel, raced down the corridor to the adjoining airlock.

“Fath, are you—”

He shoved me aside. “That fool!” He leaped for the caller. “Station alert! Close hatches! Don’t let Riev—”

Too late. Lieutenant Riev had already dived through.

Alarms wailed. Footsteps thudded. Fath wiped a trickle of blood from his forehead. He looked stricken.

“Station, launch N109 departing Bay 3.”

I gabbled, “Have a seat, sir. Away from that acid. In fact, let’s get out of this corridor. You’ll be all right once—”

“Departure Control to Launch, negative, do NOT depart—”

“I’m all right
now
! God, Randy, how could I have been so blind!”

“You?” I gaped.

“Commencing breakaway.”
Riev’s voice was cool.

“To let him anywhere near …”

I said, “How could you know he’d—”

“He was the Bishop’s man, even helped them cow Kenzig. Never missed a religious service on ship. Nagged the middies about their souls; I put a stop to it on the trip out. Now he waltzes into the alien’s corridor and I do nothing. Seafort, you
idiot!
”

“Fath, the Station lasers! Tell Kaminski, he’ll shoot him before he escapes!”

“Riev’s on a launch, not a shuttle. He’s making for
Olympiad.
” Of course. Launches weren’t atmospheric vehicles. And the only other ships about were fish.

Wearily, rubbing his scalp, Fath strode to the caller, paged the Colonel. “Mr Kaminski, declare an emergency. Send a decon team to section …” He squinted. “… five. The corridor needs full treatment; we need hosedown and showers. Keep radar watch on the launch; if it doubles back, arrest Riev. Connect me to
Olympiad.
”

A series of clicks. “Comm Room, I need Ms Frand, flank.” Fath clenched and unclenched a fist.

I stared at the gruesome remains. All for naught. My devious machinations, the fears I’d overcome, Fath’s fury. It would all swirl down the drain of war. Riev had capped the Bishop’s machinations with outright atrocity.

The caller clicked.

“Sarah?”

“I’m CAPTAIN Frand.”
Her tone was disapproving.

Fath stared at the caller as if it had bitten his hand. He shook himself. “Riev is about to dock. He met the alien observer, pulled a laser pistol, and killed him. Consider him armed and dangerous.”

Ms Frand’s tone was cool.
“What do you propose I do?”

“Arrest him!”

“On what charge?”

Fath spluttered. “Are you daft? He killed the outrider!”

“Yes, quite. Last I reviewed Naval regs, it was no crime to destroy the enemy.”

“Ms Frand, for God’s sake!”

“Precisely.”

Stunned silence.

“He clubbed
me.
Does that count?”

“I’ll look into it, Mr Seafort.
“The line went dead.

I stared at the deck. Amid the smoking mess, the alien’s last etching.
SALT HUMAN HERE?

Yeah. The salt of the earth.

The corridor hatch slid open. Suited Station hands clumped toward the smoking remains, spray gear in hand.

A stocky joey approached. “Captain?” His voice was muffled through his helmet.

“Colonel, I …” After a moment, Fath shook his head.

“Yes, a disaster.” Kaminski’s tone held sympathy.

Fath demanded, “What’s come over Sarah?”

“Scanlen’s gone aboard. And there’s that Pandeker joey.” Their eyes met. “She’s putty in their hands.”

“Not until this moment,” Fath said heavily, “did I think I could disapprove of devotion to the Church.”

Kaminski cleared his throat. “That’s as may be, sir. I’ve taken the Station to full alert. What next?”

“Oh, God. What next.” It was statement, not question. “Put my son through Class A decon.”

“And you?”

Fath peered into a suit locker. “I’ll need that thrustersuit.”

“Why?” Kaminski and I spoke as one.

“I have a … journey to …” He left it at that. “Colonel—” He clapped my shoulder. “—I know this joey well. He’ll try … I hold you responsible. He’s not to follow me. Keep him on Station, if you have to lock him in a cabin.”