Children of Hope (8 page)

“Look.” Kevin gave me a nudge.

At a stall whose sign read NATIVE ANTIQUE DOLLS, an excited woman and her daughters clawed at small figures clothed in outlandish costumes, while the husband waited indulgently.

“Harvest festiva,” rasped the stall’s exotic proprietor. Oversized gold earrings jangled under her colorful kerchief. “Hold ever’ other year. You just missed.” Judiciously, she lifted a more expensive doll, one of a set dressed in a motley mix of gear: farm clothes, shipboard hand-me-downs, ties, and neckerchiefs. “Original colonists wore. Very rare dolls.”

I raised an eyebrow. The stallkeeper glanced at me coolly.

“Hi, Rand’.” She fixed her attention on her prospect. “Seventy Unies. Ain’ she beautiful?”

I suppressed a grin, left Dr Mantiet to her prey. In real life, she taught psychology at Centraltown University, and had no accent I could discern. Lord knew where she derived the pidgin English she affected. She described her zoo-days stall as both a lucrative hobby and a seminar in applied psychology.

Still, the zoo was fun to watch. Unethical? Perhaps, but every ship’s library carried holos on Hope Nation; only those joeys who insisted on being gullible were fooled, and the Commonweal cheerfully skinned them alive.

I sniffed at the pungent scent of frying sausage. Of their own volition my feet bore me closer. Naturally, prices were inflated, but Kevin had coin, and his father had slipped me a few Unies when dropping us off.

We stood about munching garlic-fried meat in toasted buns, while chatter swirled about us.

“—if that frazzing Pandeker nags Pa one more time—”

“He ignores it. You should too.”

A sharp blow to my shoulder squirted the sausage from my fingers. It splatted on the pavement.

“Damn it to
hell.
” I spoke too loudly, and caught glares of disapproval.

“Hey, joey, sorry.” A pleasant tenor, behind me. “Lemme buy you another.”

“Watch where you’re …” I peered up. A ship’s officer, about twenty, with another young officer as companion. They were dressed for shore leave: no ties, jackets slung over their shoulders.

I frowned at his insignia. A midshipman, if I read his bars right. Dad had taught me, years ago, but I’d forgotten much of it. Length-of-service pins, for example, were gibberish.

“Yeah, Mikhael, watch where you’re going.” The middy’s companion grinned down at me. “Mik’s terminally clumsy, but he means no harm.” To his friend, “Got coin?” He fished in his own pocket. “You, there, give this joeykid a fresh sausage.”

His insignia was different from his mate’s. I said tentatively, “You’re a lieutenant?”

“As of last week, yes.” He thrust out a hand. “Tad Anselm at your service.” His grin was so engaging I had to smile back.

I entrusted my hand to his big paw. Randy Ca—Carlson.” It was a lie, and I hated it. Perhaps in recompense, I brought forth my best manners. “Glad to meet you, sir. This is my friend, Kevin Dakko.”

The middy waited his turn. “Mikhael Tamarov.”

We shook hands all around.

“So, joeys,” said the lieutenant. “What’s to do around here?”

“You mean, for the day?”

“Or more. We’re on long-leave. A month, but Mik won’t want to leave the ship for more than a week.”

“Yes, I do, Tad.” The middy frowned. “Sir.”

“Off ship, we forget that.”

“Right. Believe me, I’ll use my month. I just want to check on Pa from time to time.”

I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t know much about the Navy, but … an officer bringing along his father?

As if changing the subject, the middy turned to his companion. “Tad, remember what we were saying about intrasystem officers?”

“That they don’t get real experience?”

“Listen to this. That joey at the terminal desk says a local mining ship spotted a fish near Three. Comm room sent out a false alarm.”

“Spotted a what?” I stopped dead. No fish had been seen for decades; they were obliterated by Seafort’s caterwaul stations. The unmanned stations broadcast a skewed N-wave that summoned the aliens to destruction. N-waves allowed us to Fuse, to travel between the stars at something akin to superluminous speeds, but the fish sensed us Fuse and Defuse, and it drove them to frenzy. The caterwaul stations lured the fish with a skewed wave, crisped them with automatic laser fire. We lost stations, but that didn’t matter. Eventually the last fish were destroyed.

“A fish,” repeated the middy. “But it wasn’t one. It didn’t attack. They blasted it to hell, whatever it was. Probably an ice mass.”

I nodded. Fish
always
attacked. Every Nationeer was taught our history, at least that part.

The lieutenant looked thoughtful. “Not every asteroid radiates as metal. An excited tech …”

Mik nodded knowingly. “Like you said. Never trust an officer from an intrasystem ship.” He and his lieutenant exchanged knowing glances.

I bridled. “Not every competent sailor is in your precious Navy.” One of Dad’s long-standing goals had been to break the U.N. Navy’s stranglehold on interstellar shipping, and Anth was just as determined.

“Sure, joey.”

I gritted my teeth and ignored the condescension in his tone.

Anselm waved at the haphazard rows of stalls. “What’s to see beyond this goofjuice?”

Kevin said brightly, “There’s downtown, the Cathedral, the Zone, the Ventura Mountains …”

“Pa said I shouldn’t miss the mountains,” said the middy.

“Downtown would be a good start,” Anselm judged. “Are there guides for hire?”

“Not really …” Kevin shot me a warning glance. “Tell you what: we’ll show you Centraltown, I’ll even take you to the Zone.”

“How much?” The lieutenant eyed him suspiciously.

“Nothing, just for fun. How about giving us a tour of the ship after?” Kev seemed to hold his breath.

The two officers exchanged glances. “I could,” Mik said. “Pa and I are having dinner tomorrow.”

“He still won’t come down? It’d be a chance to get away from—” He lowered his voice. “Pandeker.”

“He doesn’t want to risk it.”

“All right, joeys, you’ve got a deal.” Anselm looked about. “Where do we rent an electricar?”

“You didn’t call ahead? By now they’re all taken. Let’s catch the bus.”

Kevin chattered all the way downtown, pointing out new construction, our older landmarks, the edge of the devastation left by the asteroid a generation back, just before the U.N. Navy fled and left us to our fate. From time to time I joined in, supplementing his meager supply of facts. Perhaps living with the Stadholder was an advantage; I knew more about Centraltown than Kev, a local.

Mik and Tad half listened, enjoying themselves just peering out the windows. Hope Nation was their first planetfall since Earth, eighteen months past. No doubt they simply enjoyed the open spaces.

We went to the Cathedral; I held my breath and tried to look inconspicuous. No one noticed us, under the vaulting roof and the tall Gothic stained-glass windows. Then hours tramping about downtown, a midafternoon meal at one of the better restaurants. The two sailors paid for us all.

Then uptown, past Churchill Park. To my surprise, Kev stopped at our, um,
his
house. He bounded up the steps, threw open the door, ushered our two guests inside, showed them everything including his disordered bedroom.

We heard the door close, downstairs. A chipcase and holovid tucked under his arm, Mr Dakko stopped short, stunned at the mad clatter of footsteps down the stairwell. Kevin was too excited to worry if his father was annoyed at a house full of unexpected guests; he performed enthusiastic introductions. Mr Dakko rallied; after all, his guests were officers in the Navy he’d once served.

After an hour’s chat, Mr Dakko invited Mik and Tad back for a late dinner. At first they declined, but allowed themselves to be persuaded when it was clear the invitation was genuine. Then, to my astonishment, Mr Dakko offered them the use of his electricar, provided that under no circumstances would they let Kevin or me drive it.

“You see?” Kev said as we piled in. “My dad respects my friends.”

“But the car?”

“He can be zarky. Last night was only one side of him.”

I shook my head. I could no more imagine Dad handing out his electricar than publicly embarrassing me over an epithet.

The day passed, and then we came home to dinner. Mikhael Tamarov was in good form, telling shipboard stories, making clever jokes. His eyes twinkled. I listened, chin on hands, admiring his style. If only I could sparkle so, hold my friends entranced. If only I had his wit, his open friendliness. I sighed.

Somehow, in the course of events, no more was said about my transferring to Dr Zayre’s that day. Late in the evening, Mr Dakko drove the two sailors to Naval barracks and by the time he was back, Kev and I were sound asleep.

In the morning, Kev was free of school, and I continued truant from mine. I’d noticed that in the rush of the evening’s conversation, Kev hadn’t mentioned to his father our deal for a tour of the ship, so over breakfast I was likewise silent.

Somehow, by morning, the sailors had secured an electricar. Centraltown had them to rent, but normally there wasn’t much demand. Except when a ship came in.

Lieutenant Anselm drove us first to the Governor’s Manse, where Fred Mantiet and old Zack Hopewell had helped overthrow the outlaw Triforth government. The middy Mikhael, of all people, seemed unduly affected, his eyes glistening as the tourist guide led us past the “new” front porch, where forty-six years ago the desperately injured Nick Seafort forced his way past the guards. Then the comm room, where, near death from a festering lung, Seafort had made his famous speech. Unfortunately the bastard had survived, to kill my father on
Galactic.

Tad had it in mind to eat at Haulers’ Rest. I quelled my unease. Few plantation families had reason to stop there, and if I minded my business, and wore Kevin’s cap low, I’d most likely not be recognized. Besides, I hadn’t yet been adjudicated wayward; as far as I knew, no charges had been laid despite Bishop Scanlen’s complaint. If necessary, I could brazen it out, though I’d want to be long gone before Anth got wind of it.

I guided Lieutenant Anselm along the two-hour drive. Being consigned to the backseat was far less boring than I’d imagined. The sailors were brimming with questions about Centraltown life, and not at all put off by our youth.

I finally got up my courage to ask, “How come you spend so much time with us, instead of looking for girls?”

Mikhael flushed, but Lieutenant Anselm just grinned. “Neither of us wants the girls we’d find in a bar, joey, and besides, I’ve had my fill of bars. And do you think we’ve been without, during the cruise? Middies have free time, you know. We can’t socialize with crew women, but
Olympiad
carries over three thousand passengers. A number of them are attractive.”

I grunted, embarrassed beyond words.

“You ought to join up, Randy. Lots of joeygirls like a uniform, even a cadet’s. Mik, here, found that—”

A determined cough. Mikhael was blushing furiously.

“Anyway, if the proper company comes along, we’ll welcome it. Meanwhile, we’ll see the sights.”

The middy had been nice to me, and deserved relief from his embarrassment. “You were a cadet?”

“It seemed like forever.” He glanced with pride at his insignia. “I’ve been middy two years now. I started late,” he said. Most cadets were enlisted at thirteen or fourteen, and were promoted within two years or so.

“I’m always behind Tad,” he added glumly. “We had two years in the wardroom, but now we’re separated again.”

“So, you have to salute me.” Anselm’s tone was annoyed. “We’re still friends, and you’re way too old for the barrel.”

“Thank Lord God.” Some memory made the boy blush anew. “There’s still demerits.”

“Tolliver may demerit you; I won’t, and you know that.”

Mik sighed. “Yes, sir. I know.” He turned to me. “Lieutenants can give demerits. Each means two hours of calisthenics.”

“Of course. My father—” I bit it off. They thought my name was Carlson. “My father told me.”

“Tad …” For a moment, Mik ignored us civilians. “Sometimes I earn them, I admit. But Pandeker complains to Ms Frand, and every time, she …”

Anselm frowned. “Stay out of his way.”

“Pandeker’s everywhere. You know he looks for an excuse—”

“It’s Naval business, Mik.” In his tone, gentle warning.

“I suppose.” The middy sounded glum.

“Who’s Pandeker?” My tone was bright.

“Special envoy of the Patriarchs.”

“To us?” All we needed was more Church fathers mucking about.

“To
Olympiad.
” Mik sounded bitter.

“Ships don’t have parsons.” The Captains carried out religious functions. Everyone knew that.

“This one does.” Tad made a face.

“He’s keeping an eye on—”

“Mikhael.” Another warning, not so gentle.

Mik’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry.”

“I understand your frustration. One might say I even share it. So, joeys, just how big is the Plantation Zone?”

I let Anselm steer me to casual chat. What problem was he reluctant to discuss with outsiders? It was the Naval way, I knew. Most of their traditions were legends. Even today, the U.N. Navy was the most talked-of service, and joeykids dreamed of going to Earth to enlist. Not I, of course. After the Navy killed Dad, I hated the U.N.N.S. with a passion.

We polished off a huge meal of corn bread, ham steaks, fresh green beans, mountains of potatoes—all Haulers’ Rest meals were overgenerous—and climbed into the car for the two-hour trip back. By the time we reached the outskirts of Centraltown much of the day was gone. Even Mik seemed restless. He checked his watch. “I ought to catch a shuttle.”

Anselm sighed. “I’ll go too, I suppose.”

“Pa’s expecting me, but stay groundside and enjoy yourself.”

For a moment Anselm looked shy. “I’ll enjoy it more with you.” To Kevin, “You joeys ready for your tour?”

“Yes, please.” Kev’s voice was tight.

They parked in front of Admiralty House—though we were no longer a colony, the Navy maintained a small base here, under Admiral Kenzig—and we walked across the tarmac to the terminal. Much of the morning’s excitement had subsided, as stallkeepers went home to dinner and their normal jobs.